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HugQueen on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/hugqueen/art/Unicorntardismilk-354278538HugQueen

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BlackBowfin

Literature

The Halloween Train

the halloween train doesn’t stop here, but knives do and menace does menace does whatever the night might disguise as a form of charity; its giving, an act of giving back to the ground and sky the moon might shine these ideas as bright to some, its clarity dilutes this liquid atmosphere; here, fear in its truest form is no monster it takes on the shape and weight of familiar indentations in the seat beside you yet, this halloween train never stopped to pick you up and will not stop to let you off touch the empty seat beside you and commit to memory, how life looks streaking by in fogged over windows, in droplets collecting and trailing like comets touch the empty seat beside you and adjust your belongings; pretend you’re simply preparing to disembark at the next stop, now lose yourself in the window in the slow song of click clack and its side-to-side sway; look around for a cord, a handle to pull look anywhere but down into the empty seat beneath you

Literature

This is Our Place

This is Our Place something broke a hole in the barrier; then some event occurred and its memory, still racing toward us in the tunnel called out and sank below our line of sight, when all the bridges between us collapsed there’s nothing here for any of you, there never was never a safe place to dream the wrong thing about the wrong person; but this is our place where the present is built from an engineered gas that expands before you to let you pass through it and contracts, back into solid, behind you this is our place and i’m only here, because like you, i’ve always been here; preserving our intersection of wrong place and time all our possible paths lead here and fold and fill in solidly behind us

Literature

What Things Cost

What Things Cost the best things in life are the farthest thing from free; they cost everything i know this as i wake up, aching in the same position we eased back down to earth in; powering down, still entangled we do adjust, eventually, but not away and i focus just long enough into the dark, to realize that we still have a few hours left to sleep here, the rise and fall of your breath, against me slows time, fogs my ability to fear anything but its departure and i know the act of making memories like these only defers the pooling pain of the present deeper into the trench into the dark seafloor mix of distorted time and the lost lonely continents that, in their descent, left behind the very same spirit and power vacuums we’ve settled into i know a day is brewing below that will one day rise to strike me down, like the earth pounds a single raindrop into mist i know little, yet, of what things cost, little, but enough to not let go

Adadia

Adadia on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/adadia/art/Degrees-of-Damnation-01-S4-1005685708Adadia

Adadia on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/adadia/art/Flesh-and-Bone-01-H2-1006431066Adadia

Adadia on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/adadia/art/What-Have-I-Become-01-O2-1005359921Adadia

Suggested Collections

poems inspiring me to write my own

Literature

Without You

last night without you the world did not end, although every building shook. i'm still picking up loose bricks and bits, cleaning house, mending the yard. even now without you. i feel guilty not inviting you. keeping you in the dark. lying-- or at least omitting truths (joyful truths, to be sure)-- to the face of my old friend. still somehow there was fallout. even the absence of you does some damage. even your shadow shakes tables knocks down a drink or two. and this morning it all felt like a dream. like some quaint, sober nightmare. not completely despairing-- rather nice, to be honest-- but still awful like a knife being removed (at last!) from a wound: you can breathe again, for a minute or so, you think, but now there is a new raw, red horror-- the hot sensation of drowning in your own living blood, suffocating, almost, in your own nourishment, breathless, speechless, as the oxygen betrays you, abandons you suddenly. it's almost enough to ask the nurses to put

Literature

leaves know the weight

I sense a leak, something vast and nameless passing too quickly to track. I always pretend to grow darker and more intricate, to become more like conversations that only happen at night in careful whispers, as they plummet into their beds. I've watched countless rooms undress, spidering out of their skins through zippers and seams, faces in the walls with anguished shrieks, yet to become the ache of a chair, the skin of a finger whose voice swells in my head. this time, all of the time, whose voice unwraps my secrets when I'm able to remember the weathered ice of this lake. what I dream, hold and keep, what rasps in the wind, what lingers and touches me through the cracks.

Literature

Prayer of the Grey

Lord God I pray Allow my soul to know peace If I died today, I’d only have regrets about my life My whole existence is scarred Charred with the reality thereof So I pray to the skies above Can I get a pardon? I feel like a mortar Set to fall as others live What about my time, Lord Do my tears not scream will I feel like I’m done That I’ve given all I can I’m so tired God Can I have a pillow? Even though I still breathe I feel like I’m on death row My pain being recorded Just to give others energy flow I have scars all over my souls body Tormented and abused Praying to you to cut me loose Reveal to me the truth Praying to you Lord Please Tell me What am I to do? What am I? 10/24/23

Poetry

Literature

A Robot Love Poem

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Literature

stormchaser

dear sarah, yesterday I tried to swallow the sun. it burned me up on the inside until even my skin was hot to the touch, and I thought of you. I hope you have found better ways than me to feel lighter. heaven knows there are days where I still trade my feet for concrete blocks and try to sprint to the finish line, but at least I have stopped straying towards the riverbanks. at least I get out of bed. most days, that’s enough. but if you tell me that most days life still feels like a choice you’re making every minute, I will tell you that I understand. I have spent years trying to outrun my sadness, sipping sunlight until my vision blurs and looking up only to realize I’ve been going in circles and calling it progress. every escape I ever made is a town I can never go back to and I’m not better for it. I carry so many graveyards around inside of me, and I’ve lost count of how many bridges I’ve burned because I confused loving with leaving. take my sadness away, I don’t

Literature

girls on a roof.

aphrodite passes the blunt to persephone, says you have to tell me how you did that, how you seduced hades and they sit there on the roof, the stars twinkling. persephone looks youthful in a way that’s untouched, as if she’s somehow eternally seventeen or made of sunshine. i didn’t have to do much, she says. and aphrodite who’s spent years reading gossip mags & articles about “ true love ” thinks about how she saw hades take off his leather jacket & wrap it around persephone’s shoulders, easy as breathing. kissed the side of her head. gave

Unicorntardismilk

HugQueen

Published: Feb 14, 2013

1.2K Views

Description

So I'm putting off other things I could be doing [like laundry, answering messages, being an adult or writing something] by making myself a new lit tag and ID. *keyanadrake once called me 'Lady Hugs-A-Lot' and I would like to think it is an apt description of me.