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Literature Text
There’s a knife in her chest.
It takes a moment to register it, her mind in that strange world nobody else can enter, but eventually, as it claws deeper into her skin and skewers the blood out of her breasts, she is allowed to say that yes, there is a knife in her chest.
Trembling hands reach up to try and pry the dagger out of her bleeding ribcage as natural instinct tries to overpower the shock taking over her body, ‘There’s a knife in your chest, get it out - GET IT OUT’
A harsh gasp escapes her lips as she can finally move her eyes upwards to focus burdened eyes on the one committing this sin, the one whose ripping away her promised salvation, the one whose ripping away the reels of her life - the reels that would’ve given her the missing pieces.
A blanket of blood is draping over her, trying to keep her warm as the coldness begins to worm it’s way around her limbs, forming crystals in her bones that she allows to halt her movement, allows to lull her to sleep…sleep…sleep
‘Wake up, wake up, wake UP!’
Her vocal chords rip and shriek as she bolts upright, quivering hands automatically reaching up towards her heart, discovering there was no knife, no hole, just a nightmare slipping away from the edges of her brain. Shadows slumber on her face, undisturbed, uncaring.
She shakes her head furiously, wiping away the tears that had started to cascade down her face. Strangled breaths threaten to choke her as her eyes land on an old photograph, faded and worn from time, the moment slipping off the pages and expiring with the colours as she stares. ‘They’re all the same. She’ll hurt you too SHE’LL HURT YOU TOO’
Shivers run down her spine as the night-air slaps her awake as she fights desperately to dwell on her dream, to fight with the voice inside her head that she tries to rid of by smacking her head against the wall behind her.
Even with the threat gone, survival instincts take over, taunted by the mind that keeps telling her someone’s outside her door. Every thud become the shoes creeping closer, every yowl becomes the taunting of all those similar and every second is something that needs to be clung onto.
She doubles over as pain scratches at her heart, clawing it’s way into places a knife cannot as she prays it had been different, prays it would've given that note on her desk a purpose and prays that dream had been reality.
It takes a moment to register it, her mind in that strange world nobody else can enter, but eventually, as it claws deeper into her skin and skewers the blood out of her breasts, she is allowed to say that yes, there is a knife in her chest.
Trembling hands reach up to try and pry the dagger out of her bleeding ribcage as natural instinct tries to overpower the shock taking over her body, ‘There’s a knife in your chest, get it out - GET IT OUT’
A harsh gasp escapes her lips as she can finally move her eyes upwards to focus burdened eyes on the one committing this sin, the one whose ripping away her promised salvation, the one whose ripping away the reels of her life - the reels that would’ve given her the missing pieces.
A blanket of blood is draping over her, trying to keep her warm as the coldness begins to worm it’s way around her limbs, forming crystals in her bones that she allows to halt her movement, allows to lull her to sleep…sleep…sleep
‘Wake up, wake up, wake UP!’
Her vocal chords rip and shriek as she bolts upright, quivering hands automatically reaching up towards her heart, discovering there was no knife, no hole, just a nightmare slipping away from the edges of her brain. Shadows slumber on her face, undisturbed, uncaring.
She shakes her head furiously, wiping away the tears that had started to cascade down her face. Strangled breaths threaten to choke her as her eyes land on an old photograph, faded and worn from time, the moment slipping off the pages and expiring with the colours as she stares. ‘They’re all the same. She’ll hurt you too SHE’LL HURT YOU TOO’
Shivers run down her spine as the night-air slaps her awake as she fights desperately to dwell on her dream, to fight with the voice inside her head that she tries to rid of by smacking her head against the wall behind her.
Even with the threat gone, survival instincts take over, taunted by the mind that keeps telling her someone’s outside her door. Every thud become the shoes creeping closer, every yowl becomes the taunting of all those similar and every second is something that needs to be clung onto.
She doubles over as pain scratches at her heart, clawing it’s way into places a knife cannot as she prays it had been different, prays it would've given that note on her desk a purpose and prays that dream had been reality.
Literature
Keeper of Dreams
She turns to her dreams more often than she does reality.
Inside them - those wondrous and phosphorescent fancies - he is always there, waiting for her.
Silver eyes like misty moonlight; skin so smooth and perfect it could have been carved from marble and hair the color of the blackest midnight, softer than swan feathers against her cheeks. A smile that could have put the stars to shame and a voice more saccharine than nectar, washing over every inch of her being like tender waves of satin.
Just like the other nights, he is stretched out across a bed of rich purple sheets and petals whiter than snow. Everywhere else she looks there is noth
Literature
what we're not supposed to talk about
I could make a story out of
this. The blackout epiphanies
blinding me like a total eclipse
of any sense of rationality I ever
stole out from my parents' blind spots
when they turned the other way. The
boy I fell half in love with and
my therapist's unassuming questions
about why he was different, the way I
was never beautiful to him but he
still looked me in my bokeh eyes,
betraying and quiet, so that was enough.
My vain addiction to anything
permanently damaging and
more or less glamorous. The dreams
I can’t swallow no matter what shade
of delusion they come in, about
the imminent death of stars named
after deader lovers, and place
Literature
please don't leave without them this time
Wait
don't you want
all these little
pieces of you?
I've been
keeping them safe
in my heart.
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Brain. Please get out of this depressing corner.
This comes from mixed emotions from over the past couple of days. I can't really explain it other than that xD
This comes from mixed emotions from over the past couple of days. I can't really explain it other than that xD
© 2013 - 2024 The-Feather-Quill
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I've learned to have a love/hate relationship with depression. yes, it sucks being down, but I (and I've noticed others as well) make some of the most beautiful works while in this oppressed state of mind. learn to love it, my friend.