/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.3667022]

Daily Writing thread.

Write without thinking. Just let it all out.

All works welcomed anyhow.

[Anonymous No.3667029]

Found

So I have the bottle of
oxy that my estranged wife
is holding to give to her
friend . He is on his way .
How mnay do you think i need
to sleep Forever. Ibe akeady had
half abottle of gin ? Any
sugestions? They are 30's.


Godbye

really how cares about me? nobody
im alone i have to write, my life
my dreams my history all is dead now,
every single word and a giant step
all now is fall nobody loves me,
nobody feel what y feel im alone
in the darkens of my hart


Kill Me Kill You

fuck these people when
the second hand hits
a certain time we both
pull the trigger no one
commits suicide so if
your christian you still
go to heaven and we
both win!!!! hit me up...
really if you want to do
this comment ill send you
my email we meet up get
this shiot over with. stop
talking lets start doing. i
personlayy dont have it
in me to pull my own trigger
but with a little help.......


Death69

first off when you die it is the same life
as before you were born. Everyone
wants to die here and there, my life
right now is pro death, however
i will muscle threw it but if i really wanted to die
i would not want someone else to do it
and i would do it right the first time.
hang in there people; society, health care system,
banks and traffic lights suck
so if you think life is that bad then contact me
cause my life is worse. Off set the three
hole punch at work, drink the last cup
of coffee and dont make another pot.
**** on company time or **** in a car wash
then call it quits. smile

[Anonymous No.3667050]

Hit the cat in the hat with a basebol bat.

because he is


a democrat
that was fun my influences are charles bukowski and edgar allen po

[Anonymous No.3667114]

I'd love you girl, like a nerd loves computers,
I wont cut you from my life, like a dog getting neutered,
I wont trade you frum dem other girls, workin from hooters,
The day that i die, is da day when i loose her,
If was tempted with dem other girls, you know i'd still choose her,
Introdeuce you to my boys. so they wont say whos her?
Id treat you like a princess, id carry u, like a mover,
If my love was a paint, i wont need paint remover,
imma be the vest, strapped on your chest, wont let no one shoot her,
No shots thru you, unless its a Hepatitis B Booster,
Interview me, CTV, i love her, and its true sir,
I may sound soft, so call me a loser,
imma be on the streets with signs, just so i cud warn her,
so nothing, on these sstreets could ever, try to harm her
buti kno dis love poem, is fresher than a white tee
sad ting about it, is she dont even love me.. (anymore)

[Anonymous No.3667125]

sit in a room
stare at the ceiling
think about life
but she won't think of you

escape from the room

stand up and walk
the cat shall attack
then you realize
there's no turning back

you must kill the cat

Hah.

[Anonymous No.3667138]

I love the feeling of the rain here in the Midwest, it has something absolutely mystical about it. The Midwest is quite an awful place, and I yearn the lands of New England. I miss the way the ground flows erratically, I miss the land with memories of the beginning, I miss my old life. The rain slows, it's guided droplets no longer battering my roof. Only a trained ear that is interested may continue to realize its presence. Only someone with enough patience to step out of the ordinary, enough interest to look at the things deemed a distraction by all the others, could appreciate it now. The disruption is gone, the machines may work, the cars may pass, whilst the young man sits in his room, pleading for it to restart.

[Anonymous No.3667142]

Dicks on dicks on dicks
she got kicks on shits for real
and i wonder if she feel
if she feelin all this realness

fuck all of you hateres
i dont fuck with your flavours
bitches on my area
cuz my dick got dicks on dicks yea

[Anonymous No.3667168]

>>3667029
This was painful to read.

[Anonymous No.3667213]

The girl in the OP pic is quite cute, it would be a shame if she were to accidentally eat some genetically engineered blueberries which weren't intended for human consumption due to the fact that they were capable of horizontal gene-transfer, resulting in the assimilation of turbocharged blueberry DNA into the cells of her body and causing her to gradually turn a pale shade of blue, through lilac, and eventually to a rich, deep purple while her belly swelled up and she assumed a near-spherical shape as her body deformed under the pressure of the sweet, syrupy blueberry juice that was filling her body.

