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About Literature / Artist Official Beta Tester charlesMale/United States Group :icongliitchmonth: gliitchmonth
a dynamic writing experiment
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Deviant for 13 Years
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Statistics 1,996 Deviations 11,300 Comments 84,801 Pageviews

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naught complex
memories in a wound-shaped blender:
i know every thing that hurts me
because honestly, each one
is me.
weep in secret.
keep the twisted dagger
name it.
think of how to label
the hilt; it is slick
with blood.
burdened steps
beget collapse,
each breath tastes less
like heir and more
like stone.
i, in my heaving,
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 8 4
yes, it is a margin of displacement.
quite unspoken, larger than the basement
storing the abject adulation
of a kingdom long since latent.
what sort of reign can
break this skyshroud and taste
the rancor of the saints
and stay pristine?
lately the gilt
turn green.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 5 0
new direction by gliitchlord new direction :icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 5 2
three seasons
watch the untaught
here at the oft-bit
ankles of industry
the wheels are greased
by sweat and
blood rites.
like floodlights
in the orbits
of amphibians,
catch as the fear
now here are
handfuls of scratch
for the taking
from diligent
mask the whips
with silver atmospheric events
and that dream
of never needing.
watch the lot
think themselves more
than salt.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 6 0
portrait of a fading star
with a flow
like cursive
down the collarbones
light as autumn's
with your eminence
into marrow
every scream at death's
under floe
curse but never
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 6 0
until the end of i
i see your star
out there—
no amount of void
can claim it,
brighter still.
stellar brilliance
in cascade across
existence, a weightless fall
of only mercies,
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 15 0
the washed masses
pulpit's sure swing of rhetoric
toward necks craned,
truth of a sort
in the shape
of a blade.
look upon your works, o man;
gaze with glazed eyes
and razor-blessed throats
at his fitful tirade!
remember, this godless apparition
pirouettes at your whim;
you chose this spin
over that, afraid
that the knife in your back
might twist.
now drink
of your emperor's
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 8 7
turn your perishing eyes
like clouding mirrors
to the depths of heaven,
if you can focus
you'll locate

he says,
as i text my father
a string of expletives
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 8 0
to sleep, a certain
failure; there are precious
stars i'm made to
strands andromedaic
traveled lightly,
lift and slightly
part. in the arc of time
these orbits slowly
rotate, holy.
smashing sunrises and
sanctuary stills,
i am filler
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 10 4
secondhand smoke / it is a (low) day
all i ever want to do
is apologize; all the world
sees me, stationary.
it feels like a
chest full of
like trying to
breathe will
lose too much;
inhale and exhale
seem damning.
should not be
felt vapor rising
up out of taut muscles
and weakening teeth.
i cannot speak
beyond half-assed philosophy,
but all i ever want
is you, better. i know
i don't do anything to build
up or offer solutions.
i've two lungs, they say
but feels more like
charred oak.
branches grow up my throat
and burn out my tongue.
i don't expect to be
alive when the rapture comes,
i know that life is a measure
of what we've done;
i'm barely a man,
i'm barely alive.
all i ever want is
to be enough for
and nothing
for myself.
fog, smoke, or hellfire,
all choke the same.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 8 0
an entire fire
contained in straining
lungs; i am one
combustion from the end
of breathing. seeping
from my lips are wisps,
choking up the smoke
and ash of rash decisions.
skip my grave, one day
my skin and thinly veiled
disgrace will ride the wind, a trace
of disappointment joining with
the emptiness of less
importance. i am tortured
by the slow burn of the furnace.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 10 0
yearbook signatures
oh, it's love in sequence;
scripted vine of names.
when it's evening,
reason with the phantoms
and wash my hair
with shame.
color in the constellations,
freckles disparate chained.
is this grieving?
crossing out my failures
and inking skin
with rain.
oh there's not much more to say, love.
i destroy more than create.
i am freezing
don't you dare to touch me;
i'll only bring
you pain.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 25 11
4am and drunk
left this message on your doorstop, tucked
under the welcome mat. but this voicemail has more teeth
than all of that. at the brink, i'm coming back to
what destroys me. there are ways out but
my grip is lacerated far too deep. i could not sleep.
i was thinking how you held me, how you
struggled with me, how i never took
the time to stop
the bleed. i've been dying just to see
how you proceed, i just want to know
you made it in spite
of me.
left this in the old year, let
a firework absolve me. picked it out
from all the others, it was in
the back; it was purple and let
down. it was feet above the
ground and i was sure that i could touch it,
that it might consume my fears
and make me holier
than yesterday.
left myself
to fester in the corners of minds
i shouldn't have entered.
now i can only
hope the floods have swept
my iniquities away. god if you listen
to anything i ever say,
bless every person
with the power
of erasure.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 10 2
if you peer too closely,
sharpened edges dull.
there the fires
echo through serration
and pair with ice,
underneath the gilding,
stairs and basements groan.
where the tired
shutter, shake, impatient
for years, in quiet,
glaring isolation;
flares illuminate the home.
we expire
whimpering and waiting
for ends, for ever
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 7 0
this place is
a prism,
a fleeting light that bends
around the corners,
makes friends with every
warning sign
and sighs when no body
is watching.
a prison,
a beating right at night's fall,
bleeding in the dark
and giving up
a treason
made plain, unreasonable danger
breathing hot on
involuntary necks;
it stretches on
infinite as death
to the living,
to those that
have never been
to suffering.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 5 0
what took you so long, death
people telling me i fucked up
are late to the party. what's up?
i am already drunk.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 7 5


