Theme

Display Mature Content

Suppress AI Content

literature

circles don't stop kid

Deviation Actions

Aquarius-Claire

Published: Jun 21, 2011

327 Views

Literature Text

i drink lime juice straight from bottle
standing up in front of the fridge
at two in the morning
and eat pretzels dipped in
mayonnaise and i am still
wearing her shirt.

the mix cd she made me
won't play
on my hello kitty boom
box.

i stare at a watery beer
for twenty minutes
in the hard light of
my kitchen.

and i don't want to let
her go and i don't want
love to ever hurt like this.

and i don't want her to
fuck other guys on the
roof where she kissed me.

and i don't want gil scott
heron to have stopped writing
poems and i don't want
a lot of things and it doesn't
even matter.

i put the beer back
and drink more lime juice.
the acid calms my spinning head,
it's strange how that
happens, sometimes.

More by Aquarius-Claire

Literature

not a 12 part poem

the man on the bench had a laugh like an empty can of paint falling down the stairs. that means i liked him. i liked a lot of people then, it kept me warm. that november i was awake if only inside of my own head. my friends and i had a candle made out of an altoids tin and it kept us warm. i kept it in my pocket even though it got so hot it almost burned. i kept it in my pocket even still. everyone wanted to see the tunnels we had found behind the buildings. we took them to the tunnels. the can of paint rattled around inside of my head, the man was laughing over and over again, we found a tunnel behind a building, and a candle to keep us wa

Recommended Literature

Literature

12

The anger fades over time even while I'm angry the edges fade and break and crumble the lot turns to a black sludge it falls from my mind fills up the hollow spaces the empty pieces in my heart the ventricles overflow, ooze I have become a thing I hate.

Literature

Write-a-Novel Exercise 1.2

Disclaimer The following is a typed out version of chapter 1 “Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone” by J.K. Rowling. This is not an original piece of work but a one-page excerpt typed out, by hand, for the purpose of commentary and education. I am not trying to “improve” the original text, only learn about writing by altering it for different effects and to learn the techniques that Rowling masters so well. Chapter one - Original version Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into

Literature

11 pm thoughts

I've decided that I'm me. I'm ash from bones eroded by words of acid and purple black skin that's turning yellow even if I'm not truly healing these bruises, they scar. I'm ice from glares of green eyes that I do not recognize as my own because I've always wanted to look in the mirror and see kind eyes. I see a stranger. I'm not fiery I do not attract people like moths to a flame, my flame is almost out, barely flickering I'm cold, I'm blue and everyone's favorite color is red. I'm not brave most of the times I'm afraid to get out of bed in the morning but goddamnit I try and fail and fail a bit better the next day and start all over a

Suggested Collections

Poetry

Literature

A Robot Love Poem

01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00101100 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01100100 01100001 01110010 01101100 01101001 01101110 01100111 00101100 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01100100 01100101 01100001 01110010 00100000 01110011 01110111 01100101 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101101 01100101 01110100 01100001 01101100 01101100 01101001 01100011 00100000 01101100 01100001 01100100 01111001 00100000 01110010 01101111 01100010 01101111 01110100

Literature

stormchaser

dear sarah, yesterday I tried to swallow the sun. it burned me up on the inside until even my skin was hot to the touch, and I thought of you. I hope you have found better ways than me to feel lighter. heaven knows there are days where I still trade my feet for concrete blocks and try to sprint to the finish line, but at least I have stopped straying towards the riverbanks. at least I get out of bed. most days, that’s enough. but if you tell me that most days life still feels like a choice you’re making every minute, I will tell you that I understand. I have spent years trying to outrun my sadness, sipping sunlight until my vision blurs and looking up only to realize I’ve been going in circles and calling it progress. every escape I ever made is a town I can never go back to and I’m not better for it. I carry so many graveyards around inside of me, and I’ve lost count of how many bridges I’ve burned because I confused loving with leaving. take my sadness away, I don’t

Literature

girls on a roof.

