Shop Forum More Submit  Join Login
About Literature / Hobbyist EloiseFemale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
Deviant for 11 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 181 Deviations 3,543 Comments 18,853 Pageviews
×

Newest Deviations

Mature content
Fever :iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 0 0
Mature content
Queen of Cups :iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 1 0
Mature content
A Prayer for the Hungry :iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 0 0
Mature content
Spring :iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 0 0
Literature
homecoming
nearly home. nearly home. a space and time away from where you want to be: belonging to yourself. there is a midnight garden somewhere inside my lungs, black and tarry from the darkness i am siphoning from your lips to mine, trying to let the light in, trying to stop the hurt becoming a euphemism for two vertical red lines drawn in a bathtub. you have turned me inside out. raw, vulnerable; the silence is an agony.  
you have wormed your way inside and I have agreed to be your golem, a clay replacement for the affections of the woman who bedded herself beneath your skin and rearranged your spine. even so, let me give til i am a dry husk, let me pour what’s in my veins over you to wash you back to shore
no lion has eyes like yours, cut from the very fabric of the ocean, you are between dawns and you are limitless in dusk. you are too much a night creature to be good for those who dwell in the day, sitting in the cave of your bed, waiting for the foolish wanderings of curious b
:iconLlywenlla:Llywenlla
:iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 0 0
Literature
Threads and fibres
Prologue
hold back the screams
the low wail of pain, the wounded howl.  
The agony of tattered, muddled hearts  
falling in shadows, dappled on skin.  
decision's gristle don't go down easy
my womb weeping scarlet:  
slow  
shedding  
of self.  
movement aching
the fascia wound taut.
Pt. 1
invaded and altered  
I stand in a wilderness,  
savaging myself with thoughts of you.  
count the last times the way I once counted the firsts
hourglass dwindling
walls splintering.  
suddenly comprised of  
hairline fractures  
scared of moving these brittle bones.  
armchair demon
shotgun destruction  
fallen sword.  
Pt. 2
still haunted by the word 'go'
knowing you are so much better off.  
chanting a failed spell
jar of salt in hand
ready to part the sea  
to change my heart  
but it is wild and stubborn  
I don't understand the tongues it whispers in:
soul divided by a common language  
all
:iconLlywenlla:Llywenlla
:iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 0 0
Literature
Swish-swimming
Honesty never decides to arrive on time.
1. Without fail, drinking alcohol robs me of the ability to feel gratitude for waking up the next day.
2. My apathy will probably kill me, if the shadow doesn’t first.
3. I’m afraid.
4. I like to read for too long in the bathtub, thinking I might be able to dissolve and emerge in the pages of a story better than my own.
5. Sometimes the daydreams are asphyxiating.
6. Farmer’s markets are a source of unending joy.
7. The effect coffee has on my mood is unholy.
8. I often think about being run over.
9. Confession terrifies me.
10. I’ve never been in a fight but I think I’d really, really enjoy it.
11. The good days in Edinburgh were some of the best.
12. Corsica left a hole I’ve not managed to fill. A fabulous ‘could have been better’.
13. Manipulation is me, synonymous with breathing.
14. There’s foundation that says ‘I am good’. I don’t know where mine went.
15. I’m go
:iconLlywenlla:Llywenlla
:iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 0 0
Literature
Hideous Kinky
Give me something more to go on,
lying spread-eagled on the floor and
loving the bump and grind that’s
so at odds with the midnight queen playlist.
The promise of the two-hour-orgasm,
pouring wine from my mouth to yours.
More than the sunset tattoos of bruises,
red hand marks on my flesh.
A different delineation.
A new kind of thrill.
Give me something more to go on:
more than my own desires.
The curling of my toes, held fast on the edge,
blood-basted and sticky.
Slick with the urge to eviscerate my essence
shark-circles slow like southern paddle fans.
And then you say something
along the same vibrating lines
promise me desire and delight
formerly found in the pages of my novels.
Give me something more to go on,
better than my own battered heart.
The streets of Dublin and the armour-piercing
beauty of your hope combine
to undo me, standing in black lace
feeling like a weathervane.
Whilst you smooth yourself over my callouses
embracing the darkest parts
of my tangled salty soul.
:iconLlywenlla:Llywenlla
:iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 2 0
Mature content
Public Speaking :iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 1 0
Literature
Horns
If I was a better person I’d probably not
fantasise
about my boss being dispatched
by the four
horsemen of the apocalypse, Sam Hill
come to claim his due.
Stirred by the sacrifice
