Necrophilia by A-Lovely-Anxiety on DeviantArt

Theme

Display Mature Content

Suppress AI Content

This deviation has been labeled as containing themes not suitable for all deviants.

Deviation Actions

Daily Deviation

October 27, 2012

Necrophilia by ~A-Lovely-Anxiety is simply written and deeply powerful.
Warning: The subject matter includes anorexia/bulimia and mentions of self harm, which may be sensitive for some readers.

Featured by neurotype-on-discord

A-Lovely-Anxiety

Published: Sep 12, 2012

11.9K Views

Literature Text

This content is unavailable.

More by A-Lovely-Anxiety

Literature

in perfect divinity, we became

i made a shrine for you out of my orgasms, dedicated to the pleasure you reminded my body of. i glued the pieces of paper made out of your mother’s abhorrence into a papier-mâché model that looks like the contempt that crawls out of the crevices in my mouth made from the jagged bones of my broken jaw. when you built me a temple, i refused to climb the steps hand-carved of young jade. “are you afraid of heights or afraid of falling?” you asked me until I became a ghost of my past. instead, I found comfort in my cage, teething at the gold-plated bars that threatened to asphyxiate me until I peaked— gnashing and grinding my rotting gums with every feeble, half-assed, inconsequential apology that oozed from between my thighs where your head lay, the culprit. i wrote novels about the way you clawed my chest open to pump my heart beating until it remembered the taste of its blood again but none of the words sounded fair when my lips molded around them to speak your love of me into

Recommended Literature

Literature

Dead Bodies Don't Cry

i. You are born with twisted feet and a pockmark on your chest. Your poor mother is drenched in sweat, straining to breathe, thanking God that it's over. She cradles you in her arms and kisses your forehead with curved lips. Your father reaches out to hold you but has to pause because your mother will not release you yet. The family pays a visit, hovering in awe, praising, laughing. You look around for someone to blame. ii. When you learn to write you use all the wrong letters because you feel sorry for the ones that get left out, like X and Z. And you wear mismatched clothes because you don't like the idea that only certain colors "go t

Literature

Crossing Ariel

Your wedding; you spoke your way toward it one prospect at a time; having not been the cripple or whore, you settled for singularity, no future or past, just announcement and umbra, joy in shade, soft smiting breath. How though did you put your children away? Mylar-eyed, squinting toward dawn. If your days had been counted purposefully, perhaps you would have gone off fatter, sated as a rook scavenging in the quiet instead of blindly staring out bread crumbs like a gassed canary. The shine of your boy's hungry mouth did not dissuade your long whim; to any call of loneliness the answer was a towel, clean and wet and a

Literature

autopsy

her spine was cracked down the middle, her skin unraveled at the seams. bloated lungs and an emaciated heart filled her no longer moving chest. her eyes were still open and her hands stretching for the last thing she ever saw, though she'd never reached it. no one knew the exact cause of death, except the shadow of a boy who avoided her funeral like it was a plague. like she was the plague.

Suggested Collections

Favourite Writings

Literature

Thanks for Nothing and Everything [Izark x Noriko]

The world Noriko had accustomed herself to had strange holidays that made no sense to a modern, Tokyo-fuddled mind. Festivals for spring, summer, for winter... they were similar in some ways, but generally based on concepts completely unique to the culture. Especially the fall Harvest festivals rampant the continent over; they were quite kin to the American "Thanksgiving," but still celebrated differently. The thought of "staying home with family" was absurd. Every man, woman and child was out and about in town, hurriedly preparing for a massive celebration; the food, the drink, the fellowship with friends and comrades, the overwhelmingly

Literature

Happy birthday Adrien

Another day, another akuma purified. Like Clockwork almost, Ladybug and Cat Noir worked together to defeat the "Collector" who had wanted to shrink landmarks and people for their collection. After the token fistbump, they prepared to go their separate ways, but before she could swing off, Cat Noir grabbed Ladybug's arm. "Say, doing anything tomorrow, m'lady?" She looked at his hand then back at his face, "Not in particular, why?" Cat let go of her arm, scratching the back of his head nervously. "Well, if you're not busy, I was wondering if we could hang out or something." Ladybug frowned, crossing her arms. "Asking me out on a DATE?" C

Literature

Miraculous 16

Marinette couldn't believe it; she would be turning sixteen soon. A lot has happened within the past year. Meeting Tikki and becoming the hero of Paris, Ladybug. Gaining a fantastic, albeit annoying, partner in Chat Noir. Meeting Adrien and forming the biggest crush on him but having a hard time speaking to him. It did get better though; through her best friend Alya's encouragement and a few partner assignments, they have a more comfortable friendship but she still was afraid to tell him her true feelings. Well, that will come when she's ready. Right now, she's trying to decide whether or not she wanted a party. She went to Chloe's Sweet 1

poetry

Literature

Idle Hands Without Any Plans

Idle Hands Without Any Plans What a way to waste a day, Watching your own flesh decay, How divine, as you may find, Getting lost in your own mind, If I may share, you're quite the pair, That is, you and your despair, This routine, even unseen, Is constant and unfailing, (but) Not to fear, just rest my dear, Tomorrow is another year.

Literature

to the boy who doesn't plan on leaving

how much of me can you swallow, love before you finally purge? I am a cartographer of bad experiences; I can locate precisely where I see our divergence extraordinaire and I can tell you before I have even met you that the skin on my hands is too dry for the softness you plan on caressing me with. let me tell you how this ends; I will show you all the people I have destroyed - flooded to the best of my ignorance, driven wild with jealousy, had whipped with lust and left smoking pot after four promises stating otherwise. let me tell you how this ends; after showing you the blessed catastrophe it is to be human, you will destroy me. you may

Literature

free bird

it’s a need to feel the suns golden fingers teasing figure eights along my back, & the wind on my cheeks. i must have been a bird in some past life, a swallow or a hummingbird. because, i swear on some nights i can feel the growing pains of an atlas ready to burst through my skin like wings. i just want to be free.

Poetry

Literature

4 am

I’m trying not to let it consume me, but it’s 4:05 am, and I’m staring at the ceiling. Bitterness wets me tongue, and I lick my parched lips. Nothing is heard throughout the house except for the soft hum of the water heater, doing work nobody sees. Somewhere in the distance, there’s a car driving down the road, although I can’t imagine who in their right mind would be driving at this time. It’s 4:06 am, now, and I can feel the beginnings of a migraine developing on the left side of my face. Maybe count backwards from 100? But it’s too late now – my brain is already running. I&#

Literature

Drip

Drip. Drip. Goes my heart. I'm loosing emotions fast. I can't seal a leak with a band-aid, so I'll wait for the storm to pass. Eco. Eco. Goes my life. I'll never come first in someone's heart. So leave me as an abandoned project, bound to fall apart. Bang. Bang. Let me in. I can't take the cold anymore I'm tired of being alone and left behind locked doors Drip. Drip. It goes again. Sealing it is getting tough. Drip. Drop. Make it stop. My heart has had enough.

Literature

grief

we were happy together. i still remember your warmth. your laugh. your smile. your love. that's why.... i don't understand. every day, i'm reminded of you, even if it's in some very little way. seeing the swings or lovers holding each other close. i always remember. because you... you were my everything. how could you have done this? why did you believe so adamantly that this would be the best path to take? now i'm left with the little pieces of myself, trying to fix them. you left me behind... and yet, i don't hate you. i can't. though you're gone, i find myself missing you more than anything else. i loved you. i trusted you. i wanted t

Featured in Groups

_{Quote is from Wasted, Marya Hornbacher.

Word count: 5,249.

This is my masterpiece, okay? I spent a week on this baby. It's my longest short story ever. It's made the most impact. My best friend, who never cries, ever, cried at this. It's apparently that moving. I mean, my heart was racing and I was the one writing it. Yeah.

This piece is special to me. In a few ways, Jenna is like me. The whole anorexic --> bulimic thing happened. Not exactly in the way I told it, because I never had a romance or nuffin', but yeah... That was me.

I got inspiration for this from lots of different people, things, stories, movies, music. I couldn't name everything. Wasted was a big inspiration, though. Everyone should read it in my opinion.

Anyways, if you did read the whole thing... thanks. I appreciate it. I know it's long and I know a lot of dA is made up of people who don't have the attention span to read long things, but I really hope you do and I really hope to inspire people and open their eyes about what it happening in the world.

Thanks <3}

Mature