you will allow the ones you love
 to be imperfect -
why then
 will you not allow
the same thing of yourself
:iconmisanthropic-eyes:misanthropic-eyes 4 8
you flood me full / you fill me up
been one sun-spin since i met you
and your laughter packed the lightroom,
one whole lap since i lapped up each lick
of love from your soft saucers
and you snowed me through that cold week
and your warmth wove me a haven
from the threads you strung me safe in
and you held me, really held me,
so i found my hope again.
lived one star-shift since i found you
and your humming (i was bound to
trust the luster lush within it!),
the becoming of a sound i learned
was infinite. in just one year
we’ve sprouted sweet together
through the singing: now the depths of us
are ringing with the bond we have unfurled
(i swear to walk alongside you
is to go waltzing with the world)
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms 15 3
Local 'Hobbit' Charged With Murder 556 Years Later
March 25, 3019th year of the Third Age

: Sméagol, better known by his alias “Gollum”, was sentenced to death by volcano just moments after an assault on a backpacking hobbit visiting Sammath Naur, a historical site within Mount Doom.
The sentence was met with overwhelming approval from the Council of Elrond, who had criticized Elvish security last year following Sméagol’s escape from Mirkwood Prison. He was being held there for unrelated charges of mischief.
In the 2463rd year of the Third Age, the then-tween Stoor Hobbit Sméagol was fishing in the Gladden Valley with his long-time friend and cousin, Déagol. Although there were no eyewitnesses that day, local Shirriffs pieced together the chilling sequence of events which concluded with the discovery of Déagol’s body.
Initial Shirriff reports suggested Déagol had drowned after being dragged into the water by a large fish, but furt
:iconautumnicity:autumnicity 21 11
the curd, the cluster
the cloyingly coy
string of syrup from the mouth
trying hard to suckle on my wounds
before the bruises bloom
starting with
a nip of teeth with cognizance
this will hurt a little but enough
shrewdly marked
not anymore the longing taste
not a warning but a warming up
the toxicant, the choke
tickling on the way down
drifting drunk
drowning cries in the dark
:icondialtonepoetry:dialtonepoetry 7 13
the kings treasure
you know this tale
where kings are
buried in their jewels
and curses are
 upon us who
remember glinting
and who
would gladly
dig graves
looking for sparkle
(you have to
add sun)
:iconsilvernium:silvernium 5 0
Where Nothing Dares Settle
we assume the fish
that appears to advance
without moving
does so, effortlessly;
as if the sea itself
merely wills them forward
we long to swim like this
to hold our position
in the universe
while the earth
churns its oceans past,
as if its motion
were ours
and perhaps it might be
if we could only comprehend
how much lag
truly resides
in the linkage between
space and time,
then we'd know water
like it knows us
our ins and outs
and the low places
where nothing dares settle
for long
we'd know why sleep evades
when we're most spent,
as memories
older than our own
once we traverse
a certain set proximity
to death
we'd know why
the retreat of broken waves
takes on the voice
of our missing parts,
why a dull and distant
squint of stars
can tow us, landless
and longingly skyward
:iconblackbowfin:BlackBowfin 86 35
I want to restructure us
like thoughts and CBT.
I want us to be simple enough
to fit into diagrams and boxes,
descriptions of distortions
and a step-by-step guide.
You mistake me: there is love here.
There is so much goddamn(ed) love here.
Sometimes I forget
      [I have love here, and I try and find it; "mother"].
Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever stop. 
I don’t know how to release
the pressure building behind my eyes,
pulsing like the memory of bruises
from your palms, tears bleeding in(to) silence.
Time has stretched us out,
laid us flat like fresh slates.
You mistake me: history still lives here.
Time may have smoothed the scar
you gave my back, but the heart heals slowly,
Let it weather us
into approachable pieces,
small enough
for me to swallow.
:iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 11 17
fogged over
the sky presses down on me, cold yet comforting.
i don't mind it.
the green is kind of dull now;
winter wrapped up the brighter hues
to put under the tree.
snowflakes fall, but usually not till january.
still, when the wind wraps itself around me for warmth,
i let it, because i know
what it's like to be cold.
my mother tells me that wearing mittens
will keep my fingers from freezing,
but i tell her my fingers hate feeling trapped.
she understands.
at the end of the day, the sky blazes
as if this may be the last time it ever will.
some things were not made to be subtle.
:iconinthespacebetween:inthespacebetween 19 6
what bears down
so the ursine angels saw me
soft and safe through my undoing:
put their paws in mine and held me
as i reared my roar but lost it,
wept it out our button eyes when
all the stuffing of my story
seeped out slowly from its seams.
