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the boy who smelled like paint

t

the boy who smelled like paint

"Your painting is ugly." I looked up. The candy apple sun dripped golden glitter onto a boy's tousled hair. His nose was wrinkled and his cheeks were smeared with dirt.  I didn't like dirty boys, so I wrinkled my nose right back. "It's not ugly," I protested. "you're ugly." The dirty boy smacked a grubby finger onto the corner of my painting. I tried to pull the soggy canvas away, but the finger held on tight and ripped the right corner clean off. Blue watercolor paint began to drip through the cracks in the picnic table, staining the yellow grass below with tears of pigment. The movement caused the colors on my canvas to swirl together. I

suburban love story

s

suburban love story

"My white picket fence is painted red," my grandfather reads from the yellow paper in his hands and seeks the ashtray with his trembling fingers. "What does that mean?" I say but he reaches the cigarettes before me and for a moment all my eyes can see is his the feeble flash of his lighter. " The hell if I know," he says and disappears behind the smoke, "that's the kind of nonsense she wrote but I forgot it was nonsense because of the way she said it." My grandfather sits in a brown rocking chair on the porch of his square brick house that's the same as the other square brick houses except for the rusty numbers hammered onto his mailbox th

cages

c

cages

i. caged water casts         neat gentle                  little ripples onto the polished         tiled floor                  i see                  little cracks of sunlight snake across my worn jeans and the          air smells a           little of salt and something bitter like          crystals of the rage           that the little aquarium fish         cannot express because theyve never known more than          glass glass glass                  and tap tap tap         and sticky fingerprints         that smudge their sky and if youre a fish who lives in glass and breathes in stale molecules what            doe

a reflection on goodbyes

a

a reflection on goodbyes

Sadness and I are old friends; her thick and heavy syllables ooze into my ear canal and stagnate. I can feel her wings chill the air below my eyelids; even when my irises are full of sun, her feathers flicker in and out of my vision. They say she fears laughter, so I laugh and laugh until my body aches but with each convulsion I feel her grip me tighter. No one will hold me like sadness does; tenderly, lovingly, constantly, no one will listen like sadness does; with a wrinkled, broken ear and a heart that knows me better than I know myself. What does sadness smell like? She smells like freshly cut golden grass, humid air, rain-soaked m

letter to cinderella

l

letter to cinderella

hello cinderella,         hello my love my sweet saccharine doll with the acrylic smile,          a thin red scar that never fades, only flakes slowly away. how neatly you sit, how gently your fleshy scorched palms tremble in your lap how perfectly your pliant fingers lock together         joins inserted tightly         between your jagged knuckles, your wrists evenly swollen by the polished iron         binding you         to your dress, how lovely you are. i love your glassy eyes,        your wishing well        eyes i see myself in,        a smooth opaque surface circumscribed by plucked eyelash and groomed eyebrow. how c

Spring Cleaning

S

Spring Cleaning

a) in the bookshelf My feather-duster, fine as neurons, prowls across the fake wood thats sags with the weight of too many pages. Clean, white pages now grey and wavy, weathered by greedy fingerprints seeking words. b) under the bed Two socks that don't match lay limply intertwined with fourth grade art and last year's World War One test. Forlorn objects, forgotten by the cerebrum that once produced them, condemned to slow asphyxiation by gathering dust. c) on the desk My own Himalayas are formed from line paper, graph paper, printing paper stacked without order and without thought. Remnants of nights full of headaches, drooping ey

between

b

between

stop thinking, just feel, with that grimy heart of yours so murky, clouded, twisted, wrung from scaly hands that squeezed the light from your soul. don’t pray don’t defile the skies with your serpent's lies and your demon’s eyes that glow red when you love too much. you dangled me over the abyss, told me to hang on, hold me like a lifeline, and i did i clawed your fair arms raw i begged until my mouth ran red but you just smiled flashed your fangs in the moonlight, and dropped me.