[Anonymous No.3667240]

>>3667213

[Anonymous No.3667245]

>>3667213
>>3667213

[Anonymous No.3667253]

>>3667213
go to bed Pinecone

[Anonymous No.3667258]

>>3667168
Now I'm mulling over if this is a good quality for a piece of writing to have.

[Anonymous No.3667264]

You've done the same things over and over, time and time again.
You think you're developing some OCD because you have learned nothing from results nor mistakes.
"It get's better," they chant, a mantra burning into your skin and branding itself along the sharp lines of your jaw.
Love. That is the reoccurring sense of pain, it is the heart wrenching disorder of humanity.
You fall in love on Tuesday and forget on Sunday.
You think you're developing some OCD.

[Anonymous No.3667291]

First he hired her as an intern, then took her on full time. That meant taking on the kids, their way of making him feel awkward, like any intimacy was too much. But he grew used to it. In May she wore a blouse made of crepe paper and walking out into the garden let the sunlight come through it in glowing thumps. She stood before him and he groped up inarticulately.
Pull down grace, he thought, gotta pull down this grace. Make it mine.
She took his hand's cold flesh for a moment, then shoved it away.
"Teach them to ride bikes, won't you?"

[Anonymous No.3667297]

jesus fuck the deadline's on monday, meanwhile i'm posting bullshit on 4chan trying to buy myself time, my tramadol's running out, and my flat is breaking down, it smells like stale trash and stepped-on ash, what am I waiting for, that I haven't done already, please let me go, I'm just living by on credit.

[Anonymous No.3667310]

>>3667264
i liked this a lot, anon.

[Anonymous No.3667321]

>>3667310
thanks. glad to know you liked it.
Break ups, man.

[Anonymous No.3667327]

>>3667291
So he taught them and they came on until he was only pretending to hold the seat and pretending to steady them. They tracked through the puddles hanging from the morning's rain. He didn't watch them; he stared at the neighbour's curtained windows. Behind them two shadows grappled through the light: one tall and moving pointedly, the other growing darker as it came closer, until it wasn't a shadow but a twitch.
She smiled at him. He wouldn't have done it if she had worn crepe-paper dresses back then, if the light held her like that back then. And this fact lay somewhere below the threshold of his moral intelligence, which for the moment was picking feathers from her -- first the clothes, obviously, then the last bastions of privacy (phobias, regrets, dammed up insecurities). Yes, he was determined to really invade her privacy.
Further on up the road a knee was about to be scraped.

[Anonymous No.3667360]

>>3667264
Here's another one.

A thousand people have promised you a thousand forever's.
It's nothing new, nothing spectacular in the way they swear a warrant of undying love.
Love.
The word is tossed around like greetings - a sin to never utter it at all times. It is an obligation, love is no longer a right, no longer something special or unique.
God forbid they mean it. God forbid it warm your skin and char your insides with excitement.
What is genuine in a hello, that isn't in a goodbye?
A thousand times they promised, a thousand times they forgot to keep it.

[lazy No.3667380]

>>3667360
I like. reminds me of this poem

Autumn Leaves are falling all around

And more of them there are , than can be numbered
A thousand times lovers die,
The fire leaves their lips and so many loves go
With the treacherous flow of Time
So many partings there are, that we can never count
Even as we meet
We have already parted.


Even as I die, Ananda,
I hear the sprouting buds of early spring.
Like the raining leaves, beyond our numbering
Are the Truths that lie under the sky.
I bring only a few by which I feel
We can understand our suffering.


So mournful you are Ananda, that you see not
That death is only a part of all that lives
And what I speak may soon be all forgot
So go and preach what you believe
And gather all your mind can grasp
From the Truths
Raining down like leaves from the silent heavens
And remember that which all my teachings lead towards:
BE YOU LAMPS UNTO YOURSELVES.

[Anonymous No.3667384]

Do you drink from a glass? One who has friends drinks from a glass because they have someone to share their drink with.
l drink from a glass but it's the only one l drink with.

[Anonymous No.3667394]

Beauty lies behind hazel eyes
and olive skin. With my surrogate twin.
I'm not a liar, the situation's dire;
You've borne a whole straight through my head.

