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Literature
A life we call death
In the world we call home, where everything fades to red. We are drowning.
In this dance we call living, we died.
Tearing.
Breaking and opening old wounds and new.
We bleed alone amongst crowds.
We cry in the cold of winter we call summer.
We love on the top of the hill we call pain.
We lived.
Living a life we call death.
Literature
Nothing between us
Sand in every pocket, coarse and
unblinking remnants of moments standing next to
something gone dark––ah––I can still brush against
that simple curling into an ever-curving notion, marvel
over the pleasant weight of browning infatuation
on the tongue’s tip. So precarious like condensation
and so full of unspoken, possible things that
lance ribbons up the spine and through the legs,
propelling that oft-paralyzed machine
down a fantastic, gleaming lane, always ending
at the beach where the waves first sing
tender and then turn sharp. Thin frame, holy veil
over robin’s egg eyes––may as well have be
Literature
Fiction Within Reality
When I was little my father took me to a family reunion at my great uncle's house. Honestly, I don't recall him being all that great, but people still refer to him as such, so I must have missed something. There were many people there I didn't know, and probably haven't seen since. They didn't leave much of an impression, so I may have bumped into them later in life and not even realized it.
The thing I do remember was the house itself. Up until that point in my short life, I had never been in a house that large and elaborately decorated. It was very old and had accumulated a wide variety of artwork and antiques in it's history. Appare
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Warning: Character death.
Mature
© 2015 - 2024 Vixenoflight
Comments6
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That was exquisitely dark! I love the build up of the main character's emotions aligning with each segments of the painting. I especially love the part where the artist felt frustration, when something didn't go right with the painting, because it would his/her last, they still wanted it to be perfect. That echos what a lot of artist (or musicians, writers, sculptors, etc.) feel sometimes with their work.
I kind of wished you wrote a little more at the end. While I think it was awesome to end the story the way you did, like it was a big "F*** you!" to the audience, I wanted to see if the artist felt some sort of closure as death overcame him/her.
Love this piece, definitely going into my favorites
I kind of wished you wrote a little more at the end. While I think it was awesome to end the story the way you did, like it was a big "F*** you!" to the audience, I wanted to see if the artist felt some sort of closure as death overcame him/her.
Love this piece, definitely going into my favorites