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Literature Text
I’m always within arms reach.
I am the whisper of breath against the nape of your neck as you sit hunched over a keyboard with your eyes squinting at something written on your computer screen. I am the feathers touch of fingers gripping your bare shoulder as you lounge on your cheap couch. I am the pair of eyes watching you in the dead of night: I am the low, rasping snicker that fades out of mind after only moments.
I am your opposite, I am your clone. I am your shadow, flicking my own wrist just to see you twitch. I’m the pair of hands that hover just out of your line of sight behind your cracked closet door. I am fear incarnated: I am your soul’s exact copy.
I was there at your birth; standing with my eyes lingering upon the sparkling linoleum of the hospital as you came shrieking from your mother’s womb: bloody and dripping, exactly the way you’d be on your dying day. I was there during your life’s defining moment, smirking at your humiliation, holding you that inch back from achieving your dreams. Couldn’t you feel my hand against your palm? I was there. Breathing, gasping, leering with broken lips and torn apart skin.
I will be quick; I will be sly. I will slip my hand into your parted fingers; I will bring bloody lips to your barren cheek and kiss you. I will pull you close, embrace you, wrap my arms around your body. The feeling of broken, loose skin will touch against your body; but you won’t think of it, will you? I will pull away just the slightest bit and look up into your face, pitch black eyes meeting with your emotion filled ones. I will have no facial expression as I slowly slip my arm into the center of your body.
That tugging feeling in your chest? That’s me. That light, airy pressure against your chest – it’s me, reaching in and grabbing what’s rightfully mine. You’re unaware; you obviously don’t care. My fingers curl around your soul and slowly, I tug it out. That pounding feeling in your head, that force against your diaphragm that just won’t seem to go away?
It’s the loss of something deep within you.
And…slowly…I’m taking over. It’s nothing, really, other than me claiming what was supposed to be mine. Graying skin from lack of love, lack of lust: darker eyes and angry movements will be your domain now. Light or dark. I’m in. I’m spreading down to the tips of your very fingers; I’m curling myself into your tongue muscles. I’m in, and you and I, we become one.
We turn our head. There’s nothing there. We sneer, knowing, well, it’s there. It’s living the life I had to live.
And it serves it damn right. Sin can only lie in waiting for so long.
I am the whisper of breath against the nape of your neck as you sit hunched over a keyboard with your eyes squinting at something written on your computer screen. I am the feathers touch of fingers gripping your bare shoulder as you lounge on your cheap couch. I am the pair of eyes watching you in the dead of night: I am the low, rasping snicker that fades out of mind after only moments.
I am your opposite, I am your clone. I am your shadow, flicking my own wrist just to see you twitch. I’m the pair of hands that hover just out of your line of sight behind your cracked closet door. I am fear incarnated: I am your soul’s exact copy.
I was there at your birth; standing with my eyes lingering upon the sparkling linoleum of the hospital as you came shrieking from your mother’s womb: bloody and dripping, exactly the way you’d be on your dying day. I was there during your life’s defining moment, smirking at your humiliation, holding you that inch back from achieving your dreams. Couldn’t you feel my hand against your palm? I was there. Breathing, gasping, leering with broken lips and torn apart skin.
I will be quick; I will be sly. I will slip my hand into your parted fingers; I will bring bloody lips to your barren cheek and kiss you. I will pull you close, embrace you, wrap my arms around your body. The feeling of broken, loose skin will touch against your body; but you won’t think of it, will you? I will pull away just the slightest bit and look up into your face, pitch black eyes meeting with your emotion filled ones. I will have no facial expression as I slowly slip my arm into the center of your body.
That tugging feeling in your chest? That’s me. That light, airy pressure against your chest – it’s me, reaching in and grabbing what’s rightfully mine. You’re unaware; you obviously don’t care. My fingers curl around your soul and slowly, I tug it out. That pounding feeling in your head, that force against your diaphragm that just won’t seem to go away?
It’s the loss of something deep within you.
And…slowly…I’m taking over. It’s nothing, really, other than me claiming what was supposed to be mine. Graying skin from lack of love, lack of lust: darker eyes and angry movements will be your domain now. Light or dark. I’m in. I’m spreading down to the tips of your very fingers; I’m curling myself into your tongue muscles. I’m in, and you and I, we become one.
We turn our head. There’s nothing there. We sneer, knowing, well, it’s there. It’s living the life I had to live.
And it serves it damn right. Sin can only lie in waiting for so long.
Literature
Selfish Suicide
"People who kill themselves are selfish."
Well, darling, let me tell you a story,
A story all too true.
A daughter who became a wife, a wife who became a mother.
A mother of three girls...
One just above the age of a toddler,
One at the age of twelve,
And one entering the life of a married adult.
Now, the youngest girl was watching television,
And the oldest at the neighbor's home.
The twelve year old daughter sat at a computer with her closest friend,
When something terrifying happened.
Her mother was in the kitchen, coughing.
The daughter, although unable to see her mother, only could imagine the situation.
The mother walked calmly p
Literature
Gay
I am gay.
I'm not a disease, I'm not a problem
I'm not an affliction
I don't need treatment.
I don't need help
I'm not sick
I'm not confused
I'm not a sin.
I am gay.
I'm your daughter
Your sister
Your friend
Your co worker
Your classmate
Your acquaintance
A complete stranger
I am gay.
I need love, just like you
I need smiles
I need support
I need a hug
I need a friend
I need a family
I need acceptance
I need understanding
I need you
I am gay.
I know what love is
I know what pain is
I know what hate is
I know what life is
I am gay.
And I need you to love me
The same way you loved me before you knew
I am gay.
Literature
Fuck You, Cancer
Kay didn't want it.
No, no, no, no, no.
"No."
She screwed the shiny leaflet up into a tight ball, not caring that the sharp edges dug into her palms, and threw it into the open fireplace, smugly watching the flames eat up her information. It was permanently ingrained now anyway.
She didn't want alopecia. To have to wrap her bald head in scarves and wigs that itched. She didn't want to vomit her stomach up every time she tried to keep some form of nourishment in it. She didn't want her red blood cells to die away so all she had energy for was to lie down and sob. She didn't want her skin to be so sore and fragile her legs would bleed freel
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This is a TOTAL drabble. Like, I didn't even reread it.
It was inspired by The Guardian Angel, and you can see where it influenced my writing.
This isn't meant to scare the shit out of you, not like my other two, which will be uploaded probably tonight or tomorrow. This is meant to make you kind of blink.
I'm thinking about maybe setting up a system - odd numbers are just supposed to be interesting and eerie to an extent, even numbers are supposed to freak you out.
Sound good?
Tell me what you think, but go easy: it wasn't proofread.
Comments14
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I started reading this and I got a weird feeling on my neck and the weird thing is I feel like I'm watched at night and when I got to the closet part
My closet door was cracked open
omg
My closet door was cracked open
omg