Astute with no substitute.
Just a dim star in the night, stealing light.
Left awed and flawed
I am perfect, decked and brain dead.

[Anonymous No.3667398]

>>3667327
The dog jumped up and opened a hole in the crepe dress. When they had first met she'd a hole in her jumper the size of penny under her arm. While she was nervously flattening the crown of her hair somebody she didn't know came over and poked his finger in it. She'd hated the invasion of her privacy and was angry for him for making her feel uncomfortable like a big piece of blank electric. Later that night the covenant broke between them and gold came out.
"I can't say everything about me," she told him from his lap. "Not that I won't, but I've forgotten most of it."
He pinched her nose.
She wondered why she hadn't married that one.

[Anonymous No.3667403]

>>3667380
Thanks Anon.
The poem is beautiful.

[Anonymous No.3667425]

Jesus Christ squinted through the pawn shop window to see if anybody was there. Mac's Pawn was the only store Jesus could find in the whole strip mall that wasn't boarded up or broken into. For now the snow was falling lightly and melting on the asphalt, but there was a raging blizzard just a county away. The weather channel said the storm would come down on them within the hour; some put it as close as twenty minutes. Either way, Jesus didn't have enough time to get to shelter. Unless anybody was left in this pawn shop.

[Anonymous No.3667428]

Anniceris sat in the square, Hegesias by his side
And piercing through the summer air, a question aimed at life
"What cares have you for your sons, when to my words they leap
No calming air nor sweetened breeze, can ease the woes they keep"

Anniceris had heard enough, and to his friend he posed
A wager set 'tween God above, and Hegesias below
"If it's truth you do espouse, of worthless life you speak
May your pen pour out great gouts, and redden soon these streets
And if when sun dispels the dusk, great Rome's returned to Earth
My kingdom will be yours to keep, and all its Godly worth"

And with their pride and persons set, as both did face their fall
Anniceris went unto a crate, and said 'Come one, come all!'
The denizens of rome appeared, and stood entranced in awe
And with the ink still wet on parch, Hegesias purveyed all

'Dance now children to the end, Dance 'till souls go soft,
Our God has left us to his child,
He once did hold aloft."

The night fell dark, the Angel's wept, the blood of Rome did seep
And through the dark a demon came, and faced the stars at East
Anniceris awoke alone, with death stale in the air
And looked upon the corpse of Rome, and failed to shed a tear
Instead his words rang like a knell, through cold decaying air
"Hegesias make for the courts, and I shall meet you there"
And two minds met amid the death, two privy to the dawn
Anniceris gave all accrued, to the wager did he fall

But Hegesias was merciful, and to his friend returned
The wager, winnings and the work, for which the Romans burned
And 'Death By Starvation' lives on in verse, and dies as did its core
With Hegesias the wisened sage, who Rome let speak no more.

[Anonymous No.3667451]

“Will you stop it?”

The sentence is spoken like he always speaks it, stretching out each word as if it will make a difference. He used to think water was a clean, holy symbol. He learned different.

Rain isn't good for the soul, it doesn't clean anything it just smears the sin around. Too much will drown the seeds he planted and then drive the last of his livestock insane. The pounding will drive him crazy too, three years of evening rain wears a man thin.

He looked up at the sky, but the drops didn't stop falling. God wasn't listening.

[Anonymous No.3667453]

>>3667428

Wow, I really liked that. What do you recommend for writing poetry? I can't poetry for my life.

[Anonymous No.3667458]

"Whatever, it's your turn."
Staring at each other intensely, they sized each other up.
"Dare, always dare."
"You can't 'always' dare."
"I can and will, hurry up though. Last time it took you like, two millenniums to decide."
Trying very hard to scratch its head, the being flailed its tentacle wildly next to its two earholes.
"Well, what are you willing to do, Croydos?"
Croydos, shrugging, leaned back in his chair. He hated waiting. Croydos, and his companion; Lebertik, were Gods.
Not the arrogant, "I love all of my creations" peaceful kind of gods. People worshipped Croydos and Lebertik for a reason.
Granted, the reason was often fear, but that's pretty much the same reason anyone worships anything anyway.
"I'll do anything."
Lebertik stared at Croydos as suggestively as he could without eyes. Meeting the sultry motion with a sigh.
"Yes, anything."
"All right, in that case, I dare you to impregnate a village of women."
"Done." Croydos replied, smiling.
"Wait wait wait, I wasn't finished. I want you to impregnate a village of women."
"You just said that."
"..With their own visions of their perfect mate. They must be so irrevocably attracted to their offspring that they can scarcely contain themselves around them. But if they ever mate, the women must become bloated and deformed as if to atone for their sin."

