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Literature Text
"I'm going to break your heart." she tells me.
"You already did." I laugh, "I'm not going to let you do it again."
But she smiles and slams her fist into my chest.
"I don't love you," she says softly.
"I don't love you either," I lie. I pretend it hurts, but really, I can't feel a thing.
Our eyes meet and I start to wonder what we're saying.
But she turns and walks away, leaving me with tingling lips and a bruised heart.
I'm so tired of being sad.
--
It's hard, watching his heart snap under that pressure. He's no twig, but he isn't strong enough to hold the whole world on his shoulders. He's got cracks, just like the rest of us. There's no trying. It's do or die. He's too close to dying for my taste.
I ride the subway and think of him. I think of the way he curls up with his iPod in the corner of the battered car and stares out the window. It makes me wonder what he thinks about, what secrets he's keeping. I know he has some, and I worry that they're bad.
I want to fix him. I want to burn down cities. I want to do something.
--
"Are we happy?" I ask her.
She stares at the bruise on my chest. "I don't know."
I spent a long time last night gazing at my body in the mirror, wondering if I'll be able to see the cracks in my skin when my heart breaks again.
For four months I drew a heart on my hand to remind me of her. Now my skin is stained blue and I know she's not worth it.
--
He's like the badly-drawn graffiti that litters these city streets. His toes crack when he walks and his painted-on skin splinters under my touch and who is he, really? All I can find are layers and layers of paint. When these streets open up and swallow him whole, all that will be left to remember him by will be a couple of chipped shot glasses and an iPod full of love songs.
The cracked window pane behind his bed is looking more and more appealing every day.
--
"You already did." I laugh, "I'm not going to let you do it again."
But she smiles and slams her fist into my chest.
"I don't love you," she says softly.
"I don't love you either," I lie. I pretend it hurts, but really, I can't feel a thing.
Our eyes meet and I start to wonder what we're saying.
But she turns and walks away, leaving me with tingling lips and a bruised heart.
I'm so tired of being sad.
--
It's hard, watching his heart snap under that pressure. He's no twig, but he isn't strong enough to hold the whole world on his shoulders. He's got cracks, just like the rest of us. There's no trying. It's do or die. He's too close to dying for my taste.
I ride the subway and think of him. I think of the way he curls up with his iPod in the corner of the battered car and stares out the window. It makes me wonder what he thinks about, what secrets he's keeping. I know he has some, and I worry that they're bad.
I want to fix him. I want to burn down cities. I want to do something.
--
"Are we happy?" I ask her.
She stares at the bruise on my chest. "I don't know."
I spent a long time last night gazing at my body in the mirror, wondering if I'll be able to see the cracks in my skin when my heart breaks again.
For four months I drew a heart on my hand to remind me of her. Now my skin is stained blue and I know she's not worth it.
--
He's like the badly-drawn graffiti that litters these city streets. His toes crack when he walks and his painted-on skin splinters under my touch and who is he, really? All I can find are layers and layers of paint. When these streets open up and swallow him whole, all that will be left to remember him by will be a couple of chipped shot glasses and an iPod full of love songs.
The cracked window pane behind his bed is looking more and more appealing every day.
--
Hearts were never meant to bend this way.
Literature
so this is goodbye.
if this was like the movies, we would be sobbing
our hearts streaming down our faces in overwhelming anguish
as the swollen finality of the moment bursts at last.
but this isn't the script of a chick flick,
this is sitting on the stairs in the foyer,
waiting for the denial to fall away like a child's faith in the tooth fairy
but as we process the facts and replay the memories for the hundredth time
there is only the somber, silent emptiness of loss
and we don't shed a tear.
Literature
tuesday afternoons
and the wind chills my bones and every time i look at my watch i remember all the times when we sat on the grass laughing, watching the afternoon sun arcing across the sky like a shooting star.
Literature
Washing Away
Washing away
the rain falls sharp and
quick
silver needles
slicing through the sky
boreal
frozen tears
burn into my eyes as they seep out into the open
I wish that they would fall
but they won't
they never do
they —water— fall, cascading down and
river-ing
riveting
rapids and white foamed blurs
passing me and I try to reach
but nothing is reachable
for these thin, thin hands
fingers so skeletal—wanly,
my arms reach for you,
wanly—they are about to break
snap
like the branches of a tree, iced over
water hanging beautifully from
me
I am cold right now
so cold
can you hold me close?
Don't ever let
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TWO submissions in a day? 
This is nonsense.
Actually, my toes make strange cracking sounds when I walk barefoot around the house. Apparently this is normal.
Another collaboration with =StarBoyDeath, since we had quite a bit of fun doing Too Far Gone. (And this is his half of that.)
My parts of this one are in italics. Oh, and this was oodles of fun, of course. It has come to the point where I have read/edited so many of =StarBoyDeath's pieces that I can either mimics his style or use one that compliments it, so I hope it blends nicely.
His is here. If you
or comment on mine, please do the same for him.
This is for the DLD Collaboration Contest.
Enjoy!
This is nonsense. Actually, my toes make strange cracking sounds when I walk barefoot around the house. Apparently this is normal.
Another collaboration with =StarBoyDeath, since we had quite a bit of fun doing Too Far Gone. (And this is his half of that.)
My parts of this one are in italics. Oh, and this was oodles of fun, of course. It has come to the point where I have read/edited so many of =StarBoyDeath's pieces that I can either mimics his style or use one that compliments it, so I hope it blends nicely.
His is here. If you
or comment on mine, please do the same for him. This is for the DLD Collaboration Contest.
Enjoy!
© 2010 - 2024 cherrichan13
Comments26
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Wow.I was completely blown away by this.