Daily Lit Recognition for March 13th 2015 by DailyLitRecognition, journal
Daily Lit Recognition for March 13th 2015
Daily Lit Recognition for March 13th, 2015
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Poetry
Featured By: AyeAye12 (https://www.deviantart.com/ayeaye12)
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on waking alone in the night by moondrums (https://www.deviantart.com/moondrums)
A beautiful, nostalgic and observational piece.
Suggested by: comatose-comet (https://www.deviantart.com/comatose-comet)
Featured by: chromeantennae (https://www.deviantart.com/chromeantennae)
:thumb519129021:
i want by anobrain (https://www.deviantart.com/anobrain)
Suggester says: I think this poem captures exactly what it's like to have an empty word document in front of you and turns that blank space into a beautiful, well-fo
Selective Amnesia by Itsjustwordsreally, literature
Literature
Selective Amnesia
I wish I could rinse out my brain
On the back of my mind you stain
the doctor said it will remain
It may grow he tried to explain
memories of other loves fade
Count the days till it's to late
To say I LOVE YOU with hate
that's hate to my cursed faith
I used to be afraid of needles
until the day I plunged one into my arm
and it was a wave of euphoria.
Now the imp sits on my shoulder
begging, imploring, DEMANDING that I feed him
his appetite is insatiable.
He doesn't care that my life is crumbling around me
he just wants his fill.
Don't do this
Don't do that
Don't make the same mistakes
Don't follow my path
Then what should I do?
Repay our debt to them
Focus on your studies
Go home right away
Be the good little girl, unlike her
Yes, I should be perfect
Listen to your mind
Forget your heart
Don't make mistakes
Perfection is what we aim
Ah, and now its a drug
Perfection is my addiction
Or rather my mission
A cage that keeps me
From learning what not to be
Love this kind of guy
Stay away from this kind of guy
Stay realistic and bland
Imagination is but sad
Perfection addiction
A lonely addiction
God, are you listening?
Please set me free
"What`s wrong? Do you miss her?"
I`m sorry. I...
"Ah...but it`s your fault. Don`t you remember?"
No...no. I swear, I didn`t...it wasn`t...
"Liar. You hated her..."
I promise...I loved you...
"So much you couldn`t stand it."
So much I can`t stand this....
His once-steady hands--the hands of a painter, whose every stroke and line had to be deliberate and careful--shook now, violently. The room he sat in was in disarray--the accumulated detritus lay scattered like leaves at the end of fall. Crumpled sheets of paper, ripped canvas boards, snapped pencils and brushes, and broken easels were predominant among the casualties; many of the dis
So begun the apocalypse,
And ended his last eclipse,
The moon faded from the sun,
To see a figure that could no longer run,
The rays embraced him and tried to warm his heart,
But not even the light could fix a single part.
I gasped and shook Peter's sleeping form.
"I had a terrible nightmare."
"Go to sleep, honey." he groaned. I went to pull the covers over me... but my hands went straight through them.
I kept trying. My fingers failed. I whined, frustrated.
"What?" he said with brewing annoyance.
"I can't pull the covers up!" with one arm, he reached around and went to yank them. His ghostly hand reached right through them. He stared down.
"What's wrong?" I asked him quietly.
"I don't know."
"Look down there!" Blood was splattered on the floor. Peter swung himself out of bed.
He opened the door gingerly. I choked with horror at my own corpse. Blood
Untitled NaNo: Chapter 3 by AngelInSilence, literature
Literature
Untitled NaNo: Chapter 3
New Colorado
Late May, 2518 A.D.
Arielle was filled with dread the second she opened her eyes. Several posters and pictures covered the inside walls of her ‘treehouse’. This was the one space in her room that wasn’t covered with drawings and paintings. Arielle had taken some of the photos; it was easy to tell which ones, because they were the ones of flowers and buildings and animals - the ones she wasn’t in. The rest were taken by the closest person who knew how to operate Arielle’s camera.
After a few minutes of doing nothing but staring at the old photos, she finally dragged herself out of bed
To some people, it’s called breathing.
To me, it’s called inhaling poison,
Which drenches my lungs and sinks into my bones
And melts into my mind.
To some people, it’s called anxiety.
To me, it’s called an unbearable shakiness in my soul
The nervousness preventing my from ever escaping
This disease in my heart.
To some people, it’s called living.
To me, it’s called never being able to run away.
Never being able to truly go, truly leave.
To me, it’s called being caught in a nightmare,
While struggling to dream.
Chasing a mystery with no solution.
Escaping your own sanity to reach more sanity,
Freei