[Anonymous No.3667462]

>>3667451
Loved this so fucking much.

[Anonymous No.3667473]

>>3667451
This is very pretty. I love that little bit about the rain smearing the sin. I always try to integrate bits like that into my writing and fuck it up.

>>3667453
I really can't recommend anything. I've posted that poem a couple of times on /lit/ and it has polarised opinion, with some saying it's awful and some saying its great. I think the ballad is the best form to start with for writing though, so look at that.

That guy who wrote the Gomorrah poem (look him up in the archive) gave me that advice. As an aside, his poems are amazing and you should have a look at them.

[Anonymous No.3667475]

Rwanda

A world of fire brimstone
Oil at the brim
Cackles of glee at the helm
The ship sets sail yet again

Standing at the edge of earth
Watching all the people go
Watching all the people go
And taking them in my arms

A creaky ladle dipped into the bubbling water
Rising, several drops fall out
They hiss like snakes when they hit the ground
Burning the royal cockroaches

This time, a whole crowd sails upon the golden ship
Dutifully ignored

[Anonymous No.3667470]

I couldn't help but stare from afar. He lit a cigarette, glanced up at me, returned to the cigarette, eyes back at me, back at the cigarette, back and forth, dart, dash, dart. It felt as if he was trying to call to me, that raspy voice heard somewhere in the back of my mind, but I couldn't make out where it was coming from. Definitely didn't come from him, he was too focused on the smoke. What he saw in the grayness, I can't tell you, but it wasn't me, and it was never me; I had only made eye-contact with him once, and that felt like an eternity ago. The music started playing and he began to sway slightly, slightly, oblivious to me and everybody around us, around him, focused solely on the smoke. He danced in it, white to gray, gray to white. He disappeared in it, reappeared, gone. His face met mine. His face shrouded. Eye-contact. Hidden. My attention was lost in the swirl; my eyes swam in the curtains he covered himself with, an ocean in the air around my face, enclosing. Gripping. My shoulder in his hand. I swung around. He was gone, just a memory, just a dream. I turned around, he stood before me. "How about you take one, kid. You oughta relax." Gone. Each exhale brought him farther from me now, each inhale a step closer. Farther, nearer, relapse, regress, reminisce, regret. "She misses you, kid. Might wanna go home soon." I hate the smell, I hate the taste, I hate the cough, I hate the buildings, I hate the school, I hate the house, I hate her crying, I hate, hate, hate you. "Go home."

[Anonymous No.3667482]

I punched him again while I straddled his chest and the rest of the body went limp. Bloody nose, bloody knuckles, I could feel my heart beating in the back of my neck and my phone still ringing, but I punched again and again. It was over so I leaned on the wall to try and regain my breath. The phone kept ringing, ringing, ringing, but how could I answer? I was panting. I pulled the phone out, smearing the touchscreen with blood and spit, and I read the text messages while I ignored the call.

"Come back. I'm sorry. Come back. Answer the phone. Where are you. Answer the phone. Come back."

