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I Will Stand by mearoxie, literature
Literature
I Will Stand
You are not a sunrise,
but the headlights
of a car
rounding my corner in the night.
But either way,
I will stand
here
With
mystery meat emotions
taking over me,
I will stand.
Oh yes,
I will be a stranger,
but I'll be standing.
And you.
You.
You are not a wildflower,
but a candy bar rapper
thrown carelessly
into the hungry arms of the night.
You are not a sunrise
And I am not myself
But either way,
I will stand.
Tarnish by The-Virgin-Suicide, literature
Literature
Tarnish
He was on the steps.
I tried to call out
Boy!
He didn't answer.
I kissed him and
Held his hand and
Flirted.
You see, I didn't know.
He tried to talk but nothing real came out. His words didn't know which direction to go in or how to properly form a dialogue.
"I don't think..."
"I don't know why.."
"Something just seems..."
"I just don't want to have to.."
Oh god. I'm going to break, aren't I?
By the time he was done
I was crying
So he excused himself:
Hurried off
Because he had that luxury.
Am I a tarnish on your day?
By the end of it all it felt as though
He was breaking up
And I was just breaking.
Illumination, Inspiration by UltimateMeganneko, literature
Literature
Illumination, Inspiration
There is nothing to keep me company
but the shivering wind of morning
and the rising run in my eyes
makes writing difficult,
but the pages of this journal are illuminated
and I am inspired.
Surrounded by strangers who see my writing
though none of them care to ask why.
So I fall deeper in love
with the scratch of pencil on paper.
It is the only sound I hear
in this bustling, busy place.
Stone by o-ohhai, literature
Literature
Stone
"You have a stone in your heart,"
That rouses me somewhat. I look up from my book and out the window at the gray fog that's settled over everything like wet cotton. I imagine breathing it, letting it fill my lungs with gray. All at once, the room is suffocating and I push the window open and the cool air tumbles in and ruffles the pages of my book so that I lose my place.
The spell of the story unravels and some part of me aches to know that the sort of love that exists in the storybooks is never true.
She loves the lines of him.
Her.
"Are you listening?"
"… Yes," I say without much conviction.
Rainwater pools on the windowsill.
