/lit/ - Literature

>>10504542
>but e'en so

Was combing through my files and found a short piece I wrote when I was 14. I invite you to share your own craptastic, angsty writing. Let's enjoy the cringe.


Floor No.1

The sound of their fucking, the gurgling reverb of their drinking, the feel of ethanol slowly caving into my throat, as if Satan had exhaled his rotten breath into my esophagus. The ever present smell of synthetic kush and Camel Cigarettes, smoke floating in the empty space of existence, drowning away slowly in a sea of vodka, blood, cum and burnt papers.
I can hear them kissing: softly, tenderly, a subtle sucking sound bounces around the walls, a testament to their non-existent love, that flush of dopamine the young brain is so pragmatic at producing. The hooka smoke went into my lungs, grave mis-inhale. Learning to hold it in my mouth was harder than I thought. My lungs must be fucked up from all the smoke that’s been invading them, my chest feels tight. I never knew why.
And it keeps going. The world swirls rather lethargic on my present catharsis. It sits down and thinks of me, hugs me, kisses and caresses me, and I want to throw it in a trash can. To rip it apart and feed it to a gang of hungry grizzlies. To burn the world down and swim on the ashes, swim and scream in joy when I can hear the whispers of my lost generation, slowly flowing away in an ocean of moral urine and defecated lives. Purpose of a beating heart lost in the mist of youth.