ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
i.
philosophy class taught me
that to be human is to die.
it is the direction
we all head towards,
the inevitability
but uncertainty
of future
i remember something like this
in one of our conversations
eight years ago.
your birds' nest hair
frozen on camera
as we talked about life
and what it means to end.
we were weird kids.
there were dreams we shared
like we had every second
to waste. all plans
of conquering the world
and seeing life unfold,
and you - always up by 3am
to talk to your same kind of crazy
across the other side of the world.
it was always like time
was not the boss of you.
so when you once said
you'd love me
as long as you lived
i didn't think
that would be
so soon.
it takes seven years
of disappearance
before you declare
death in absentia.
ii.
it is 2009
when i receive the news
you never made it home.
it is 2010
and i'm still waiting
for you to tell me
this was all a terrible joke.
it is 2012
and i keep having the same dream
where you say you misread the memo,
3 years instead of 3 days
like some motherfucking untimely messiah.
it is 2014
and i still laugh twice as hard
at chemistry jokes,
for the both of us.
it is 2015
and i still turn in the direction
of someone calling your name.
it is 2016
and i don't think i've been okay
since realizing that it's probably time
to stop clinging to the hope
that one day you might still come home.
iii.
i have always said 'up there'
when referring to you,
to give myself a finality
i know i will never get:
up to now, still waiting
for the possibility of goodbye.
i don't know if i agree
that to be human is to die.
you always seemed most human
when your eyes were full of life.
it is still hard to believe
someone like you
would have gone out like this -
without a fight,
on a legal technicality.
philosophy class taught me
that to be human is to die.
it is the direction
we all head towards,
the inevitability
but uncertainty
of future
i remember something like this
in one of our conversations
eight years ago.
your birds' nest hair
frozen on camera
as we talked about life
and what it means to end.
we were weird kids.
there were dreams we shared
like we had every second
to waste. all plans
of conquering the world
and seeing life unfold,
and you - always up by 3am
to talk to your same kind of crazy
across the other side of the world.
it was always like time
was not the boss of you.
so when you once said
you'd love me
as long as you lived
i didn't think
that would be
so soon.
it takes seven years
of disappearance
before you declare
death in absentia.
ii.
it is 2009
when i receive the news
you never made it home.
it is 2010
and i'm still waiting
for you to tell me
this was all a terrible joke.
it is 2012
and i keep having the same dream
where you say you misread the memo,
3 years instead of 3 days
like some motherfucking untimely messiah.
it is 2014
and i still laugh twice as hard
at chemistry jokes,
for the both of us.
it is 2015
and i still turn in the direction
of someone calling your name.
it is 2016
and i don't think i've been okay
since realizing that it's probably time
to stop clinging to the hope
that one day you might still come home.
iii.
i have always said 'up there'
when referring to you,
to give myself a finality
i know i will never get:
up to now, still waiting
for the possibility of goodbye.
i don't know if i agree
that to be human is to die.
you always seemed most human
when your eyes were full of life.
it is still hard to believe
someone like you
would have gone out like this -
without a fight,
on a legal technicality.
Literature
(How funny, or maybe perfect it is,)
to think I am meat
and spirit
while I eat both.
Yet,
I persist
as matter and
nothing.
Of the static,
that door
still gaping,
a hole
in conception,
would it be real
if I understood it?
If I could just grasp
what I'm not
understanding?
Because language, even
these words, are
nothing.
Nothing outside
me.
Nothing before
me.
Maybe less
after me.
And
the idea?
Nothing.
Nothing but
meat
and even
the spirit
stammers
against
infinity,
against
inevitability,
against
itself.
Literature
i was born to destroy you
i am no hydra.
there is no poison-tipped spear,
no angry torch to hold to my neck
i may not raze your fields nor eat your livestock
but i was born to destroy you.
when i smile i want you to think
not of wolves, but of girls
pretty girls, with flirtatious red lips
and teeth white as pearls
not of monsters who lurk
under grandmother's bed
swallowing children for supper.
i am no chimaera, no sphinx:
no hero can vanquish me on winged pegasus
i cannot breathe fire or deceive with words
(it's all appearances, everyone knows that.)
do not forget
it was helen who launched a thousand ships,
clytemnestra who slew agamemnon
judith who beheaded holofe
Literature
tutorial
take an evening -
reclassify emotions as chemical compounds.
remove one atom,
see what changes.
take your field notes, transcribe them
back to front.
add line breaks.
be scientific. be too scientific.
replace the word 'entropy'
with the word 'god'.
be so full of want that you can feel it
scraping its numb jaws against your insides.
write about flowers instead.
make your first line provocative.
follow it, let it unfurl -
ctrl a.
del.
inauthentic, try again.
ctrl z.
who the fuck
wants authenticity
?
read, find inspiration.
find new ways to plagiarize old ideas.
stop reading.
hash and rehash,
slash and burn.
look at the mess you've mad
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
7 years later, and it still feels hollow.
Comments3
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
