[x]

Sleeping Beauty

I can see him coming even through my closed eyelids.

He gets closer and closer to the bed, panting like an animal from the hundred steps, and I can smell the sweat and dirt come off him in waves that make my nostrils flare. But I stay perfectly still, keep my eyes sealed shut. He comes to me, and his dirty fingers explore me, spreading his filth all over my clean body. How can he?

He doesn't notice at all where my hand rests.

Over me he breathes hard and pulses, and I hate him for it.

The first was to supposed to be the perfect one, the pure. I wanted him to be so... perfect. But he wasn't. He scratched my face with

Day in the LifeYou wake up, forever bound by the ringing chords of the shitty pop punk blasting from the radio. Rubbing the last vestiges of some god-awful nightmare from your eyes, you roll out of bed, and shut the alarm off. The sun hasn't graced the sky just yet, pink dawn looming closer. It feels like you've just fallen asleep. Glancing at the clock, you realize that you had, in fact, just fallen asleep.

"And so life continues," you mutter bitterly to whoever the fuck out there that cares. The cat looks up, eyes you with amber orbs shining with mild disinterest. He goes back to sleep. "Lucky," you say, scowling at him.

You stumble, sleep clinging to y

The End of the World Henry called them the "barefoot days." Their shoes came off the second school let out for the summer, and they remained off until school began again in the fall. Every day was just the same and every day was completely different. No day was ever boring. They were at that perfect age when everything was always good and nothing bad ever seemed to happen.
This was a day just like the rest of the summer days. Or at least, it started out that way. Riley and Alex came stumbling up Henry's front porch at the same time they always did. Henry's mother had already set the kitchen table with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, made just

Because...Kovah Setters, Sophomore, Homeroom

Most people say that homeroom is useless. I find it relaxing, though. It’s an unproductive period, but it’s a good place to think. There isn’t anything we need to do in homeroom; just sit there and wait for the bell to ring. I guess I take comfort in the moments with no obligations, the moments people mistake for “wastes of time”. Today’s homeroom is quiet as usual. People are always sleepy when they get here. One kid’s even got his head down on his desk. I look at my own desk. The words, Life sucks, are written in blue ink. Why? If it was so important to point out, I don&

041. insomnia.           [part one.]

           So what if I
           don't sleep
           anymore?

                            My nights consist of shaking hands and
                     &

A Writer's Manifesto.I am your neighborhood whore of self-assurance. I am your lock-lipped student. I am every angst-ridden teenager, every heart-aching mother, every boy with a bass guitar. And I am a writer.

I know the strength of the pen and the impact of digital words. I’ll tell you of abandonment that I’ve never suffered, of love never lost, and touch I’ve never felt. I know the sensation of inspiration struck at midnight, of swallowing native ideas, of embracing a language of words never spoken. I’m every sick child you picked on, every boy you cheated on, every adolescent brave enough to pick up a pen, every person who had the guts eno

Open Mic Night at the Jazz BarThere is a reverent hush down in The Jazz Bar for a quiet rendition of “we are nowhere, and it’s now.” It seems, for three minutes, that this could almost be true, until the house lights come up and the compere returns and all is forgotten in a swig of red wine.

Then He climbs onto the stage, with a borrowed guitar. She twists in her seat and says they used to be together, until the previous Thursday, but the rest is lost in the cocktail of voices, laughter and clink of ice on glass.

With little introduction, his song begins. “An original,” he says, “an angry one to start with.” Thick wit

citiesCities

The view from her apartment window made her feel lonelier. She saw the thousands of twinkling lights and the apartments of hundreds of others, and felt separated from the world. In a desperate attempt to recover her wholeness, she closed the blinds and played some Bach.

The world is always simpler with music.

Born in some other time and raised among the flowers, she wasn’t made for cement cities. She wished a vine would reach her window, but she knew plants didn’t grow that tall. The colors of her pillows imitated the gardens of her youth, and made her happy and forgetful of the grey of the skies. She bought

Queen BeeEven in my dreams, dear, I am sick of your
ghost.

You haunt me when my eyes close,
amidst the candy cane trees my mind
makes up; You stroll along the sea grass

laughing, like a hyena. You grab my hand

And I have to remind myself: this is only a dream,
a dream! I scream, I scream. Your laughter is thick
as honey now. I can hear the bees.

They swarm, and I think suddenly that I can
feel pain in dreams, can you? You are silent,
I am under the buzzing wings, floating

Away from you. Your ghost is farther away
than ever, now. Sometimes

I wake: a bee stuck in my throat.

The EmpressI believe in Gravity,
but not in you.

*

I have seen
the way you let lies float
from your throat, out of your
empty mouth. I have seen

The way your eyes flash, like
a storm in August. I have seen

you take my trust in your hands
and suffocate it, like a baby kitten.

Addicted to Self-Righteousness James Hairston is clean, and don’t you forget it. He gotta drive us all over everywhere, just to prove he can. Orders his coffee caffeine-free, ain’t never had a drink or a smoke in his life. His damn station wagon has so many bumper stickers on it. Proud to be smoke-free. See Dick drink, see Dick drive, see Dick die, don’t be a Dick. National Alliance Against Drug Use. Even D.A.R.E. He’s like a health teacher, back in junior high. “That marijuana’s bad for you, Bill. I care about your safety, and it’s going to kill you. I can help you quit.” Shut up, man! Why’s he even hang out with us? I heard h

Three secrets about meA secret about me: Please don't tell anyone. (When I'm alone, I like to think. Sometimes it's about good things, sometimes it's not. But when I think, I am different from when I speak. Because when I speak, I am wearing a mask. When I think, I am naked.) Please don't tell anyone.