and in dreams i wasn't lonely
when they listened to me closely,
when my fingers grazed the ceiling
whipped with love from the low bureau
i had climbed up just to touch them,
just to blow off dust like candles
that had caked along their fur --
and awake the smoke would choke me
where their waiting wingtips were.
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms 26 4
mission drift
you say it softly, like
i have cometed off somewhere
like the milky light you stretch me to
is just beyond my reach
and maybe it is, and maybe i am:
you swing the solar system in
but i am only really slung
around the sun of you
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms 18 5
xv. flowers in her hair, demons in her mind
     she awoke one night, drenched to the nines
            and hugged her knees tight, the covers loose
      it was happening again no not again
               darkness enfolded her in her arms,
     and she shook like a leaf while the wind howled outside
               they went downstairs, the cat waiting in the window
         mugs of tea were soon steaming between their fingers
               it's him, it's always about him
          she didn't remember telling the raven girl that she was scared
       that she still grieved for her family
               that she hated her mother more than she cared about herself
:iconserendiipitii:Serendiipitii 3 2
haunted house by calliopen haunted house :iconcalliopen:calliopen 13 5
the leaves of my heart can fall away too
my chest knocks
but no one answers;
on lonely nights i
write you into poems
and you,
foggy-eyed and
morningmad and silent,
look at me like something you could love
and walk away.
at dawn i’ll
hold my heart above the sink
like splitting pomegranate,
feel your weight inside my lungs
as a scream;
i tried to pull the dark from your eyes
and make a sky of it,
breathe you full of love-stars
before summer’s end
but i saw that lewd hand of autumn
grab a fistful of tree
and yank the head back,
scattering hair.
each crunching leaf sends me into shivers-
(such a relief for the heart
to hear something else breaking.)
:iconmercury-the-queen:Mercury-the-Queen 12 10
xiii. not quite the berlin, just as important
   the front porch light was on at 5 AM
              she sat on the steps for another hour chasing herself
            ring the doorbell to her own home, or just walk in?
                  a flurry of hair erased both questions
           and a mug of coffee was in her hands suddenly
                         the silence between them was more than anything
                 Ysolde could have hoped for;
     her sudden excitement turned to caution as the morning rose
            though the cat's vertebrae kept getting stuck in her hair
                             the purrs a quiet rattling
:iconserendiipitii:Serendiipitii 2 2
xii. a terrible comparison made her go
         her best friend lived in the edges of the forest, cliff-side to the waters
                  she hid in his attic for three nights
                             enticed from her tomb eventually by tea and biscuits
       they spoke of little, preferring the silence and the whale song
                        he would disappear for hours into the woods
                 while she wrote letters to no one and soaked paper in tea
                         dream catchers sat on the borrowed dresser
          shells and smooth stones lay in the framework
:iconserendiipitii:Serendiipitii 3 3
xi. no lover's spat
    it was the first time they argued,
              in the pantry looking for bread
          when Ysolde mentioned the family skeletons (so to speak)
     what is revenge worth when the soul is at peace?
             and what would she know about peace,
                      a life not lived with scars and wormholes
               feathered lights in her window and warm dogs by her feet -
         couldn't she see the stake in heart?
         he preaches to a god that never heard my calls
                      and call she had, voicemails and smoke signals
:iconserendiipitii:Serendiipitii 2 2
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2 deviants said don't mind me


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Add a Comment:
DeeryDeerth Featured By Owner Dec 11, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
maybe here? is the last stanza on your page?
(1 Reply)
oviedomedina Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2018
Hey there man, I gotta thank you for the Watch, the feature and everything! Much appreaciated! :highfive:
HugQueen Featured By Owner Apr 29, 2018   Writer
Just wanted to let you know you're cool and stuff. :heart:
(1 Reply)
peaseblossoms Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2018   Writer
happiest of (belated) birthdays to one of my favorite poets of all time!!!!! you’re absolutely wonderful and i hope you had an amazing day!! keep on gliitching :hug::heart:
(1 Reply)
LadyLincoln Featured By Owner Mar 31, 2018  Hobbyist Writer
Happya2 by Alimera

Have a blessed day, darling one. :heart:
(1 Reply)
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