aphrodite passes the blunt to persephone, says you have to tell me how you did that, how you seduced hades and they sit there on the roof, the stars twinkling. persephone looks youthful in a way that’s untouched, as if she’s somehow eternally seventeen or made of sunshine. i didn’t have to do much, she says. and aphrodite who’s spent years reading gossip mags & articles about “ true love ” thinks about how she saw hades take off his leather jacket & wrap it around persephone’s shoulders, easy as breathing. kissed the side of her head. gave

Poetry to Be Read Repeatedly

Literature

Ribcage

The cage in my chest is more that just a rack of bones encasing my heart and lungs. It is as strong as iron bars- a self made prison where I am the jailbird, The demons are the guards, My Id is the warden. My past is a weapon that my captors taunt me with, Jabbing through the bars and piercing my heart. They mock my attempts to be humble and belittle my desire for repentance. They sneer at me when I pray for forgiveness of my sins. It is always one step forward, two steps back. I was too young when I put myself in this prison, And now I am too old

Literature

Ring of Fire

Where Fire and Earth meet We are molten, tectonic Dancing the interface, frisson subsonic My solid foundation, floor of the ocean Your underlying perpetual motion Fluid dynamic, abyssal plummet Twine, combine to fulminant summit Convergent, we build Transforming, we change My coastal tsunami Your mountain range Together we are megalithic, volcanic Irresistible force, magnetic, galvanic.

Literature

December 17th 2015 (Black Dog)

The black dog wakens Snapping and snarling at me So it’s time to run Though I won’t be fast enough Truth is I’m never enough Cause that old black dog He’s been hunting me for years And he knows my tricks Every which way I might turn That old dog is there for me I can feel its jaws Yeah they’re pressing on down My ribs start to crack And my heart, it starts to tear Cause I think my time has come And that old black dog is there

Stories and Poems

Literature

My Life Story Isn't A Poem

This is what it feels like to crumble down in a blazing squall. You are muffled gunshots wrecking yourself in high speed collision with his brass armor. You compress every eruption by choking ashes and swallowing shatter glasses because god forbid you are a frostbitten girl with hitched breath and messed up mascara and god forbid you are explosive and god forbid you crumble down because no, you are an inspiration and you are clenched fist and sculpted chest, you are concrete and you are statue, you are the ice cold dusk and YOU DON

Literature

Why Books Suck

Let me write you a story of all you want to hear. Of intercourse and romance, drugs and beer. Of simple plots and story devices, where no thinking is required. I'll even make it into a series, everything you've desired. Pick it up in the middle, why not? It's all the same. So-and-so get together, there's sex on every page. It's the best story in the world, and it only took me six days! Don't worry about morals, there's none to be learned. If you hate life-long lessons, then enjoy every word. The characters are flat with the basic of descriptions, with no voice of their own. If one dies, no tears will be shed, there's another just arou

Literature

to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub.

i. to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub: in the magazine I own that published your story, they blurred out the crime scene photographs, erasing your face and the full curves of your breasts. some part of me wonders if you would have wanted this, or if you would have liked for the public to see you in your final moments, half-soaked in grey-looking water, your hair in strings, glued to the porcelain, eyes closed and mouth gaping, no breath stirring, no bubbles rising. ii. sometimes when I look into the depths of my bathroom sink, I hear your voice (or what I imagine it to be-- after all, we never met). you sit on the edge

because you guys asked for it

Comments12

Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In

ilyilaice

Jul 16, 2011

Lime juice sounds awesome. And so it this poem.

It's kind ... of angry in a way that's resigned and it makes me a little angry as well. At no one really. Just generally angry.

ANYWAY, I love how this poem starts. It's so casual and yet the theme gets deeper. I like that.

DeviantArt - Homepage

DeviantArt Facebook DeviantArt Instagram DeviantArt Twitter

About Contact Core Membership DeviantArt Protect

Developers Advertise Terms of Service Etiquette

Careers Privacy Policy Copyright Policy Help and FAQ

Watch Team and join our Community Group for the latest updates and activities.

Join Community