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Literature

Why, father?

Why is it that whenever I get up and try to help you, you ignore me and dont even look at me? What did I do to you that started this hatred? Father, do I mean nothing to you now? Am I just someone who is occupying a space in your house? You haven't spoken to me for about a week. Please, this silence is making me sick. I need you.. Daddy, I need my daddy.. I need my hero..

Literature

Finding Darkness

The devil's thoughts are ensnaring my brain I am held down by the iron grip that he bears I'm being forced into a world of pain His evil doings are creeping into my subconscious I am desperately clawing away But I'm exactly what he says A selfish pathetic piece of trash that I am No one is here to hold my hand, no one wants to rescue the hostile one Not even the meek spiritless one I'll sink deeper into his greed The sun no longer dares to graze my skin For nothing but the ice soil embraces me The dead cannot move but I'm frantically thrashing to get out I'm not meant to be here, it was all the devils idea I am at his mercy, like his pers

Literature

Inside

I watched my best friend die. It wasn't in a hospital and it wasn't an accident on some road somewhere. There's a saying, and I guess it's also… funny… how you never know what's going on behind closed doors. I guess you're probably thinking of suicide - overdose, hanging by the rope, or (god forbid) the knife, but... it's not that. Because it's one thing to die and it's another to die. I believe you can exist without properly living. What is a life? We are born into this world with no say on the matter, and yet the majority of us take for granted that tomorrow we will wake up to another morning, another routine, another day in

poems inspiring me to write my own

Literature

Without You

last night without you the world did not end, although every building shook. i'm still picking up loose bricks and bits, cleaning house, mending the yard. even now without you. i feel guilty not inviting you. keeping you in the dark. lying-- or at least omitting truths (joyful truths, to be sure)-- to the face of my old friend. still somehow there was fallout. even the absence of you does some damage. even your shadow shakes tables knocks down a drink or two. and this morning it all felt like a dream. like some quaint, sober nightmare. not completely despairing-- rather nice, to be honest-- but still awful like a knife being removed (at last!) from a wound: you can breathe again, for a minute or so, you think, but now there is a new raw, red horror-- the hot sensation of drowning in your own living blood, suffocating, almost, in your own nourishment, breathless, speechless, as the oxygen betrays you, abandons you suddenly. it's almost enough to ask the nurses to put

Literature

leaves know the weight

I sense a leak, something vast and nameless passing too quickly to track. I always pretend to grow darker and more intricate, to become more like conversations that only happen at night in careful whispers, as they plummet into their beds. I've watched countless rooms undress, spidering out of their skins through zippers and seams, faces in the walls with anguished shrieks, yet to become the ache of a chair, the skin of a finger whose voice swells in my head. this time, all of the time, whose voice unwraps my secrets when I'm able to remember the weathered ice of this lake. what I dream, hold and keep, what rasps in the wind, what lingers and touches me through the cracks.

Literature

Prayer of the Grey

Lord God I pray Allow my soul to know peace If I died today, I’d only have regrets about my life My whole existence is scarred Charred with the reality thereof So I pray to the skies above Can I get a pardon? I feel like a mortar Set to fall as others live What about my time, Lord Do my tears not scream will I feel like I’m done That I’ve given all I can I’m so tired God Can I have a pillow? Even though I still breathe I feel like I’m on death row My pain being recorded Just to give others energy flow I have scars all over my souls body Tormented and abused Praying to you to cut me loose Reveal to me the truth Praying to you Lord Please Tell me What am I to do? What am I? 10/24/23

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Literature

Closer

too close to see, you are too close to me, an eclipsing gaze, all arms across us, i wouldn't leave, if i could go but you know this - you knew of love once you want to know again, you try to kiss me, as if drawing love out, and breathing love in, die again and again, you'd rather, than death you've almost known, too close for comfort

Literature

Not For Me, For You

not for me to feel - nothing as far as i can see, nothing close to me, my heart is deeper under, the black wells of forget, tears are the only stars i see, why do stars burn to live dreams are mute walls; sky is lost to a vapor moon - i drift, not forever is a veil i will wear to cover me from the absence of myself; i will hide behind the anonymity of trees, for you to feel left behind

Literature

She Dances With Fire

She dances with fire, a dragon in tow. Twirling with flames; graceful and slow She dances tonight, in a city of ash. Her feet leaving footprints, where the sand will splash. Quietly mourning, as time goes by; Where once she beheld a home in her eyes... Yet naught but the barest of bones remain, And so she dances, to soothe the pain.

Island of the Cyclopes - p5

tenwhiteapricots

Published: Feb 2, 2014

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Description

Poor Elpenor. You've kind of got to feel bad for someone whose Homeric epitaph is essentially "not very bright". Everyone else is 'godlike' or 'great hearted' or, you know, something epic and impressive.

For reference, it's Elpenor in the first frame, Elpenor again and Macareus in the second, and Polites and an as yet unnamed red shirt in the third. And I'm having far too much fun drawing cave sheep.

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