of my white teeth:
coffee stained and looking a little used.
If I was a better person I’d probably not
write
about my wants, twist the knife only to
snatch back the words
before they fall out
of my mouth, cosmetics collecting
in the corners
of my lips,
wine-lined and feeling a little empty.
If I was a better person I’d probably not
cry
to try and make things better. Fix you breakfast and
scramble my sense of normalcy.
Tiptoeing Janus-like through life
hating my shadows and my scars
The loathsome parts of me,
soulless and tasting a little bitter.
If I was a better person I’d probably
let you go.
Sentence myself to solitary.
And deal with my demons
Alone.
:iconLlywenlla:Llywenlla
:iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 3 1
Mature content
Baby, come with me to New Orleans. :iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 0 0
Literature
Locust Princess
There is power here.
I feel it coursing through my veins, pooling in my joints.
Embroidering my irises with its frozen fire.
Violin strings and Gregorian hymns lift the potential in this mane of hair,
the cello is a lullaby resounding.
Music is sometimes the only way for me to articulate the butterflies valiantly flapping in my throat.
Something about the endless heartbeat of the drum
the pulse of the world and of my mothers
and my sisters
and those who came before me.
Endless.
It is the rhythm of our feet, one dogged step after another.
When I walked the desert, dust in my ears, in my mouth and in my eyes I knew this drumbeat, I knew this rhythm.
When the nomads banished me from the camp for bleeding, I knew this rhythm.
When I rose against the walls of Jericho, I knew this rhythm.
When I pulled down Babel, I knew this rhythm.
When I was cast from Eden, I knew this rhythm.
Do not stand there in the face of my flesh and deny me goddess.
Do not stand before me and be unable to bear my b
:iconLlywenlla:Llywenlla
:iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 3 4
Mature content
Sugar :iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 3 0
Literature
Corduroy
If hope is a quantifiable, tangible thing, then I think it would be measured in specific coffee-cups. The vessels vary. Most days I find my hope at the bottom of brown cardboard corduroy cups. Other times I partake of it via osmosis, sipping kāfēi with Maggie Cheung from the milk-glass lip, or from turquoise glazed stoneware in nineties sitcoms whose wardrobes I still aspire to (looking at you, Willow Rosenberg. Season 5!)
Today is a corduroy-coffee kind of day, punctuated with two croissants in the morning, like a colon: a pause before the frenzy of nothing begins. Monotony in the sounds of the keyboard clacking pebbles on a stony beach tickled by waves. It soothes as much as it suffocates, Gibran gently reminding me that the lust for comfort murders the passions of my soul.
So maybe I measure my soul in coffee cups, too. Searching for things hidden in caffeine-stimulated creativity and the soft veils that swathe whatever truths I try to write here. Passion. Hope. Noble caus
:iconLlywenlla:Llywenlla
:iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 0 0
Literature
Buzz
Shakespeare devils sit high-cheekboned in the corner of campus, leering and laughing, loud. Too loud, for some, for some not enough to drown the sound of grief. He died at ten forty-five, that’s a quarter before eleven, a quarter minute to make the call and a half second to realise that someone’s left the world. I’ve been waiting for it all weekend.
Insidious the cancer shivered, weaved itself into a tapestry of life and lung and liver. Riddled, not pleasantly, with it - and also questions why it happened and why it wouldn’t stop. But even the best intentions pave the way, so Milton said: there was a path to hell, even from the gates of heaven. He never partook of unleavened bread so according to the Mighty One on High there can be no resurrection.
He went to the office until the day he died. Retired at eighty three, from all he’d ever been. Range-rover lover, fan of corned beef and sardine eggs, beach walks and silver smoke cigarillos. He taught me how to
:iconLlywenlla:Llywenlla
:iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 0 0
Literature
Forty five
Herein soaked the tears I cried over my Grandfathers’ deaths.
When the lions left the pride I laced my face in carpet, rough and needing hoovered.
Spilled salt water on the occasional furniture.
I lost my virginity in that bedroom.
on that floor.
With a guy who had soft hands and rough skin.
And shouted so loud the evangelicals came over to ask if I’d finally found God.
I rubbed that little spot on my coccyx raw with a new bad habit.
Let the red wine stain my teeth
and that one spot on the walls where my fingers slipped.
Setting myself on fire in the kitchen
letting the flames lick my soul
like I’m kindling.
Burning candles and midnight oil,
threw up three times:
no mean feat for an emetophobe.
It’s just four walls,
just bricks and dust, ashes and insects.
A shrine and a temple and a cage and a hovel and
at the heart of it,
was home.
:iconLlywenlla:Llywenlla
:iconllywenlla:Llywenlla 1 5