Empty Knives

E

Empty Knives

Our princess is a warrior, the people whisper, warming their wind-worn hands by the fire. The sluggish smell of gasoline diffuses into their pores and oozes into their veins. Their clothing is hard with filth, the skin on their faces is merely a scab, their eyes are empty sockets. But deep within their pneumonic chests, the desire to hope burns bright. One young man holds a photograph in his shaking hands. There she is, their princess- bright red hair, sharp cheekbones, bright green eyes, a wolf's smile. Fight me, her eyes laugh. Fight me, and die. I am not afraid of you. Her brightness and her ferocity straighten their aching spines. They w

The Crocodile's Tears

T

The Crocodile's Tears

You’re crying again. You’re in your room in the corner with the cobwebs and your bottles on the floor. You’re on your knees and you’re rocking back and forth. Your makeup falls in clumps from your face. Your white dress is smeared with red and no one can tell if the stains are from the wine or the glass shards forming a mosaic on the floor. We know why you cry. We can all see the red in your eyes and the paleness of your cheeks. We can all see how your fingernails are flayed like paper. We know that you don’t eat and sleep and you just stare out of your window, wasting your years and your life because your ghost

they only spare the gentle ones

t

they only spare the gentle ones

his chrysalis hangs around his waist, green tongue fastened tight, his eyes drowning in the chlorophyll (he wishes it was chloroform). he the cancerous, he the carcinogen likes to hold the nuclei and crush them in his meaty palms scatter the cytosol in droplets (cytosol or cyanide?). he did not like artemis, her blood cells pulsed to the antithesis of his heart with membrane, he fastened her to his ankles but she bit him, refused to let go so one by one he plucked her teeth, strung them on her polymers, and hammered them into her vertebrae.
See all

the boy who smelled like paint

t

the boy who smelled like paint

"Your painting is ugly." I looked up. The candy apple sun dripped golden glitter onto a boy's tousled hair. His nose was wrinkled and his cheeks were smeared with dirt.  I didn't like dirty boys, so I wrinkled my nose right back. "It's not ugly," I protested. "you're ugly." The dirty boy smacked a grubby finger onto the corner of my painting. I tried to pull the soggy canvas away, but the finger held on tight and ripped the right corner clean off. Blue watercolor paint began to drip through the cracks in the picnic table, staining the yellow grass below with tears of pigment. The movement caused the colors on my canvas to swirl together. I

suburban love story

s

suburban love story

"My white picket fence is painted red," my grandfather reads from the yellow paper in his hands and seeks the ashtray with his trembling fingers. "What does that mean?" I say but he reaches the cigarettes before me and for a moment all my eyes can see is his the feeble flash of his lighter. " The hell if I know," he says and disappears behind the smoke, "that's the kind of nonsense she wrote but I forgot it was nonsense because of the way she said it." My grandfather sits in a brown rocking chair on the porch of his square brick house that's the same as the other square brick houses except for the rusty numbers hammered onto his mailbox th

cages

c

cages

i. caged water casts         neat gentle                  little ripples onto the polished         tiled floor                  i see                  little cracks of sunlight snake across my worn jeans and the          air smells a           little of salt and something bitter like          crystals of the rage           that the little aquarium fish         cannot express because theyve never known more than          glass glass glass                  and tap tap tap         and sticky fingerprints         that smudge their sky and if youre a fish who lives in glass and breathes in stale molecules what            doe

a reflection on goodbyes

a

a reflection on goodbyes

Sadness and I are old friends; her thick and heavy syllables ooze into my ear canal and stagnate. I can feel her wings chill the air below my eyelids; even when my irises are full of sun, her feathers flicker in and out of my vision. They say she fears laughter, so I laugh and laugh until my body aches but with each convulsion I feel her grip me tighter. No one will hold me like sadness does; tenderly, lovingly, constantly, no one will listen like sadness does; with a wrinkled, broken ear and a heart that knows me better than I know myself. What does sadness smell like? She smells like freshly cut golden grass, humid air, rain-soaked m

letter to cinderella

l

letter to cinderella

hello cinderella,         hello my love my sweet saccharine doll with the acrylic smile,          a thin red scar that never fades, only flakes slowly away. how neatly you sit, how gently your fleshy scorched palms tremble in your lap how perfectly your pliant fingers lock together         joins inserted tightly         between your jagged knuckles, your wrists evenly swollen by the polished iron         binding you         to your dress, how lovely you are. i love your glassy eyes,        your wishing well        eyes i see myself in,        a smooth opaque surface circumscribed by plucked eyelash and groomed eyebrow. how c

