Love's Imprint by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
Love's Imprint
I still find myself bleeding over the wound you left me, three years later. Some days you are the dull in my fingertips, others you are my inability to look a man in the eye. But mostly, you are my constant distrust. My body no longer feels set ablaze passing by your house, or hearing your name. But my mind remains bruised, even with years to heal and countless short-lived remedies. I've tried the pills, pot, liquor, and even flimsy lovers, but my friends still manage to say they miss the old me. The me that you took away. And between trying to still recollect the shatters of my heart and mind, I can't seem to find her either. No one told me
Lost and Found by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
Lost and Found
He has prayed as much
as he said "I love you"
in both cases
they were inaudible
Occasionally you can hear him
when he traces the outline of you
similar to the way
a stroke induced December
remembers to speak spring
like he's seen you before in his dreams
You can hear him
when his eyes linger at your smile
as if he could find faith
from your light
trapped, imbedded in insecurity
his way is a broken record even the deaf could listen to
He will not say I love you
not because he doesn't
but because you can not hear a man
you have yet to meet
but when you do, oh god, you will be brutally aware
Because with love like his
you could dr
Lately I've felt 2AM
more as an emotion
and less as a time
my heart thickens
but not with love,
with alcohol
(one day I'll drown you out of me)
He became every letter
he hid within my ink
and slept in the cracks of my fingernails
I only see him
...
I'll write another song he wont hear
and trace the outline
of where he
laid his hands last
...
How sad is it
to be this young
and wish for death
when we see the stars?
Every car from far away
looks like yours
and I'm not quite sure
if I should stay and wave
or run the other way
because everything with you was bittersweet
and I don't know what to call you
my heart says you were mine
(my brain knows I wasn't the only one)
so I'm stuck with tasting
but never eating
I still see you in everything
in this old love song
in his face
on every street corner
I'm plagued by the thought of you
so tonight I'm dressed up real nice
to go on a date with a real nice boy
who brang me my favorite flowers
and says all the right things
(but he'll never be you)
and I'm trying to erase our memories
(but they're all written
I feel it
clawing at my skin
digging at my veins
it's everywhere
underneath the fabric of my nails
my skin crawling as its canvas
the teeth gnawing at my legs
I am a sinking ship (by my own destruction)
cast away the life boats
but will always
be stuck out at sea
so lonely but has many friends
so unhappy all I am are scars
numb to affection
except to the feelings that kill me
I am breaking
I'm so sorry Mom Dad Ian myself
Love Makes Us Cold by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
Love Makes Us Cold
he was a boy
driving in the Daytona 500
and just when you
think he's about to slow down
for you to climb in
he drops his motor to
a whisper
and tells you
"I'm sorry that I love you."
and speeds away
while your palms are
still
clamped
into the door
and
your knees drag against
the road
because you scraped your knees
falling for him
I can't let go and you can't hold on
and I
banged on the glass
"let me in!"
but you
shook your head
"you'll only get hurt."
and then I release,
tossed in a ditch
only half way to my home
are you afraid of me or love?
Please Don't Go by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
Please Don't Go
"We put things in the ground to grow"
I said
I sat at a park
bench
with my cane at my side
fingers dancing
along the frame
of my leg
when a girl
sat
with me
"Then why do we bury people?"
I shot a glance
towards my feet
and looked
at her bright ruby
slippers
tap your shoes three times and say
you want to go home
"so that they can grow."
I looked at her,
her hand
rummaging
and handing
out breadcrumbs
deep in thought.
"Why would they need to grow when they're dead?"
my eyebrows
crinkled at the question
then I spoke
"a seed starts from the ground, but unlike that, that is where we end. We grow for our death to
First Impressions by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
First Impressions
I remember the first time I met her
a tower of books tucked under her chin
glasses sliding down her nose
that she wiggled like a hare's
I helped her carry the tower
to her brother's truck
him ever so persistent to return home
and her just happy to escape into literature
she slumped into the seat
the tower resting at her bare toes
she stuck out her hand
and told me her name
and laughed at the common of it
she would be a freshman after summer
same as me
her brother still urgent
had the engine roar to life
and drive away
her hand waving at me
with a broad smile bubbling over
that danced for me
and all I could think was
Let This Heaven Burn You by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
Let This Heaven Burn You
"where is your heaven?"the man spat coldly."Where is it if we can't touch it?" he snickered and coughed out those many years of cigarettes. He started puffing another pack. I hoped he choked on those embers. My eyes rested at my feet, searching for an answer to grab me, but none did. He was growing restless yet satisfied with the entangling silence, "I was right, kids so caught up in questions they give no answers." my eyes rose to see a smug expression radiating off of him like poison; he was the lost that still won. "You going to say something?" he licked his reptile lips in amusement. "Whatever." he scoffed in a tired tone. He started walk
The Sunset at Morning by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
The Sunset at Morning
She was the beauty,
the grace,
and danced down the hall
with calloused feet.