[Anonymous No.3667492]

She was abrasive. The movements were coarse, the voice even more so. She was downtown, midnight, street lights around her, framing, elevating. She couldn't look this pretty in daylight, only now, only here. Each step was deliberate; planned repetition, rehearsal at its finest. She was looking to impress, facilitate, inspire, enrage, turn on. Our eyes locked at the worst time: the approach. I didn't intend for it, I was just glancing around her, hoping to avoid her gaze as I made my way past, but her deviant stare caught me red-handed. I was looking at her and she was looking for opportunity. I dodged, she rushed, spontaneous; I ran, she sprinted. Crowds were obstacles for me. Crowds were nothing to her. The city was her dinner table, an all-night cafe. "Anything" was all I heard. I'd been pushing her out of my mind, she was only another body, she was only a smaller crowd. "Do you have anything for me?" She was at my side. I was at my limit. I pushed her away, shoved her back, shielded myself, defending, protecting. "You can't just leave me here," she yelled. Movement stopped. The city turned its eyes on us, a triangle of unbreakable stares. "Not again." I wanted to charge at her. I was the bull and she was nothing; she was dead. I grabbed her arm. Dead. I pulled her in. Dead. A cocked pistol in my fist. Dead. Steam. Let go. "Not again," I whispered.

[Anonymous No.3667502]

>>3667473
Thanks man

>>3667425
Jesus Christ squinted through the pawn shop window to see if anybody was there. Mac's Pawn was the only store Jesus could find in the whole strip mall that wasn't boarded up or broken into. For now the snow was falling lightly and melting on the asphalt, but there was a raging blizzard just a county away. The weather channel said the storm would come down on them within the hour; some put it as close as twenty minutes. Either way, Jesus didn't have enough time to get to shelter. Unless anybody was left in this pawn shop.
Jesus knocked on the door a second time. After a minute of waiting and shivering he slammed his open palm into the door repeatedly until someone stuck their head out of the doorway in the back. A short tattooed man, stiff and red faced, stomped out of the back room and to the front door.
He yelled so Jesus could hear him through the window: "We're closed!"
Jesus mouthed 'please?' and motioned to the sky.
The man shook his head and pointed at a sign in the window with the hours on it. They were closed, but Jesus knew that, he just needed somewhere to hide from the storm.
"Come on! Just open up!" Jesus pulled on the door handle a bit.
The man behind the window was almost shaking with anger. He stood for a moment, watching Jesus, then ran behind the counter and grabbed his shotgun. He pointed it out the window at Jesus and slowly walked over to the door, unlocked it, and cracked it open.
"Look, you bum - get the fuck outta here. I'll shoot you, I swear to God I will."
"Please, my child. Put the gun down." Jesus said.
The man was dumbstruck. He looked like he was about to yell, but instead just sighed and spoke softly. "Look kid, I don't want to hurt you, but I know your type. As soon as I leave you're going to bust into here for the night. Maybe you'll make a fuckin nest and lay little hobo eggs. I don't know. So just walk away before you get hurt."

[Anonymous No.3667528]

>>3667050

HAHAHA omg you're so funny i love the way u make fun of edgy amateur writing, i've never seen anyone do that before. please, feel free post your own material, if sure its perfect

[Anonymous No.3667540]

>>3667502
I like this one.

[MH No.3667551]

>>3667022
And there she stood, tall, majestic and smiling, it was only then that I realized she had been bitten by a shark and I scream
"Nooo!"
Tears fill my eyes as the shark flys away into the sun, smiling at me with bloodyed maw.
I scream
"Nooo!"
Then I cry. I fall to my knees but fell to hard and grazed them
I scream
"Nooo!"
As red starts to seep through my cargo pants that I got at walmart for £2.99
I cry
I look up and see a bloody body
I scream
"Nooo!"
I died


Thoughts? A poem that just flew from brain without thought, good, bad? Let me know!

[Anonymous No.3667573]

He loved her, of course he did, nothing made him happier than peering down at her soft nest of short blonde hair lying lazily on his chest, the colour of her locks amplified by the Sun's bright beams of light, and the slight tanning of her skin made him want to simply lay like this forever.

However, he also loved /her/, that strange woman who he had met on that fateful moonlit night. Her black studded jacket stood out to him, like stars in the night sky, and her dark hair and pale skin reminded him of a sort of roman goddess he had once read about in his youth.

It was poetic, he thought, how each of his women personified day and night perfectly. If only it was possible to prevent the meeting of the two, in the evening.

(I'm not a writer, I'm tired and wrote this on a shitty iPhone. Sue me.)

