ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
when he finally found that
his fabricated wonderland
utopia was a chained
captivity of his illusions-
his thoughts became
chrysalises filled with
butterfly guts & blood
now, who taught him to kill
his thoughts with
intoxicated ideas?
(the scent of burgundy ash
and lit cigarettes
is one he already knows.)
by the looks of it,
the body he has
is now painted red;
a forlorn hero,
a walking time machine
stuck in the second
when his neck
kissed his head
goodbye---
stuck in the minute
when his veins cried
and choked
on acid
and he cried, too
his fabricated wonderland
utopia was a chained
captivity of his illusions-
his thoughts became
chrysalises filled with
butterfly guts & blood
now, who taught him to kill
his thoughts with
intoxicated ideas?
(the scent of burgundy ash
and lit cigarettes
is one he already knows.)
by the looks of it,
the body he has
is now painted red;
a forlorn hero,
a walking time machine
stuck in the second
when his neck
kissed his head
goodbye---
stuck in the minute
when his veins cried
and choked
on acid
and he cried, too
Literature
Easy
These days
my prince in shining armor
is a manic-pixie-dream-girl
who shows up on my doorstep
reeking of patchouli
and old leather
and maybe something dank
she has a free seat in her van
and stardust in her hands
coffee on her lips
and I am
smitten
with the curves of liberation
chasing willow breezes
under the swirl
of the night sky
weightless
.
she leaves me
after a month
for blackberry brambles
and psychedelic punch
and someone
who still dreams
but
I keep the van
live off of ground cherries
and chestnuts
on the banks
of the loneliest river
I can find
I watch the currents
carry away tomorrow
and finally drink my fill
of peace
Literature
twenty / something
growing up means :
bird metaphors are becoming trite / i must no longer write
about leaving the nest but decide where i can find a place to build.
like this we all pay our rents. i think about Franklin and his taxes
/ skull collector / his eventual place in the dirt / a nest of paper : currency
of misappropriated quotes.
i return home / find my poster of Che folded into tablecloth /
critical theory textbooks mothballed into the ivory of closet.
/ by home : i mean nest / or conjugal remembrance.
when i dream anymore, it’s about equity / fringe benefi
Literature
A burden, curse
I’m coming back from a few rough months, and here is my first offering. A piece about my bipolar and anxiety disorder.
She cursed herself silently, like
a prayer that can only be said
in the shadows, without other
people hearing—“fuck you, you've
wasted everything, let down
everyone, you deserve this.”
Like this, she doesn’t condemn
herself, she burns for herself,
lights her skeleton on fire, ignites
her mind with the what ifs and
should have beens, all of it.
She is standing, resolute, feet
apart, a sure stance, she is sure
to break down, her elbows will
crush at the weight of all her
inhibitions, her lungs wil
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
i found this in my own scraps and liked it. and added a few stanzas. because it was choppy. & it still is haha
---i guess i'm just a choppy person, gee
© 2013 - 2024 oliviacolomar
Comments6
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
This is one of those poems where you read it once and it is very captivating right away, then you read it several times over just so you can fully take in all the imagery. excellent work.