She spoke with pungent
words and tart truths,
all softened by her curve
that shone white
like a hyena's grin
A friend she had many,
a true one would be none,
for she built this shell around her,
made for building,
not for falling down.
Love's Imprint by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
Love's Imprint
I still find myself bleeding over the wound you left me, three years later. Some days you are the dull in my fingertips, others you are my inability to look a man in the eye. But mostly, you are my constant distrust. My body no longer feels set ablaze passing by your house, or hearing your name. But my mind remains bruised, even with years to heal and countless short-lived remedies. I've tried the pills, pot, liquor, and even flimsy lovers, but my friends still manage to say they miss the old me. The me that you took away. And between trying to still recollect the shatters of my heart and mind, I can't seem to find her either. No one told me
Lost and Found by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
Lost and Found
He has prayed as much
as he said "I love you"
in both cases
they were inaudible
Occasionally you can hear him
when he traces the outline of you
similar to the way
a stroke induced December
remembers to speak spring
like he's seen you before in his dreams
You can hear him
when his eyes linger at your smile
as if he could find faith
from your light
trapped, imbedded in insecurity
his way is a broken record even the deaf could listen to
He will not say I love you
not because he doesn't
but because you can not hear a man
you have yet to meet
but when you do, oh god, you will be brutally aware
Because with love like his
you could dr
Lately I've felt 2AM
more as an emotion
and less as a time
my heart thickens
but not with love,
with alcohol
(one day I'll drown you out of me)
He became every letter
he hid within my ink
and slept in the cracks of my fingernails
I only see him
...
I'll write another song he wont hear
and trace the outline
of where he
laid his hands last
...
How sad is it
to be this young
and wish for death
when we see the stars?
Every car from far away
looks like yours
and I'm not quite sure
if I should stay and wave
or run the other way
because everything with you was bittersweet
and I don't know what to call you
my heart says you were mine
(my brain knows I wasn't the only one)
so I'm stuck with tasting
but never eating
I still see you in everything
in this old love song
in his face
on every street corner
I'm plagued by the thought of you
so tonight I'm dressed up real nice
to go on a date with a real nice boy
who brang me my favorite flowers
and says all the right things
(but he'll never be you)
and I'm trying to erase our memories
(but they're all written
I feel it
clawing at my skin
digging at my veins
it's everywhere
underneath the fabric of my nails
my skin crawling as its canvas
the teeth gnawing at my legs
I am a sinking ship (by my own destruction)
cast away the life boats
but will always
be stuck out at sea
so lonely but has many friends
so unhappy all I am are scars
numb to affection
except to the feelings that kill me
I am breaking
I'm so sorry Mom Dad Ian myself
Love Makes Us Cold by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
Love Makes Us Cold
he was a boy
driving in the Daytona 500
and just when you
think he's about to slow down
for you to climb in
he drops his motor to
a whisper
and tells you
"I'm sorry that I love you."
and speeds away
while your palms are
still
clamped
into the door
and
your knees drag against
the road
because you scraped your knees
falling for him
I can't let go and you can't hold on
and I
banged on the glass
"let me in!"
but you
shook your head
"you'll only get hurt."
and then I release,
tossed in a ditch
only half way to my home
are you afraid of me or love?
Please Don't Go by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
Please Don't Go
"We put things in the ground to grow"
I said
I sat at a park
bench
with my cane at my side
fingers dancing
along the frame
of my leg
when a girl
sat
with me
"Then why do we bury people?"
I shot a glance
towards my feet
and looked
at her bright ruby
slippers
tap your shoes three times and say
you want to go home
"so that they can grow."
I looked at her,
her hand
rummaging
and handing
out breadcrumbs
deep in thought.
