ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
April 3, 2011
The suggester writes: snowbones by =wish-sticks is incredibly well-written and intense, feeding the reader images that are both horrific and hopeful. The entire poem is a brilliant metaphor for life in general.
(Suggested by =bowie-loon123 on behalf of *Dailylitdeviations)
Featured by Halatia
Literature Text
holding my hands over the kettle
the skin on my fingertips peels back,
like dated wallpaper,
like flowers blooming.
they're burning from the inside out,
nails turning to varnish, turning to steam,
bones click-clacking their way out;
spreading like wildfire.
the whistling stops, and
blink
and my fingers are just fingers,
ink stained, bitten nails.
sunlight streams across the kitchen,
my fingers warm and
slightly damp, i trace patterns on
steamed-up windows.
the skin on my fingertips peels back,
like dated wallpaper,
like flowers blooming.
they're burning from the inside out,
nails turning to varnish, turning to steam,
bones click-clacking their way out;
spreading like wildfire.
the whistling stops, and
blink
and my fingers are just fingers,
ink stained, bitten nails.
sunlight streams across the kitchen,
my fingers warm and
slightly damp, i trace patterns on
steamed-up windows.
Literature
annabbelle
(two ays, two enns, two bees, two ells, to ease)
i met a girl who wanted two
of everything, to
reach out for your hand, so she could have another one, too.
Literature
distinction
This is what I cannot understand.
There is an understanding that nothing is ever black and white. Good can be achieved through bad means, what's wrong can sometimes be right, and if you turn right for long enough, you eventually go left. Boys can be girls who fall in love with girls who sometimes think they are boys and the lines between everything end up irreversibly blurred.
Or so I've always thought.
But this is a line that cannot be blurred. This is the only remaining clear-cut line that separates black from white as perfectly as a color wheel. And that is the fact that everything is until it isn't. We are until we aren't. We breathe u
Literature
From Whence She Came
Back down to the sea-floor she goes
back to the coracle-clusters and starfish that
clamour, cling to her heart too tight,
walking barefoot towards where she
came from. It is too hard walking on
earth, the way she wears pain like a wedding ring
frightens people.
Back down, down, crawling on her belly
on the forest-floor, alive with the buzz and crawl
of worms and bird-prey. Back where she belongs with her
crazy palpitating wolf-heart, her bloody
deer-throat leaking in the snow, her yellow
eyes in the dark.
Back down, beyond subway trains, piano lessons,
falling rain, from whence she came, to the snow-covered womb
where she fir
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
My example entry for #prompt-o-matic's prompt this week:
STEAM.
Go check it out!
OHMYGODWHAT
THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO HAS OR IS ABOUT TO FAVE THIS
I CAN'T EVEN HOW HAPPY I AM RIGHT NOW.
STEAM.
Go check it out!
OHMYGODWHAT
THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO HAS OR IS ABOUT TO FAVE THIS
I CAN'T EVEN HOW HAPPY I AM RIGHT NOW.
Comments137
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Amazing! Such a well deserved daily deviation.
