You wish to be burnt at the stake and degraded so you can peice yourself back together again.
Ghost by TheGlassIris, literature
Literature
Ghost
I walk amongst the trees
in the form of falling light.
Though the sound of my passing
is heard beyond the grove
the words spoken before the burial
are just pretty spokes on the wheels
of a rolling hearse with my remains:
the newest arrival on the asphodel highway.
Water runs from my bones.
My body has mutated
into a fine mess of flowers,
spring rain, and dotted moss.
I have been buried with
a gold watch,
a photo album,
a book of recent poems,
and a letter.
Why these things, I don’t know. The dead
have no need for time.
They neither remember nor recall, a photo
is nothing more than sentiment
clinging to our sides, unbearably warm,
haz
No one of consequence. by FarCryDreamer, literature
Literature
No one of consequence.
She held on tightly to whatever force had just saved her from such a cruel fate, only looking up as she felt the wind blowing through her hair, her body weightless. Her eyes widened, marveling at a pair of glorious black wings that carried her effortlessly through the air; the wings of an angel?
The dark-haired man turned to look down at her, and his previously hidden face was revealed. Hardly older than her, if she would have guessed, but his eyes alone seemed otherworldly, and despite the fact that it was he, this dark-haired, black-winged angel that had saved her from certain death, she felt suddenly afraid. Her body went rigid, and thoug
The gentlest song I know
is the one about a broken egg.
The one that goes,
“Humpty-Dumpty”
sat on a wall
“Humpty-Dumpty”
had a great fall…
And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men
couldn’t put Humpty back together again.
It was an accident wasn’t it?
Just a sheer and mistaken lapse
in judgment, his foot
slipping just a few centimeters too wide, his arms
an inch away from righting himself
and, what I love most about this song,
is how simple a tragedy,
how senseless an accident can be.
I don’t need to know anything.
Not the names, not the place,
nor the time, manner in whi
With the afternoon bell ringing, Alicia walked home with her friends. As they chatted, a boy ran up to her. She backed up, staring at him while her friends eyed suspiciously.
“Alicia! I-,” he began saying. She stared as his cheeks turned red, burning, seeming at that moment to possess all the color in the world. Crying from who-knows-what and lost in desperation, Alicia saw him and what he wanted to say emerged clearly like it was floating in a river. As if it was there all along, as if it sprang from the back of his head welling up and carried off, words he wanted to say, words she hadn’t yet heard except as an echo, a riv
White curtains cover my eyes
Threadbare, these cataracts are my disguise
Of reality
An ethereal bluish hue
Will forever construe
My life in a better light
Anything's better
Than swallowing down
Brutally honest pills that begetter
My breathing to become gasps
At the start of putting my
hand to cold glass
The score to my days down to Earth
Will consist of lilting melodies filled with mirth
For I am deaf to dissonance
Theres no turning back when my immune system
Hasn't been exposed to the pathogens of truth that hurt
What you don't know is that no dose of candor could condemn
You to death without your permission