ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
The hanged man perches,
Like a thin sparrow, in the branches of his tree
As he watches the snow fall onto his head
And drip through his broom-straw hair.
It's odd, he thinks
To see himself beneath his feet,
Strung up on a knotted old rope
That was found under a pile of wheat in the storehouse.
As he sits, waiting for some sort of judgement or
Next life, the arms of a beautiful angel,
The knot around his neck loosens, his body slips down an inch
Making him jump as the crows on his shoulders hop up then settle down again.
He hops down to the ground, hardly making the leaves dance
And pokes at one of his limp arms.
He rummages in his pockets and finds a rusted silver pocketwatch.
Half past midnight, four hours now since they hung him.
He peers into the pocket of his body.
The same watch, there, on the left side
Next to a few cigarettes, a piece of paper and a lucky stone.
He found it at the riverbank the other day. Didn't really work.
Like a thin sparrow, in the branches of his tree
As he watches the snow fall onto his head
And drip through his broom-straw hair.
It's odd, he thinks
To see himself beneath his feet,
Strung up on a knotted old rope
That was found under a pile of wheat in the storehouse.
As he sits, waiting for some sort of judgement or
Next life, the arms of a beautiful angel,
The knot around his neck loosens, his body slips down an inch
Making him jump as the crows on his shoulders hop up then settle down again.
He hops down to the ground, hardly making the leaves dance
And pokes at one of his limp arms.
He rummages in his pockets and finds a rusted silver pocketwatch.
Half past midnight, four hours now since they hung him.
He peers into the pocket of his body.
The same watch, there, on the left side
Next to a few cigarettes, a piece of paper and a lucky stone.
He found it at the riverbank the other day. Didn't really work.
Literature
Angstxiety
I am work weak on Wednesday
in a heap of hangover and hesitation
with fingers on a phone haptically
actively anticipating feedback—
I need that why do I need that.
My angst and anxiety
is constant and courses
and throbs with a pulse
that demands concern
of a baby boomer crooning poetic
in the distance to call me antisocial, or you know,
you could just call me.
If being this busy in an age
of constant communication
feels like having slept
but not feeling rested,
I'd rather cancel my plans
like a responsible millennial
and go to bed.
Literature
The End is Near
I’ve felt so listless, restless. Testing the waters for life and trying so hard to stay alive.
The darkness (my sea), and this galaxy, and my dreams share a wondrous feeling of emptiness.
I’ve been tethered to my star by a thread (now dead) burned to ashes by her heat.
I think I’m drowning now but I can’t be sure because I’ve never known which way was up.
My candle’s no longer a flame, it’s burnt out, blown out, washed up, extinguished.
I’m not just reaching for stars, I’m reaching for a life line.
No gravity to keep me posted. I’m head over heels and slipped on a peel and unab
Literature
the end of an era
i will not be
staying behind in the city: asleep
to be blind, to not see the flames
licking the buildings in my mind.
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
he died.
© 2011 - 2024 SugarHeartedGirl
Comments7
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In