Roads Not Traveled by SugarCoveredDreams, literature
Literature
Roads Not Traveled
I am young and do not understand the world beyond my driveway. I have yet to step foot on sidewalks just past lines that are far too wide for my legs to cross over in one bound. Yet to see life from beyond my bedroom widow, covered with homemade curtains that only stay there because they collect dust far better than any swiffer duster ever could.
So do not ask me to write about streets I have yet to walk to upon and road I haven't traveled yet.
Because I cannot write about the boy that brought heartache, nor the empty spaces between bed sheets and fingers and heartbeats. I cannot write about addiction that leaves bones shivering in skin, fi
I have stolen your words
And inscribed them on a place
Where they cannot be erased
I have robbed your thoughts
And made them my own
By hiding them inside my bones.
I have copied your soul
And placed it where only I can see
So that you will always be with me
Five years is a long time to wait, but Ive been waiting on you forever. I've been sitting on your doorstep since before I could tie my shoes, waiting for the sun to come out, waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for your smile to bloom. Nothing could ever make you happy, but a smile from you would light me up for days.
Summers were our haven, because you enjoyed being the destructive one and the sunlight made your broken bits shine even brighter. We would sneak out of our houses once the sun had set just to lay in the wet grass and tell stories of the things weighing us down, but it never seemed to make you hurt any less. My first ta
Dana sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at the cold floorboards beneath her bare feet. The wooden boards were scuffed and grungy, the brown of the wood long since changed to a slightly rusty coloration, whether due to stains or use or what, she wasn't sure. They were as desolate as she; used over and over again, before being ditched as soon as the person walking could afford something better, the scratches shining like so many scars in the wood surface.
She wondered if the wood felt the pain of each scratch as she did.
Her scars were more internal than that, though. You had to look deep for the ones e
I think I'm crazy, maybe by Awasteof-paint, literature
Literature
I think I'm crazy, maybe
"Dear girl,
what happened to you?"
"three beers and a glass of baileys. it wasnt much, but it did the job. I puked up my dinner and went to sleep. tell me, what sort of things do you like?"
"I like blue eyes and skies, oceans, and fields that look like they have no end. they make me think maybe people have no end, too."
"I have blue eyes."
"then I must like you."
-
"Dear boy,
I'm wearing a turtle neck sweater; you're wearing a rabbit foot's luck. I don't know if we're moving too fast or not fast enough."
"this is wrong."
"I know."
"I could stop, but I won't."
"I can't stop, but I'll try."
-
"Dear boy,
dont write me
1
You are my mystery,
I cant tell you what I see
when you gaze at me.
Im lost in our dialogue,
lapped by our wordlessness.
2
Eyes speak quietly,
exchanging intimacies
yet to be explored.
Desire like electricity,
Lightning flash between our eyes
3
These empty eyes
have seen too much. Once they smiled,
dancing, full of life.
Now they stare from blank faces
white as kabuki make-up.
4
The destructive trance
of war has stunned them, their youth
has been stolen away.
These eyes, still living, able
only to see shades and death.