until then and after by rainb0wdelight, literature
Literature
until then and after
once every year i sit,
and recount every moment that
you broke my heart,
wondering exactly what your
thoughts were and why you
did what you did.
i know at least one of
those times was a mutual
agreement, that you didn't
want me clinging on to
something,
someone that
may not return to
my arms.
but the rest...
i always tell myself
in the end it didn't matter,
that you were mine,
are mine still,
will always be mine
but i worry that i will
end up pushing you away
again somehow.
it seems to be what
i'm good at doing.
however,
it's been four years,
four months,
and nine days as of
now, as of this moment
that i write this,
that we have been
once upon a time, forever. by rainb0wdelight, literature
Literature
once upon a time, forever.
I.
there we were again,
standing like two lost souls
in the midst of the snow;
like two bewildered deer
in the light of each other's
eyes.
neither of us knew what
to say--if anything at all.
neither of us knew what
to do, if there was
something we should do,
or if we should turn and
go our separate ways.
but in no time, he was
at my side,
eyes turned down.
"would you... like
some coffee?"
the question was
so familiar and
i knew just how
to answer--
even if i told
myself i shouldn't.
II.
instead of discussing the
world or our views, or
the very uncomfortable
feeling we both clearly
held in this moment,
we sat silent, exchanging
an occ
i don't know how to
ask for help.
my tongue dries up
and i find myself
choking on every word
i want to speak but
c a n n o t
i'm supposed to be
p e r f e c t
i'm supposed to be
exsquisitely happy.
i'm supposed to
f o r g i v e
and
f o r g e t
but how does one do
that so easily?
it's not
it's not easy and
with this, with me
it's not possible.
i'm sick of feeling like
this, sick of feeling like
i'm drowning, like i'm
s u f f o c a t i n g
but it doesn't go away.
i'm begging for help
beneath my facade
and my plastic smile;
i'm pleading for help
between my quiet
chuckles and crinkled
e y e s
but it's a language that
cannot be heard, tha
to watch a world filled
with so much hatred and
judgement only go further
spiral is truly
traumatic;
to transition from the
innocence of childhood
to the cold darkness
of growing older; it's
like being drowned in
a bathtub full of ice
water;
the days you had were,
are still always there
but you can't grasp them
and your chest tightens
with the thought that all
of that time will be
forgotten;
and it is.
i've found a place,
a world of desolate
emotion, marching
forward without a
second thought,
one by one like
robots right off of
the edge of forever
into a silent abyss.
nothing hurts;
everything hurts.
don't bother teaching me
melodies and verses of
bliss.
don't bother watching me
try to smile while i
splinter at the corners
of my lips.
don't bother with happy
endings--because i'm
writing nightmares
in my head,
daily, nightly,
every moment i breathe.
and i may never be okay,
but that's okay, because
maybe i'm not meant to be okay.
there is a spring that resides far from
the clutches of man, hidden deep
beneath a shroud of trees in its
own private clearing littered with
the remnants of what used to be.
deserted by those which used to
dwell among the trees--a lyrical
bunch of unseen beings,
ones who were saintly in their
innocence and naïveté--
the lonesome holder of this
spring, a spirit, floats quietly,
sorrowfully, bent to the will
of tyrants,
monsters who bore falacy,
false promises.
"you may live within these
waters," the spring's spirit
had offered, "so long as you
vow to leave my waters mellow,
and bury yourselves deep
beneath, at the farthest de
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I kept thinking to myself, 'What the hell is that noise?' while I stared at the black, leather-bound journal I held open with my right wrist. I heard it between guitar riffs through the slender headphones over my ears. I had even paused the music, assuming the noise to be part of this peculiar song, but it continued. It was several minutes later when it dawned on me—the sound was my fingers anxiously rapping the pencil I held against the plywood desk. I sighed, a tremor in the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Anxiety had always been part of me, since my family's home had been 'burglarized' as a child. I
there is nothing;
an emptiness, a void
in the pit of my heart where
you once resided
it is still,
it is lifeless and dark
once we had
been something,
fading, disintegrating
falling into nothing at all
and in time, even
our greetings became soft-spoken,
silent.
until then and after by rainb0wdelight, literature
Literature
until then and after
once every year i sit,
and recount every moment that
you broke my heart,
wondering exactly what your
thoughts were and why you
did what you did.
i know at least one of
those times was a mutual
agreement, that you didn't
want me clinging on to
something,
someone that
may not return to
my arms.
but the rest...
i always tell myself
in the end it didn't matter,
that you were mine,
are mine still,
will always be mine
but i worry that i will
end up pushing you away
again somehow.
it seems to be what
i'm good at doing.
however,
it's been four years,
four months,
and nine days as of
now, as of this moment
that i write this,
that we have been
once upon a time, forever. by rainb0wdelight, literature
Literature
once upon a time, forever.
I.
there we were again,
standing like two lost souls
in the midst of the snow;
like two bewildered deer
in the light of each other's
eyes.
neither of us knew what
to say--if anything at all.
neither of us knew what
to do, if there was
something we should do,
or if we should turn and
go our separate ways.
but in no time, he was
at my side,
eyes turned down.
"would you... like
some coffee?"
the question was
so familiar and
i knew just how
to answer--
even if i told
myself i shouldn't.
II.
instead of discussing the
world or our views, or
the very uncomfortable
feeling we both clearly
held in this moment,
we sat silent, exchanging
an occ
i don't know how to
ask for help.
my tongue dries up
and i find myself
choking on every word
i want to speak but
c a n n o t
i'm supposed to be
p e r f e c t
i'm supposed to be
exsquisitely happy.
i'm supposed to
f o r g i v e
and
f o r g e t
but how does one do
that so easily?
it's not
it's not easy and
with this, with me
it's not possible.
i'm sick of feeling like
this, sick of feeling like
i'm drowning, like i'm
s u f f o c a t i n g
but it doesn't go away.
i'm begging for help
beneath my facade
and my plastic smile;
i'm pleading for help
between my quiet
chuckles and crinkled
e y e s
but it's a language that
cannot be heard, tha
to watch a world filled
with so much hatred and
judgement only go further
spiral is truly
traumatic;
to transition from the
innocence of childhood
to the cold darkness
of growing older; it's
like being drowned in
a bathtub full of ice
water;
the days you had were,
are still always there
but you can't grasp them
and your chest tightens
with the thought that all
of that time will be
forgotten;
and it is.
i've found a place,
a world of desolate
emotion, marching
forward without a
second thought,
one by one like
robots right off of
the edge of forever
into a silent abyss.
nothing hurts;
everything hurts.
don't bother teaching me
melodies and verses of
bliss.
don't bother watching me
try to smile while i
splinter at the corners
of my lips.
don't bother with happy
endings--because i'm
writing nightmares
in my head,
daily, nightly,
every moment i breathe.
and i may never be okay,
but that's okay, because
maybe i'm not meant to be okay.
there is a spring that resides far from
the clutches of man, hidden deep
beneath a shroud of trees in its
own private clearing littered with
the remnants of what used to be.
deserted by those which used to
dwell among the trees--a lyrical
bunch of unseen beings,
ones who were saintly in their
innocence and naïveté--
the lonesome holder of this
spring, a spirit, floats quietly,
sorrowfully, bent to the will
of tyrants,
monsters who bore falacy,
false promises.
"you may live within these
waters," the spring's spirit
had offered, "so long as you
vow to leave my waters mellow,
and bury yourselves deep
beneath, at the farthest de
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I kept thinking to myself, 'What the hell is that noise?' while I stared at the black, leather-bound journal I held open with my right wrist. I heard it between guitar riffs through the slender headphones over my ears. I had even paused the music, assuming the noise to be part of this peculiar song, but it continued. It was several minutes later when it dawned on me—the sound was my fingers anxiously rapping the pencil I held against the plywood desk. I sighed, a tremor in the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Anxiety had always been part of me, since my family's home had been 'burglarized' as a child. I
there is nothing;
an emptiness, a void
in the pit of my heart where
you once resided
it is still,
it is lifeless and dark
once we had
been something,
fading, disintegrating
falling into nothing at all
and in time, even
our greetings became soft-spoken,
silent.
With
The way the clocks creep
And
The way the plants gasp
And
The way the shadows shout
And
The way the children skitter
And
The way the tapes know
And
The way the sounds laugh
And
The way the judges sing
And
The way the insects grow
And
The way the people love
It's
Merciful that I'm already insane
Welcome to the one-hundred thirty-eighth issue of Love dA Lit! :happybounce: Every Sunday this article will aim to promote volunteer opportunities, various resources, prompts, challenges, and workshops, as well as highlighting various contests, and spotlighting a specific group or project for two weeks. This is by no means a complete list of all the literature going-ons, merely a tool to help you get involved and stay informed.
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december train station. by rainb0wdelight, literature
Literature
december train station.
I.
we met one rainy afternoon,
standing at the platform and
waiting for the train to come.
as strangers, we never said a
word to each other. it was only
by accident that i brushed his
shoulder with mine and quickly
apologized. he told me it was
not a problem, then asked if
i would like some coffee, for
apparently i looked cold. i'm
wondering if he realized then
how cold i really was.
(especially on the inside.)
II.
he didn't believe in love, or
that's at least what he told
me. he especially didn't
believe in love at first sight.
i asked him why he had offered
a stranger coffee, just for
brushing against him and
he la
» married. ♥ 11 Dec 2011 » hardly writing anymore. » currently employed in a factory as a glorified janitor if that gives you any clues on how my life is going. » no human babies, but two precious fur children. » living in arkansas, still, but did manage to move away for a few months. » will hopefully eventually get back into writing, and hopefully it'll be halfway decent.
He's a year younger than me and he finally just turned 21. xD I'm so proud. Now he's finally legal to do pretty much whatever. No more buying alcohol--he gets to do it now.
In other news, I'm working on my comeback slowly.. I want to be able to provide a good amount of material to come back with. :) Good material, nonetheless and that takes some effort. My writing ability has pretty much gone to shit.
For those of you still sticking with me, thanks. It means a lot, considering I haven't been putting myself out there a lot lately.
I'm going to attempt to start writing things to make a comeback to deviantART. I haven't given up yet! Just.. need a little more time. :) I appreciate everyone who's still stuck around as a watcher on this account.
BUT HEY, MY HUSBAND AND I HAVE A HOUSE NOW AND I LIVE IN CALIFORNIA. :D
Journals are difficult to figure out now.. Anyway, I grew a year older and I haven't been on here--legitimately on here--in forever. Of course, I appear here to realize why. No one can just leave shit alone. Everyone has become trolls. This makes me roll my eyes a lot. So I'm probably just going to disable comments on everything I've written because god knows no one is old enough anymore to comprehend certain things.