ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
the euphoric taste of your blossoming lips
my favourite addiction
the utmost desire for your wondrous touch
my greatest destruction
my favourite addiction
the utmost desire for your wondrous touch
my greatest destruction
Literature
The Locksmith
The weakest part of any door is the lock. I know that better than anyone. Or at least I thought so, until today. The man who designed the vault I now stand in front of must have had the words seared into his soul.
I begin with an outward inspection—not normally part of my line of work, but I mostly open and replace locks whose keys have broken off around the village, fit new locks to the safe rooms of the rich, that sort of thing, with locks, for all the complexity I can give them, that still fit into the palm of my hand. The vault is a cube of smooth black steel, standing taller than I do. The edges almost vanish beyond the flickering
Literature
Recursion
Ben was awoken by a loud crackling noise. He sat up in bed, disoriented, and tried to figure out what could have caused the strange, but oddly familiar sound. Deciding that it must have been thunder, he stood up and walked toward the window. He peered through the blinds, to look for any other signs of a storm, but it was too dark to see anything.
Turning back toward his bed, Ben began to feel the after-effect of the two glasses of water that he drank before going to bed. He walked out of his bedroom, making sure to close the door behind him to keep his cat, Lucy, from wandering in, and navigated the hallway in the dim light provided by a few
Literature
Anthophilous (An Anthology)
i. Roses
She breathes through
tattered lungs &
with every inhale
that pierces through her
she coughs up thorns,
telling herself that
she's used to the
taste of her own blood
but her teeth are starting to ache
as pain wraps itself around her tongue
& you could hand her the shears
but she refuses to take them,
too scared of
how much it would hurt
to heal
ii. Clematis
I trace the v(ei/i)n(e)s
curling up her willowy wrists,
my whispers dropping into her lap like stones
(and she wraps her fingers around them,
studies them with amethyst eyes)
words flower from her lips.
Faerie girl,
I bloom into her embrace
and thread my confessions
in
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
This is what my mind thinks about in late evenings when all I have is sad songs and warm tea.
© 2014 - 2024 justayne
Comments3
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Your mind is golden, I think, because this is strangely intimate and raw in all the right ways. Wonderful word choice 