Random Favourites

Literature
To Whom it May Sojourn
Look at me, look at me
Lost to another soliloquy
A random feck to whom it may sojourn
A literary sketch, read to crash and burn
Ready... set... acumen!!!
I judged the third to be wrong again
I killed a bird to lose my last friend
I killed my moniker to be loved again
And I abjure all but my first conviction
And I abrogate all but my first enervation
And I've never felt such a symphonious dissipation
Catch my eye and hold it firmly
as I do the same to you.
Feel the smile that I wish to control me.
But I can't be so lecherous at school.
Is my circumlocution only deciduous?
Is it that time again?
Is this the equinox of my insanity?
Or am I abusing my new friend?
Can you stand this much mindless chicanery?
Because I don't think I will ever transcend.
:iconBirdkiller:Birdkiller
:iconbirdkiller:Birdkiller 6 11
Literature
Cup of Tea Promise
A cup of tea promise
starts, watered down
lies and coffee
depression.
We take a breath,
inhale the aroma of the mug,
accept what we find,
we drink to our own distaste.
Between bitter sips
warmed chests, clutched hands,
we sit in comfort of this liquid--
as if an elixir of life
snuck into the drink.
Despite cups with cracks and chips
we grip our mugs for comfort
and smile.
:iconBeccaJS:BeccaJS
:iconbeccajs:BeccaJS 91 138
anti-coke poster by littlexb anti-coke poster :iconlittlexb:littlexb 1,987 437
Literature
Swish-Cthunk
Today I went down to the Bureau of Words to trade in my autumn onomatopoeia. Usually I put it off until at least the end of November, but this year the squelch-thud of my boots in the mounds of soggy leaves brought me up sharp. I went home, gathered my dry snaps, crackles and swooshes, as well as the cheerful spthooshk of a water balloon left over from August and headed down to the department. The rain hurried down to meet my umbrella, an excellent winter sound for which I had no words. But that would soon change.
The stooped man at the front desk greeted me with a finger to his lips. "We're running the barnyard tests, so we've got to be very quiet. Get me?"
I nodded. Fortunately, the entire antechamber of the Bureau is soundproofed, so my rubber soled boots made no sound on the white carpeted floor despite leaving a great deal of mud.
"What do you have in mind for me today? I'm here for the seasonal trade-in deal."
"Well, we've got snow falling on cedars, rain dripping into a puddle o
:iconSqueak-the-Freak:Squeak-the-Freak
:iconsqueak-the-freak:Squeak-the-Freak 225 165
Freedom by tyt2000 Freedom :icontyt2000:tyt2000 47,473 6,099 Binary Love Feat Mio art by Ezekiel666 Binary Love Feat Mio art :iconezekiel666:Ezekiel666 301 150 Romance by kris-wilson Romance :iconkris-wilson:kris-wilson 2,316 450 Tattoos by Hardcoreboy Tattoos :iconhardcoreboy:Hardcoreboy 177 43 Fish Tea by Gealach Fish Tea :icongealach:Gealach 670 124 Spring II by xmarvel Spring II :iconxmarvel:xmarvel 563 158 Hold on by xmarvel Hold on :iconxmarvel:xmarvel 3,602 415 Creature of Emotion by nothingreal0 Creature of Emotion :iconnothingreal0:nothingreal0 1,020 217
Literature
penetration
Your burning white mouth,
rum-sweet and secular.
Siphon the hot sweat of your
sweet psychiatry
into my dead blood.
:iconblackamnesiaofheaven:blackamnesiaofheaven
:iconblackamnesiaofheaven:blackamnesiaofheaven 5 6
Gone. by zemotion Gone. :iconzemotion:zemotion 11,502 1,032 Window to my soul by cmulcahy Window to my soul :iconcmulcahy:cmulcahy 20 14 Wonderland by e-soulu Wonderland :icone-soulu:e-soulu 18,560 1,446

Activity


justdelighted.blogspot.com/

eloise

deviantID

Llywenlla's Profile Picture
Llywenlla
Eloise
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
Interests

Wishlist

Red Ink by DanielaUhlig Red Ink :icondanielauhlig:DanielaUhlig 17,168 756 Lullaby by Kleemass Lullaby :iconkleemass:Kleemass 2,199 172 words of love by oprisco words of love :iconoprisco:oprisco 12,271 696

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconadamoos:
Adamoos Featured By Owner Jan 17, 2007  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for watching me and have fun with dA ;)
Reply
:iconyllek:
Yllek Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2007   Writer
Hey, thanks for the add and the comment on Master of Tales! Mad, but appreciated!
Reply
:iconfuneralofhearts0:
FuneraLOfHeartS0 Featured By Owner Jan 9, 2007
good and yourself?
Reply
:iconfuneralofhearts0:
FuneraLOfHeartS0 Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2007
Hii
Reply
:iconllywenlla:
Llywenlla Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2007  Hobbyist Writer
hey!
Reply
:iconllywenlla:
Llywenlla Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2007  Hobbyist Writer
Arg, well, got an avatar loaded... One small step for womankind....
Reply
:iconllywenlla:
Llywenlla Featured By Owner Jan 5, 2007  Hobbyist Writer
Eep... deviantart is much strange and confusing... So many techy things I need to figure out...
Reply
Add a Comment: