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Deviation Actions
Literature Text
step one
cry. scream. bang your fists against the walls
that keep you locked inside.
kick your feet in the air. tell your sister she's stupid
and wrong and that you've never loved her.
cry. scream. apologize via him to you.
let your tears catch on your lashes
until you can no longer see anything but your own
demise. taste the bitterness left in
your mouth from your own bitching and rot in it.
step two
break a mug. break two. kick
the pieces around the kitchen floor and cry some more.
break a plate. break a cup. break a bowl.
break a finger because nothing can take away this
sort of pain. you are empty and yet
you are filled with so much anger.
break a razor and paint pictures across your skin.
step three
you are okay, you tell them.
you break three days later and you lie
in bed, unable to move.
step four
start picking up the pieces. clean up the mess
you've made and he's left.
use windex to polish off the dirt and
buff out the scratches while you are at it.
wash the carpet where the blood
stained and vacuum over it. date someone else.
and when he takes advantage of
you wish on every fucking star in the night sky
that he would come back damnit please
come back.
step five
cry because that's all you do these days
is cry yourself a river.
and you just keep hoping that one day it'll take
you in its currents and drown you so that
you don't have to do it yourself.
step six
congratulations.
you're still broken, but it's okay because
just look at how mosaics are made.
you're beautiful if you're still breathing, baby.
Literature
Six Words for the Suffering
Pain ends, but you must not.
Literature
Melancholy thoughts
I taste
the sweetness
in your words,
only to wonder
how many others
have tasted
them too.
Literature
five second suicide
and as i pour myself out on these canvases
i drip over the edges, spilling dots of
absence on the hungry earth.
they call me jane doe,
and i am not art.
every evening, i close the door,
close my eyes, disassemble.
slowly, i've become fleeting.
i float, my feet don't touch the ground.
how can i crash?
i fade, i dissolve,
but i've lost the motive to explode.
there's no glory in my death;
i leave no trace of the dramatic.
a man on the train last tuesday
nudged me, apologized, and carried on his way.
he's the last person who's
spoken to me since then.
we hit a notch in the tracks,
the car wobbled.
i stared at him silently,
counting the infini
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hating life.
© 2013 - 2024 A-Lovely-Anxiety
Comments42
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Your poems are some of the most powerful things I have ever read