literature

death affair

Deviation Actions

silklilies's avatar
By
Published:
3K Views

Literature Text

"there are ways and ways to have a love affair. Above all, one must not be serious about it."

i sank into my spine and my stomach flattened out like the bottom of a weather system, clouds rolled in and i thought i would see sun before another, cold lonely sickness.
the machinery behind my hips, coordination of my fingers.
There are boys sitting next to my flowers made of 20 dollar bills,
they come up like stray dogs,
gentle words-

what are you doing here,
my you smell nice,
that perfume,
and may we kiss you on the tongue.

i looked at them and said i'd rather stick nails in my hands.

i went home drunk and closing doors and there was a heavy warm silence
of dreaming people,
under their closed lids the wind is coming from a russian whisper like a goddess,
under a heavy monsoon of hair,
my ebony-locked-lover,
white as bone skin

with a miraculous soft voice like the bete
running a salty tongue up the fat,
inner seashell curve of her thigh,
a sickly fairytale princess swathed in creations of sheepskin blankets,
smelling of sex.

to her and only her i performed great acts of faith,
i gouged my summer legs and spent a day in a bowl of teeth,
waiting for her as she made love to some brilliant whore
or maybe the woman who wants to wed her
before another december twelfth birthday.

she makes me a wine glass out of her paper cheekbones and pours me a merlot.
"what keeps you alive, and what makes you cry?"
the answer is nothing, some say to both.

I throw myself off of cliffs for her feet,
out of gabled windows,
breaking my wrists for her anorexic ones,
her downy hair,
her sliver stomach.

finally my eyes open
waking moment
.


she is a divine construction of the glow
of her digital watch
quartered, embellished.

i am stiff and sore with sleep. i feel like a headache.
                                               (her knees and fingers would delight me,
                                                making teeth and caws of my morality.
                                                hatred of my friendships.)

laced crowns of my hair, lollipop red breasts, charlie, my god. just look at me charlie, just look at me. algernon is here for you, there was something important-


the ocean is singing outside
inside; my heart beats, pulsing the pink walls and antarctic tundra
and the lights go on yellow god oh yellow yellow midas yellow
someone's yelling and laughing and they get out the alcohol
you sloshing out the beer and the smirnoff blueberry lemonade drinks
into paper cups and i slosh it the place where my mouth was last time i checked.

there were no men in the little rainsoaked room,
only a great stink of perfumed women
and

you, a laughing
smiling tiger, smoke and vodka knees


by his time i had already spilled one drink- partly in my mouth-
mostly in my sailing scarf,
and almost all into the floor.
The music was getting under my bones,

chewing into the marrow with yellow tongues,
sliding into my occupital bone with a hungry pounding
moving me like the ocean.

i kicked off my itching shoes
and yelled lyrics to an entirely different song
not falling but rising like rolling around and i imagined purple hammocks and cloud women choking themselves on my sailing scarves with their little pink fingers going purple and losing oxygen and their eyes going black before the sun ever comes up.

and her mumbling sestinas and lost words and
thoughtful anorexic angels with dark hair and lightning thoughts and a scream that could shatter me,
her trying to drown herself,
her telling me barely
and i yell about her tears and sliver stomach and how she could've loved me if i were prettier.

she erased every word out of the dictionary that reminded her of me.


there was the strut of a piano chord
coming out of the small pink wet mouth of a cat-eyed girl, and you were
sly blue-lidded and yet i wore all black and watched everyone.

your hands became the key to the machine and when the thunder crashed outside and the lyrics groaned out of our blistering-hot radio melting, you sha-shayed my hips until my skirt nearly hit my ribcage.


as brave as i could crying i slowly got
slowly,
beautifully,
beautifully slow drunk
and watched the cat-eyed girls
make grinning, devastating remarks about nothing
.

i was folded into a sheepskin blanket
and shoved into your arms
by some puritanical girl with a white skirt and a naked torso
and sachar beads.

"treat me like you do," i bawled,
and i could feel your white hands;
a smell went to the back of my throat.



such a small six hours of heavy hot sleep after a
long frozen orgy, your
hopeful mouth dry and hot against mine.

there's a pile of girls all sleepy and whispering teeth gnashing in the dry scrape of carpeting.

the sun  unleashes a fury before breakfast.

and the girls clean up their vomit stains like spilled water blotted.

and pick up their hopeless bones.


my fingers trace spines like butterflies
wrists
and your elbows and
you are smiling
a doll with stitched lips.

i can imagine the pregnant trees
dying and the leaves fall

and they grow tall only to turn gray
and wither and fall on
houses and children.


and i smile at the dead trees and look for you.
drunk or thoughtful or
just lucky;

after all,
"there are ways and ways to have a love affair..."


inspired by how
some people think it's a fairy tale
you party and you laugh and that's all

it seems like they've forgotten
or maybe never experienced,
being broken beyond repair,
laying in the floor screaming
wishing you would bleed because maybe that would be an excuse for such animal noises coming out of your mouth;

this is the shell of the world
this is what happens when you don't care
you forget

i still can't tell if it's good or bad
but god knows it's hard to take things seriously
somedays



.blue monday:

how does it feel to
"treat me like you do,"
when you laid your hands upon me
and told me who you are
i thought i was mistaken
i thought i heard your words
tell me how
should i feel
tell me now how do i feel
© 2010 - 2024 silklilies
Comments59
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
DecembersDemon's avatar
:star::star::star::star::star: Overall
:star::star::star::star::star: Vision
:star::star::star::star::star: Originality
:star::star::star::star::star: Technique
:star::star::star::star::star: Impact

how in gods name am i supposed to critique this? there is no way in hell i can take each part an analyze it. each part belonds to the first and next, and you cannot analyze the raw emotion you have shoved in here. yet, here i am typing. why? because you're my sisterundertheskin. and i love you. that's why.
anyway.

from the very beginning, the reader is drawn in by that quote. the fact that the word 'love' could be seen as anything other than something to be taken seriously is a concept that i personally don't understand. that quote almost sets the tone for the piece; a touch of sarcasm, and jaded to the extreme.

through everything, you keep the dream like descriptions, birdy. in almost every single sentence, you use atleast two senses to describe things. and the combinations you use are perfect, and extremely well placed. the effect is almost whimsical, which is then set off by the content that is anything but. this aspect alone makes for some wonderful literature.

there is only one thing that i could possibly suggest.
though you do have each 'individual' part seperated by a period and a space, i think a little bit more obvious seperation would work even better.
though, at the same time, these parts flow together so well that this entire thing could work as one 'scene' just as easily.

your word choice is superb, and though you have to dig through all of the imagery to get to the plot, it's still extremely enjoyable to read.
(there should be more than five stars for impact)