Death knocked on the door
came inside without invitation
poured herself some tea
and asked for a story.
He laughed at all the right parts,
cried when I cried,
asked for more than she received
silently demanding.
It cried with me and laughed with me
sipping their tea and listening
she wondered what I didn’t do
then told me how idiotic I was.
He told me about the children
I could have had but didn’t
and the falls that lifted me up
with the loss of others.
The story of how I almost killed a girl
when she ran into the street
scared her to run into the arms of her father
and never ran into the street again.
The tale of the man who
PrussiaxReader - Patience Test by SherlockedHazza, literature
Literature
PrussiaxReader - Patience Test
The light from your laptop was the only thing illuminating your dark and silent living room right now. Your physics teacher had assigned some work for you to accomplish, and being the procrastinator you are, you decided to get started the day before it was due. To make things uglier, it was Monday. Everybody. Hates. Mondays. You felt like grabbing one of your pillows and screaming all of your troubles into it right now.
Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, the lights were flicked open and Gilbert showed up in front of you, holding a bouquet of fuchsias.
"Surprise, fräulein!" His eyes were closed in delight as his signat
to anyone who has ever
loved a story more than life,
needed a story to feel
their heart beating,
longed for another world
more than our own...
it's the worst sort
of existence, isn't it?
because stories don't
cut wounds in our skin,
they gouge into our souls.
no one sees us bleeding
from the inside out,
losing ourselves
to nothing more than an idea,
a made-up fantasy,
that heals us
and kills us at the same time.
we yearn for a reality
that we will never grasp
in our hands, like beads of
sand slipping through our
crooked fingers.
we scratch at our eyes
in hopes that the blood
that pours down
will paint a brighter world,
spun from the stran
And you were twisted with the potential of a goldmine
You were ink black and addled and you had your
fingerprints stained into tiffany vases and prodigality
And I forged all my sympathies, signed strictly apathetic
While you were in the guise of composites and bleached knuckles
Aphorisms never meant as much to paradigms or gritted teeth
but I digress; I crafted men out of plate tectonics
Ninety degrees from your contempt and
At the rinds you will find plaster and
thirty molecules of carbon and
Don't you ever want to be the one to split the world in two?
You reassure me that your only certainties are relevance and Catch-22s and
You bled sulfur
Not knowing how
we should begin,
we stand here now
to try again.
Relentless searching
for purest cause
as we’re observing
effects of laws
and never taking
a moment’s pause
to stop designing
new sets of flaws…
For noble goals
and simple joys,
the church bell tolls
sound without noise.
As salvation passes
over our heads,
our time relapses
to our deathbeds
and social classes
fall into reds
of blood, ink cases,
depression meds…
For wasted days
and shattered poise,
the night life plays
sound without noise.
Where reason fails
to bring us peace,
the infinite wills
the noise to cease
and the ancient hills
of Rome and Gr
It always starts out like coffee...
At first- It's hot, steaming, energizing
And may even burn your tongue a little bit,
But the great taste heats you up and you don't notice it
And later it getts a bit colder
But the temporture's just fine-
It's warm, relaxing, peaceful, tasty
But then the cup is almost at it's end
Most of the liquid is gone
And there isn't much left to drink
What's left is cold, bitter and gross
But you feel somewhat obligated to finish it,
You won't waste a perfectly good cup of coffee...
And yet
There is always
A little bit of cold coffee
Left in the dirty mug
Left on the table
Until
You finally get the chance
To pou
I was there, walking those dusty roads of the sandhills
When at the end of a long summer day, it would take
an hour for the sun to ease himself down
and let the stars come out to play
Guitars strummed on porch-swings after supper
(both kinds, country and western)
kids playing in the front yard by the porch-light's glow
And damn at all the dogs... every house had at least one
I ain't saying everybody liked each other, but everyone
knew each other, and whose kids were whose
should they be seen doing something wrong
Me, I was in a hurry to grow up and leave, the city called
You can take the boy out of the south, but not the south
out of the
Her heart pounds as he takes her,
And his back arches as she takes control.
It’s a deadly spiral,
One that will lead to angry words and violent hands.
For now though they’re an endless tangle of limbs and emotions.
They say love is the cruelest poison,
And others whisper it’s the kindest venom.
He knows it is slowly killing him,
And she has already accepted the misery.
So she rakes her nails down his back,
And he leaves ink like bruises upon her hips.
Her hair tangles in his crushing grip,
And she draws blood from his neck.
Love me,
She hisses.
Shut up,
He demands.
They move fast,
Dauntlessly so.
She seeks w