Spring Cleaning

S

Spring Cleaning

a) in the bookshelf My feather-duster, fine as neurons, prowls across the fake wood thats sags with the weight of too many pages. Clean, white pages now grey and wavy, weathered by greedy fingerprints seeking words. b) under the bed Two socks that don't match lay limply intertwined with fourth grade art and last year's World War One test. Forlorn objects, forgotten by the cerebrum that once produced them, condemned to slow asphyxiation by gathering dust. c) on the desk My own Himalayas are formed from line paper, graph paper, printing paper stacked without order and without thought. Remnants of nights full of headaches, drooping ey

between

b

between

stop thinking, just feel, with that grimy heart of yours so murky, clouded, twisted, wrung from scaly hands that squeezed the light from your soul. don’t pray don’t defile the skies with your serpent's lies and your demon’s eyes that glow red when you love too much. you dangled me over the abyss, told me to hang on, hold me like a lifeline, and i did i clawed your fair arms raw i begged until my mouth ran red but you just smiled flashed your fangs in the moonlight, and dropped me.

Empty Knives

E

Empty Knives

Our princess is a warrior, the people whisper, warming their wind-worn hands by the fire. The sluggish smell of gasoline diffuses into their pores and oozes into their veins. Their clothing is hard with filth, the skin on their faces is merely a scab, their eyes are empty sockets. But deep within their pneumonic chests, the desire to hope burns bright. One young man holds a photograph in his shaking hands. There she is, their princess- bright red hair, sharp cheekbones, bright green eyes, a wolf's smile. Fight me, her eyes laugh. Fight me, and die. I am not afraid of you. Her brightness and her ferocity straighten their aching spines. They w

The Crocodile's Tears

T

The Crocodile's Tears

You’re crying again. You’re in your room in the corner with the cobwebs and your bottles on the floor. You’re on your knees and you’re rocking back and forth. Your makeup falls in clumps from your face. Your white dress is smeared with red and no one can tell if the stains are from the wine or the glass shards forming a mosaic on the floor. We know why you cry. We can all see the red in your eyes and the paleness of your cheeks. We can all see how your fingernails are flayed like paper. We know that you don’t eat and sleep and you just stare out of your window, wasting your years and your life because your ghost

they only spare the gentle ones

t

they only spare the gentle ones

his chrysalis hangs around his waist, green tongue fastened tight, his eyes drowning in the chlorophyll (he wishes it was chloroform). he the cancerous, he the carcinogen likes to hold the nuclei and crush them in his meaty palms scatter the cytosol in droplets (cytosol or cyanide?). he did not like artemis, her blood cells pulsed to the antithesis of his heart with membrane, he fastened her to his ankles but she bit him, refused to let go so one by one he plucked her teeth, strung them on her polymers, and hammered them into her vertebrae.

Mythology Feature!

Mythology Feature!

:thumb387086002::thumb597588664::thumb717302223: Mythology is wonderful and eternal and is something that connects us all. I hope you have enjoyed the beautiful artwork. Now please go and check out their galleries and give them some love. :rose:
3KComments

there's something so raw about winter mornings

t

there's something so raw about winter mornings

when the cold air reaches your exposed skin i wake up with the dawn to unfinished dreams. (don't leave me here without your warmth) i'm finding more fascination with the words i don't understand. lexicon in languages long lost to ashes speaks to me. i want a word for the way nightfall after a day of thunderstorms is quiet. and nothing but soft, deep, dark. do you dream about it too? gradients in scarlet and rose, in blue shimmering on silver the sky was a painting, back then. (don't forget that colors exist behind that realm of clouds) do you realize that i still think about you? it returns without warning like a book disappears under the

love notes from an ivory tower.

l

love notes from an ivory tower.