[satan !!1Fa7LzeI6u8 No.3667835]

>>3667029

give me a half dozen of those oxys, id smoke them off the tin, string them off the foil, make a slight bend in the metal to put three of them on top, bright and shiny side works best, tilted at an angle and hold the flame just far enough to not make them boil yet close enough to not color the underside black, dirty fingers watch them vaporize, smoke rising playfully like released whippoorwills into my cut-off mc-donalds straw, down my throat clawing into a that climaxing hot burn expanding in my lungs drying out my ghost drying out my ghost drying out my ghost. and i gasp before these trailing blue pills, summons to my blood, chasing their black trail they make a playful spiral onto the tin-foil and i follow them into the inner-most chasmic void of crawling itchy bliss, love and insects under my skin, follow the bubbling trails i move my lighter a bit further off for the finish before my beautiful blue pills disintegrate,
and i disintegrate, together with my shadows lingering behind,
past the rustling of leaves,
into breathlessness, into that calm and beautiful
white
light

[Anonymous No.3667845]

Where clammy, hopeful heat is panting around the wooden floors
I, sitting beneath a bright, incandescent sun
With muscles untight and refrigerator on
Scurry through time and decay indoors.

[Anonymous No.3667857]

>>3667835

OPIATESSSSSSSSSSSSSSIWWAAANNNAAAAAAOPPPPIIAAAATTEEEEEESSSSS

[Anonymous No.3667876]

Hard Times is a novel which strives to portray class struggles as inherently insurmountable. Neither side will ever see eye to eye. Evidence is in Mr Bounderby never being able to stop talking about himself and bragging about how he's not some little shitskin who lays around idle and says Ï'm a self-made man you know"yeah I get it gramps but the poor people can't ever get to that level you see. Blackpool simply wants a wife right? or not. Shit I don't know. He's sort of just hoping for the conflict to end. He really doesn't have a drive in life. Maybe Rachel. Probably Rachel, considering she's described as a angel to him at times. BUt they can't see eye to eye because Bounderby feels everyone is capable of making themselves awesome, and he feel they are also all moochers trying to take his money. So is the blame squarely on the upper class? How are there misconceptions on the lower class level? are they trying to see eye to eye but the higher class is avoiding their gaze It's all a muddle and my essay won't write itself. It's shaping up to be a pretty poor essay because I don't know where I'm going with anything in this dammn book. Everything is bastards.

[Anonymous No.3667901]

God, I’m worthless. I’ll never rise to the level of a real human being. They look down on me and sometimes I look down on them too, but there are more of them. What choice do I even have? Sometimes I want to die and sometimes it’s the last thing on my mind. I don’t know what I really want. I guess if it happens then it’s meant to be and nobody should regret that it happened. Maybe my suicidal thoughts are the rational side of me and the self-preservation is a result of base human instinct. Maybe it’s the other way around.

Sometimes I’m restless and I can’t sleep and I’m scared and I want to run. Sometimes I want nothing more than to sleep forever. Sometimes I feel motivated and confident. Sometimes I feel catatonic and hopelessly apathetic. Part of me wants to ask “why?” but I soon realize that it’s a stupid question. Humans love to find reasons behind everything and connections between unrelated things. The fact is there is no answer to “why?” and there is no one to answer, not for me anyway. And I have no idea how I feel about that.

Sometimes I forget who I am for a minute and I have to think about it for a minute and then my heart sinks when I remember. I lose connection with what’s real and what’s fantasy because both are equally unreachable for me. I feel more connected to characters than real people and I hate myself for that. I can barely relate to characters, really. The worst part is that I know I’m not really unique, maybe not even all that different, I’m just another shit human being, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m different from them and that I can never really interact with them.

[Anonymous No.3667902]

I'm eating potato skins. I wish I wasn't broke. I want a beer but I have been sober for a week and a half and plan on remaining so for 3 weeks. I went back to work. I will have money in a week. I feel stifled creatively. I feel less depressed. I have begun reconnecting with my friends that I had begun to talk to less. There are moments when I miss feeling so terrified that I have to lock myself in my apartment for days nursing hangovers.