Another secret about me: Please don’t tell anyone. (I cannot live without my masks. I’ve got one for every occasion, one for every purpose. I cannot live without my masks, because I am scared. Would you all still like me, if I was standing before you, my soul bare naked?) Please don’t tell anyone.

The last secret about me: Please don’t tell anyo

WhispersAnd ( shhh )
I believe that if you are
very quiet
and still
and still believing
in stars

That you will hear
an empty memory,
a soft song
far away

from the sea.

progression of a thunderstormhave you forgotten how it drives you mad
that i sit on my bed at night,
reading and clearing my throat
as though i am about to answer the phone,
or just be prepared to scream
if a murderer breaks into the house?

you do not hear me when i tell you
sleep, please just sleep tonight.
the dark circles look like
ink and broken capillaries just beneath
the skin-
your pen just skips across paper
and you are dreaming, watching them
unravel behind your conscious eyes.

i am tired for you being tired,
writing letters by the light of fireflies
while i shift uncomfortably in my sheets.

the lights go out and i can only breathe.

Five Kisses

Their first kiss was clumsy−a fumbling of chapped lips and frostbitten fingers in a snowstorm, one trying not to be too forceful, the other not entirely sure this was what she wanted but going along with it anyway.

Their second kiss was a little more organized−caught by her locker and pressed back against the metal; she wondered if the vent-like ridges would leave bruises on her spine.

Their third kiss was spontaneous−throwing her arms around her friend (maybe more) and crushing their mouths together, knowing she would regret it later when she showed up to class with blood-red lipstick smeared across her jaw.

Their fourth

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 1.4 KB more ▶

More from ~Verticae

PolaroidI still got
The polaroid
Always in my wallet
always in my mind

It really is
A happy polaroid
See us smiling
holding close
stealing sparkles
from eachother's eyes

It really is
A joyful polaroid
See the sunlight
passing through leaves
passing through flowers
lighting up her face

It really is
A sad polaroid
Shadow of a tear
the only sign
of what was to come
whiping off the smile

It really is
A bitter polaroid
Laying on the ground
Now bleeding the tears
Of a smiling girl
And the other half in my hand

Emotion by image
Only the picture
To tell the tale
I stopped

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: August 4, 2008
File Size: 1.4 KB

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 8
Favourites: 16 [who?]
Views: 752 (0 today)
Downloads: 44 (0 today)

[x]

Insomnia

by ~Verticae, Aug 4, 2008, 4:21:54 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives

Dreams. Nightmares. Unforgettable nights of longing for the things so far away. For the things that scare me. Pleasant tales of love, overthrown by stories of hell itself - all unfolding around my bed. My red sheets are the bloodstains on the gray wall one night, a bouquet of roses the next.

What are dreams? Imaginary places of make-believe happiness, as if some form of natural prozac? Realms where fantasy is pushed beyond the borders of our very imagination?

I can't tell. I don't want to. My dreams are chapters of the book of my life, they're the red ribbon on the edge of the next page. Never managed to do much reading with my eyes open. Why, God why, would anyone want to live in something as shallow as reality?

Being awake is torture. It's a red car flashing over the gray asphalt, it's the fast lane with me behind the wheel - pointless and fatal. I never got my license, you know. And for good reason; I don't want to control things. I don't need any kind of control, all I need pure freedom.

The doctor once told me I had insomnia. Rarely ever in my life have I hated someone that much, that my vision blurred to red. But even that didn't last long.

Four hours ago, the doctor said I passed away in my sleep.

He lied.

I just died a dreamer.

Insomniaby ~Verticae

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives

I've been waiting for ages to finish this. It was meant as a painting, but it couldn't add to the words, let alone replace them. Blame ~ELECTROpanda for making me finish it eventually.

~Jufda Jan 22, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

This didn't lack a thing. Touching, attractive and beautiful.

~clownofthedreaming Jul 6, 2009 Writer

beautiful lines...and the end was great. nice and fast paced, enjoyed it.

=RosaryOfSighsx Jan 14, 2009

beautifully written

I absolutely love this piece
amazing

"Four hours ago, the doctor said I passed away in my sleep. "
perfect line

~RomeroX Nov 24, 2008

Pretty good,

I enjoyed it.

x

~poetoffire Oct 10, 2008

I love how you don't substitute any other words for "red", like scarlet or crimson. Makes it that much more powerful.

`Itti Oct 7, 2008 Hobbyist General Artist

I like this. Lovely descriptions and metaphors.

Some critique:

I think Prozac has a capital?

My dreams are chapters of the book of my life; they're the red ribbon on the edge of the next page.

I don't need any kind of control; all I need is pure freedom.
Semicolon can be a full stop (or possibly a dash or colon) if you prefer, but shouldn't be a comma.

Rarely ever in my life have I hated someone that much, that my vision blurred to red.
I don't think the comma's right here. Also "rarely ever" sounds odd - do you mean "hardly ever" or "rarely"? I suggest
Hardly ever in my life have I hated someone so much that my vision blurred to red.
or
Hardly ever in my life have I hated someone that much. My vision blurred to red.
(also getting rid of the that much that thing which was a little awkward)

Anyway, good job. I enjoyed reading this

~Verticae Oct 8, 2008 Professional Digital Artist

Tanks for the feedback. I wrote this after two days of no sleep, hence, mistakes were to be expected. It's always good to have them pointed out, though, especially in such a constructive and helpful way!

~deviantmad Aug 31, 2008

you should read metamorphosis by kafka.
i am in the first twenty pages and man that is a freakin dream to be in

More from ~Verticae

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

Insomnia

Insomniaby ~Verticae

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style