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SilverInkblot

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Deviations

Gallery

Nabbing the Badge

All

889 deviations

Storm

I remember myself kneeling on the pillows while watching the rain, listening for the phone. Kneeling on the pillows behind an open window, listening for the phone, waiting for your to call. Behind an open window, the rain splashes the sill. Waiting for you to call I sigh resignedly. The rain splashes the sill; the phone lays dark. I sigh resignedly as thunder rumbles. The phone lays dark while watching the rain; as thunder rumbles, I remember myself.

Featured

392 deviations
Madalas

Personal Favorites

207 deviations

Types of Intimacy

He told me he sleeps in a t-shirt – and only a t-shirt. The image won’t leave my head; this body, so familiar to me, yet barricaded by layers of fabric – I have never seen the joints of his elbows, the slope of his spine, the terrain of his stomach – but I have felt their presence through wool and cotton, known their warmth in brief moments of contact. And there’s a strange intrigue to modesty, knowing his psychology but not his physique. I have found strength in his words and wisdom in his hands; I have plunged these depths past fondness and into familiarity and found, here, in the dark of his ocean, that I c

DD's and DLD's

17 deviations

A Little Taller

I never noticed that you were taller than me by a few scant inches. You have always looked at me eye to eye: a perfectly horizontal line: an exchange of power - you, giving; and me, receiving. You have always made me walk a little faster, think a little quicker, speak a little louder. And now I know; that in your presence, I have always been a little taller.

Doc

44 deviations

I have chased you through a thousand novels.

You saw her under a black umbrella on the corner of Cherry and Wessex. Dark eyes, dark hair, pale skin; her rainbow polka dot rubber boots felt incongruous under the orange street lamp as she stepped back, avoiding the wave created by a passing taxi. The rain splatters over the taut black curve of her umbrella in a melody you almost recognize before the tempo changes with her impatience and she walks into the street just before the walk sign changes. You start from your place under the awning of a small-time lawyer in a small-time town - the compulsion to follow her, to know her, is suddenly unbearable. You duck into the rain, heading for th

Prosetry

31 deviations

The only sorrow I have left

Should your loss feel too great to keep at bay, call up all the gains that fill your missing piece - what could bring the smile back to your face easier than a memory, misting in your eyes? Simple but not simplistic masonry, built brick by brick, but a glass house breaking, its foundation intrinsic to the whole, already knitting up fast together. Decades, piled like dominoes - the fall can't negate the joy in building your tower high. The grief will come and go. The joy will buoy you up unyielding. So when it comes for you, feel not bereft; the only sorrow left is for yourself.

Poetry

317 deviations

Genitive

I’m a linguist; I get a lot of dates. My aspirations meet their bilabial approximants in monophthong, glottal hums that turn into shocked diphthongs and fucking infixes, palatalized by each glide of voiceless fricatives. I’m a linguist; I get a lot of dates.

Technical Romance

12 deviations

It's February but it could be April

It’s 1:26PM and it’s beautiful outside. I can hear the wind ringing distant chimes through my open window and the low rumble of a car going by mingles with the sound of wind in the trees in a way that sounds like the ocean. It’s February but it could be April – the sunshine jumps in and out of clouds and the neighbor’s dogs are barking at the sound of a train passing through. Each whistle sets them off again until the boxcars disappear down the track. My fluffy cat is scratching at the door because the breeze blew it closed again;  I let her in and she jumps on the small, navy ottoman to stare serenely out the w

Fragments and Micro Fiction

54 deviations

Reciprocation

There was always one person that organized a Secret Santa every year, usually a girl, and usually an overachieving type that wanted an excuse to plan a full-on Christmas party. He didn’t mind them planning it on their own time, but had to limit parties to nibbling cookies while he continued teaching. There was just too much to do in a year to stop, even for the holidays. Especially for the holidays if he were honest. Christmas tidings came at the worst time for a professor; during finals. He never participated in the gift exchanges, though he sometimes advised his students in theirs when approached. It wasn’t that he was disinter

They Needed Their Own Folder

34 deviations

Tibet

I found a poem caught between your knucklebones like a prayer flag.

Glory-Be-Project

61 deviations

Wendigo

Norma Jean drew a heart on the back of my hand in hoop snake blood. “When that fades,” she said, tapping the center of her work, “you may forget about me.” Norma Jean and I dated on and off through high school and then some. We grew up wandering the forest and exploring the caverns surrounding Ripple Creek, running from the hide-behinds and hodags when we stumbled too far into their territory. The backwoods of Minnesota were our playground, from the shores of Loon Lake to the edge of Crazy Dan’s property, where the pine trees grew so tall you couldn’t see the sky. The day Norma Jean disappeared, I saw a

Other Literature

42 deviations

Dvorak

Br rb. ,abyo yr n.apb aiacbv

Six Word Stories

72 deviations
Madalas

Stuff I Made

237 deviations

Superimpose

He doesn't look like a gymnast. He's all button down shirts and frazzled grey hair framing wire spectacles, a picture perfect professorial archetype down to the very tips of his frayed shoelaces. But he was a gymnast once, or so he tells us, and I believe him because he smiles like he knows something while he's chatting before class. It's strange to see that image superimposed over the current one – the distinguished professor in pressed khaki slacks and a jacket, worn brown loafers exuding a faintly courteous manner (you can always tell them by their shoes), and a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand – versus the athletic ki

Flash Fiction Month

76 deviations
Lit Tag 27

Lit Tags

15 deviations
Nabbing the Badge

Photos

65 deviations
October Eyes

Wordles

5 deviations

Wendigo

Norma Jean drew a heart on the back of my hand in hoop snake blood. “When that fades,” she said, tapping the center of her work, “you may forget about me.” Norma Jean and I dated on and off through high school and then some. We grew up wandering the forest and exploring the caverns surrounding Ripple Creek, running from the hide-behinds and hodags when we stumbled too far into their territory. The backwoods of Minnesota were our playground, from the shores of Loon Lake to the edge of Crazy Dan’s property, where the pine trees grew so tall you couldn’t see the sky. The day Norma Jean disappeared, I saw a

Crit-plz

10 deviations

Lesser Expressions

This ache defines my body – crosses, uncrosses my legs, traces fingers along curvatures unmapped by foreign travelers. This want defines my time – turns sleep into daydreams, matches my schedule to yours, walking beside, one shy footstep at a time. This love defines my life – shapes my body to be softer, my time to be flexible, my heart to be richer. The ache and want become sharper, but calmed, content in being lesser expressions of something far greater.

Chapbook

8 deviations
Workspace

Scraps

37 deviations