[Anonymous No.3667906]

>>3667901
Really though, even though I now it’s pointless, I often find myself wondering “why me?” I mean I try. I fucking try. Itryitryitryitryitryitryitryitryitryanditrybutnothingfuckingcomesofit.<wbr> Or maybe I don’t. I’m not entirely sure what trying would entail to be perfectly honest. I’m not even completely confident that I’ve tried to find out what trying is. Fuck it.

I’m so fucking lonely, but I hate human company. Just hate it. My comfort zone is just not where all the magic happens. My comfort zone is dark and small and enclosed and secluded. My comfort zone is wherever they aren’t, and they is comprised of all people, as of the writing of this letter. Once I went to the mall by myself to get food and I had to slip in the bathrooms to cry because I was so fucking afraid and I don’t even know of what. I never do know what I’m so afraid of, but I believe it might as well be there seeing as it has such a devastating effect on my day-to-day life.

This wasn’t the way everything was supposed to happen. It wasn’t the way I envisioned everything as a kid. When did it get this way? I think it was around 6th grade when I realized I was the weird fat kid that nobody liked. That was also when I realized I was quiet. It’s still a weird thought, but I guess I am. Before then I usually just said things when I had to and I never realized that others would view me as quiet because I was always talking inside my head. Maybe I was daydreaming about having a life while they were working on constructing one, an action that becomes progressively more difficult as you age. Like learning another language. Yeah. That's a good way to describe it.

[Anonymous No.3667908]

>>3667906
Anyway, by 6th grade I realized that everybody had left me behind. Some people had already had girlfriends when I’d never even had a sleep over. Somehow everybody made friends and I was left out on this mysterious process. I’d say I was watching from the sidelines, but I didn’t quite have that privilege. That would mean I hung out with people or went to parties, two things I’ve never really done. No matter what I do I always come of as strange and quiet to others. I try to act normal when I meet new people, but they smell the stench of a fake emanating off me. Or I wasn’t really acting normal because I don’t know what normal is.

Now then, what is the point of life? I guess it might be to enjoy yourself. I do know reading books, watching movies, and listening to music have slowly become the only things I really enjoy. The problem is that to accomplish this without being a drain on society as a whole is to finance it yourself. And, more than it just not being worth it to me, I don’t know how I’d do this. I’m no particularly good at anything. Some kids grew up thinking “I want to be a painter” or “I want to be an astronaut.” I grew up thinking about how I wanted to have friends and be happy. I have no idea how to accomplish these two goals and neither of them really make money. So why stay alive? To not make my family sad? Well, considering these are the same people who I will eventually fail and become a financial and emotional drain on, maybe it would better for them to be rid of me now. Like ripping off a band-aid. On more self-centered note: wouldn’t it be better for them to remember me as a smart young man (deluded as they may be) than as a failure? Honestly, for as long as I can remember I knew suicide was how I was going to die. Maybe I should just get it over with. Maybe.

[Anonymous No.3667910]

>>3667857
jelly is me my mind speaks the words to my cells

[Anonymous No.3667913]

white teeth a bright smile i have not seen in a long while for the day i found myself in a grotto also they left for another time. i miss them i miss them i miss them. i'd say everything and tell about whitman's tears and the long sterile space in my mind since they didn't even say goodbye. yesterday i awoke newly minted with my mind a wooden house wiith high walls and air. shot through with pure toned light. a word destroyed me and hurt me. so fragile and i can't admit it nor remember why or when i lost so much. nothing much lost but in my mind. outwardly fine but inwardly dying. melodramatic i write and i hate it. birds are the best musicians they sing so loudly and with consistent articulation, pure tones, controlling the airflow. flying high and low. the air supports them so. like a word upon a page. weightless and waitless they dance through the air their songs and their wings. damaged i am and it's all me. nobody to blame but me. heedless days pitching into each other so i live one day again.

