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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
October 17, 2013
Melatonin Addiction by ~Summonaconjurer is a rollercoaster of fantastic imagery and clever repetition.
Featured by neurotype-on-discord
Suggested by foraoises
Literature Text
can i fill you up?
on brine, boosts and bronze.
I mean that literally,
we'll dine,
fuck
and dash.
The Earth is hollow but we still drill through.
Space is a concept evidently named.
I'm a warrior and you be the princess,
you're already rescued, promised to curses.
is a line is a line is a line is a line
and I'm in enigmas, sure by shore leaves.
sunken ships launch from the beach front
and take their ghosts,
a secret suicide.
If ants drew us and we marched past,
would it be any different, would it be any different?
in a line to end all lines,
and seductive co-workers fling their shit at me.
once primal, always primal, just anthropomorphic.
I'm just a collection of piss stains,
wrung out and forgotten
stinky and melancholic.
addicted to that pin-prick well,
settling for justice with a bucket,
we dip our heads into water and crack the rot over bemusement.
I hope you wake up
oh, god i hope you fucking wake up
on brine, boosts and bronze.
I mean that literally,
we'll dine,
fuck
and dash.
The Earth is hollow but we still drill through.
Space is a concept evidently named.
I'm a warrior and you be the princess,
you're already rescued, promised to curses.
is a line is a line is a line is a line
and I'm in enigmas, sure by shore leaves.
sunken ships launch from the beach front
and take their ghosts,
a secret suicide.
If ants drew us and we marched past,
would it be any different, would it be any different?
in a line to end all lines,
and seductive co-workers fling their shit at me.
once primal, always primal, just anthropomorphic.
I'm just a collection of piss stains,
wrung out and forgotten
stinky and melancholic.
addicted to that pin-prick well,
settling for justice with a bucket,
we dip our heads into water and crack the rot over bemusement.
I hope you wake up
oh, god i hope you fucking wake up
Literature
Disposophobia
Disposophobia
She had always kept everything. Ticket stubs, receipts, the torn-off edges of notebook paper. Any doodles or scribbled ideas, and any note afforded her by a friend were kept and saved. Not everything received the honor, but particular things from specific events did. She wanted to keep track of each and every thing she had ever done. She did so, on a corkboard encircling her room from floor to ceiling; each day had its spot, and one could trace her life along the wall with the zigzagging strings of yarn that connected each day.
She didn't often invite others into her room, for fear they might displace something, either by
Literature
autopsy
her spine was cracked down the middle,
her skin unraveled at the seams.
bloated lungs and an emaciated heart filled her no longer moving chest.
her eyes were still open
and her hands stretching for the last thing she ever saw,
though she'd never reached it.
no one knew the exact cause of death,
except the shadow of a boy who avoided her funeral
like it was a plague.
like she was the plague.
Literature
i.
i heard you howling
at two a.m. in the bathroom,
the rain drowning out
your dreams.
i heard you tearing at
the hollow of your throat.
you'd think that no one else would be
as sly as you to know
you aren't really what you say,
you're not okay--
you're not okay.
you named her anne after
the mother that never raised you.
called her your baby,
but never once did she
press her tongue against her teeth.
i saw the song lyrics
scrawled on the back of your hand
when you were sound asleep,
fist in stomach.
she's got bruises on her neck
that match up with yours.
she's got fingers like your daddy;
about that one i'm sure.
i read the words that hung
on
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i'm totally fucked up... and not in the good way. holy shit
© 2013 - 2024 Summonaconjurer
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yay you