i give you my midnights, my eleventh hours; i give you the first taste of caffeine in the morning, the opening of curtains, and their closing too. i give you the moments spent staring in open jewellery boxes and thinking of your rhinestone teeth glistening in dark rooms; i give you the silence of closed doors and closed eyes, every fragment of reflection at three am. i give it all to you, the hours, and the quiet, the pieces of myself that only my walls have seen. i know you will give me yours in return, the sweep of your palms on cold sheets, the beat of your feet on bicycle pedals - that first suck of air on a Sunday afternoon. you

Midnight Air

M

Midnight Air

The world freezes in the arms of Time, As if holding its breath, waiting for something – Anything – to happen before the morning bells chime, But there is nothing except a distant cricket-song and my own breathing I gaze into the sky, sprinkled with stars like fragmented glass, Stretching into a world undisturbed by mankind; And as my toes curl into damp grass, I contemplate the angelic world overhead, undefined. A star is born every time we dream – The sky never holds the same constellations twice For we evolve, causing the night to gleam With wonders and hopes of paradise

babylon

b

babylon

i. the first stone was a pebble, whore of babylon, that you refused to take too gently between your teeth ii. he pressed flowers in your face to say “swallow,” hands bursting with color you cried out but gravel fell from open lips and weighed you down iii. his mouth broke one by one your blood vessels but you loved until you liked the bruise- (proof you could keep him in one place long enough to leave a mark)
atra-corona is not a Group Admin yet
Groups they admin or create will appear here
Artist // Student // Artisan Crafts
  • United States
  • Deviant for 2 years
  • She / Her
Badges
Albino Llama: Llamas are awesome! (50)
My Bio
hello world. i go by whatever variation of atra-corona you care to give me. i go by she/her/supreme goddess. i don't really know how to do art but i can make pots and stuff in ceramics. maybe i'll put pictures of them on here. who knows. but i'm primarily here to write. and i don't mean to be threatening but i'm the new cool kid here so, watch out.

Favourite Visual Artist
lolz what is this
Favourite Movies
Hidden Figures, Wonder Woman, Thor trilogy.
Favourite TV Shows
The Flash, Sherlock, OUaT, Stranger Things, Parks & Rec
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
p!atd, tøp, fall out boy, other, random things
Favourite Books
lots... harry potter, percy jackson, ranger's apprentice, the inheritance cycle, the book thief, the westing game, redwall, pride & prejudice, six of crows, little women.
Favourite Writers
j.k.rowling, gail carson levine, jane austen, charlotte brontë
Favourite Games
lacrosse. cross country B)
Favourite Gaming Platform
i play sPORTS
Tools of the Trade
knives
Other Interests
no

first meme

first meme

this is the first time i have done this, so if its wrong and cringey please lmk. also i stole this from Dogfood/Beem/whatever. Level 1 ( ) Smoked a cigarette. ( ) Smoked a cigar. ( ) Kissed a member of the same sex. SO FAR: 0 Level 2 (/) Are/been in love (i meannnn idk if i can really say what love is at this point so its .5) ( ) Dumped someone. ( ) Been fired. (x) Been in a fist fight (my family was NOT happy). SO FAR: 1.5 Level 3 (x) Had a crush on an older person. ( ) Skipped class. ( ) Slept with a co-worker. (x) Seen someone/something die (i saw a frog get run over on the road. it was very horrible. would not recommend
wonder woman should have been nominated for all the oscars :( 
Reading Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God for English and I'd like to share a few quotes with you. "...their damnation does not slumber; the pit is prepared, the fire is made ready, the furnace is now hot, ready to receive them..." " The God that ...

Comments 28

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comatose-cometHobbyist Writer
thanks for the fave :rose:
atra-coronaStudent Artisan Crafter
my pleasure :D
The-ArchaeonHobbyist Writer
Thanks for the :+fav:, it's very much appreciated :)
atra-coronaStudent Artisan Crafter
No problem :D
Hello! Just dropping in to offer my congratulations (!). Welcome to deviantArt! I look forward to seeing more of your work. :hug:
atra-coronaStudent Artisan Crafter
Thanks so much!!