[Anonymous No.3668001]

she was the one woman I ever really loved and who loved me also and she doesnt know who I am not really not by my real name or face or my body only my voice and the way i speak and write and the ideas or opinions or feelings that I have about things and i suppose that might be the reason those are the only things I really value about myself you know this kind of ability i guess to communicate with another person with someone i find so reasonable and true that it's beautiful whatver those things mean to me and actually have it resound in them positively and we become part of each other and I suppose thats the only kind of legitimate connection with anything on Earth that I've ever had and so I can understand why I get to thinking that the communication of ideas is the only surefire and lasting thing on this whole entire planet

[Anonymous No.3668003]

>>3667913
i came to the same place but transposed and the lights were dark with space in the rooms and you told me to sit down and gave me nothing or all and i don't know what i did but it was wrong for you never forgave me. we sat apart with the dog and the television between us and every day i thought about sitting in the hallway with you and laughing but in the dark it was different.

you showed me the keys and told me to sing but i had no notes to bank in the memory so you disappointed took your leave and i never saw you again. i wish i could see you again. love for me has been the turn away from loneliness and despair and i revolve around the quiet night on the corner of the street after many times seeing the look on your face but we never gave me a way to tell. i would have told you but trust comes to me not like the ones who grew with firmer soil and a brighter air to breathe and see where all my thoughts have got me. back again to the middle of things when we talked and sang and laughed. i loved you.

[Anonymous No.3668020]

>>3668003
>>3667913
I guess i need help. I sound broken.

[Anonymous No.3668023]

>>3667264
>>3667360

I step out of my sanctuary of cold water and glassed doors; I wrap myself in a towel and make my way to the mirror. There’s no steam, no fogged barrier to obscure my image. I stand in its reflection stripped and bare. I pick up the tooth brush and pour a generous amount of tooth paste on the soft hairs. I scrub hard against pearly whites, there’s no need for imperfections in a smile that has no life behind stretched lips and a show of teeth.
You could bend, shape and mold yourself however you want, but in the end you’ll still be a piece of battered clay. And no amount of smiles and laughs can change that.
She talks to the reflection, "you matter." It sounds like a prayer or a wish or maybe the admittance to a sin she committed.
"You only make excuses for yourself. You exist for the nothing and live for the everything. You've long forgotten how to give what you pretend not to take."
She smiles a thousand bitter words and a million fake apologies.

[Anonymous No.3668024]

>>3667835

This is good.

[Anonymous No.3669401]

>>3667360

This is really good

[Anonymous No.3669518]

Wieso nicht, vielleicht, weil es zu nichts führt. Aber ich kann nicht schon wieder rauchen gehen und ich müsste rauchen gehen, bevor ich dusche. Wobei ich nie wieder duschen wollte. Meine Güte, ist es schon wieder so weit. Wasser ist gut, aber ich will es nicht leer machen, weil ich die Flasche dann wieder auffüllen müsste. Auf dem Weg in die Dusche, aber ich kann nichts zwei Tätigkeiten in so einem kurzen Zeitraum nachgehen. Nein. Nein, so funktioniert das nicht. Ich werde rauchen gehen und mein Mund ist jetzt schon trocken. Außerdem muss ich mich noch verabschieden. Ich ignoriere sie einfach. Ich denke an andere Dinge, die vielleicht nicht unbedingt wichtiger sind. Ich ignoriere. Ist gesünder so. Ohja, rauchen. Aber was soll man in der Dusche denken, Duschen sind kein anregender Ort, vor allem dann nicht, wenn der Vorhang ständig an einem kleben bleibt. Und Shampoo und sdas Wasser wird wieder viel zu kalt sein. Ich mag kaltes Wasser, aber nicht so. So nicht.

[Anonymous No.3670341]

Sitting in a swivel chair
my eyes fixed at the glowing square
has it been an hour?
or perhaps even two?
my mind ponders the procrastination
what will make my time well spent?

All the while I continue to gaze
my eyes are stuck to the World Wide Web
here I am again
different place, but the same page
always different, but nothing new

They call this surfing
I call it a trap
my mind is still yearning
the knowledge to produce
my eyes have not yet moved

[Anonymous No.3671023]

Quondam 3/4/2013

Shrieks of desperation bellow
Eyes burn a deep dark morello
None hear the despairing fellow
Heart longing to be made mellow

Swift silver grasped tightly
For so long wanted nightly
Pressed close to the screaming skin
Letting out a staistfactory grin

Velvet red leaks from the neck
A Sea of shadows slowly sets
Illumination seeps all but a spec
Falling limp with no regrets