"Why would they need to grow when they're dead?"
my eyebrows
crinkled at the question
then I spoke
"a seed starts from the ground, but unlike that, that is where we end. We grow for our death to
First Impressions by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
First Impressions
I remember the first time I met her
a tower of books tucked under her chin
glasses sliding down her nose
that she wiggled like a hare's
I helped her carry the tower
to her brother's truck
him ever so persistent to return home
and her just happy to escape into literature
she slumped into the seat
the tower resting at her bare toes
she stuck out her hand
and told me her name
and laughed at the common of it
she would be a freshman after summer
same as me
her brother still urgent
had the engine roar to life
and drive away
her hand waving at me
with a broad smile bubbling over
that danced for me
and all I could think was
Let This Heaven Burn You by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
Let This Heaven Burn You
"where is your heaven?"the man spat coldly."Where is it if we can't touch it?" he snickered and coughed out those many years of cigarettes. He started puffing another pack. I hoped he choked on those embers. My eyes rested at my feet, searching for an answer to grab me, but none did. He was growing restless yet satisfied with the entangling silence, "I was right, kids so caught up in questions they give no answers." my eyes rose to see a smug expression radiating off of him like poison; he was the lost that still won. "You going to say something?" he licked his reptile lips in amusement. "Whatever." he scoffed in a tired tone. He started walk
The Sunset at Morning by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
The Sunset at Morning
She was the beauty,
the grace,
and danced down the hall
with calloused feet.
She spoke with pungent
words and tart truths,
all softened by her curve
that shone white
like a hyena's grin
A friend she had many,
a true one would be none,
for she built this shell around her,
made for building,
not for falling down.
You only fly for a little while by Tangled-Tales, literature
Literature
You only fly for a little while
She was just four years old
kicking her feet
harder and harder,
as the swingset creaked
and cracked
She finally reached the peak,
jumped off,
and said,
"Mama, I'm gonna fly."
and so she did;
three feet into the air,
sticking the landing
like a gymnast
And I wonder everyday
if those were the same words
she muttered
before jumping off that bridge,
unable to remember,
you only fly for a little while.
Its been a long time since I've been on dA. I've been ill, busy, then ill again, then short on cash, and finally ill once more, just in time summer. Thankfully I finally have a month off. Its time to take a nice deep breath, and enjoy the sunshine, do some writing...and enjoy these beautiful works down below.
Thank you guys for being so wonderful. :heart:
The Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve
there’s this picture of some rooftops in new york
and over the rooftops there’s this rainbow
like a question mark lying on its side like it’s not even sure
that it should be a rainbow, it’s like when you exhale by accident really
softly on birthday candles and the flames ripple a little and everyone
thinks you made your wish even though it was just
a mistake, it’s a rainbow like that, like it happened
by mistake
and the picture reminds me of this one day when i was
looking out the window of ms. azeglio’s office when i was fifteen
as she talked on and on without
saying anything, talked about fixing me i
wat
you have seven days to live. by littleblueraccoon, literature
Literature
you have seven days to live.
1.the news doesn't hurt:
it's his eyes that hurt you,
the glimmer of his past
creeping in just like
his father used to creep in
at three a.m.
with a sin on his mind
and rage on his hands.
he waits for you to react,
but you don't
because he's suddenly seven again,
hiding bruises
while mommy cries
in a ball on the couch.
2.you think time
is a funny thing.
people talk about it
like it is an object:
"I need more time," they say,
like they will go to the store later
and buy more.
but you know that time
is more like an ocean wave,
with an endless
pounding that continues
long after we greet the dirt,
and we want more time,
but time doesn't want
Let This Heaven Burn You by BathroomStallStories, literature
Literature
Let This Heaven Burn You
"where is your heaven?"the man spat coldly."Where is it if we can't touch it?" he snickered and coughed out those many years of cigarettes. He started puffing another pack. I hoped he choked on those embers. My eyes rested at my feet, searching for an answer to grab me, but none did. He was growing restless yet satisfied with the entangling silence, "I was right, kids so caught up in questions they give no answers." my eyes rose to see a smug expression radiating off of him like poison; he was the lost that still won. "You going to say something?" he licked his reptile lips in amusement. "Whatever." he scoffed in a tired tone. He started walk
We grew up in graves, nicotine kids playing a game of 6 feet under. Hide and seek with the demons we claim to not keep, drinking twice our body weight to drown out our lurking needs. The vitamins turned to drugs, there is no man coming in a cape. Heathens and Whores always wanting a taste. We swallowed the rich kids dreams but with a broke bitches hunger, always finding aspiration but with no thunder. Weekend Warriors but with no substance. Gun to our heads but we aren't away we are pulling the trigger.