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malapropism by DeadmansCrescendo, literature
Literature
malapropism
there is beauty in the
freudian flowers that occasionally
make it past my facade,
the way i st-stumble over your name
and stu-tuter when i think about your lips
give way to a higher meaning
i can make endless jokes about your
"feminine psychosis" of lipstick and feminism,
but mostly what i find is that the secret
of where your dress sits against your thighs
is the secret i hold dearest
so, i write poetry, letting the words spill
across the open lap of my mind
as i struggle against the parapraxis
for the correct words to find
i cling to the memories of your smile
and the way your fingers grace over
the side of my cheek
the times by DeadmansCrescendo, literature
Literature
the times
oh, how
the times have changed
where faces and names
cycle through letters and features
but the roles they play
remain the same
there is love, crawling
up my throat, being torn
from my very lips by admissions
and the faintest morsel of
reciprocation
and there is poetry, always
the slick, slimy poetry,
waxing and waning, but mostly
whining about love lost
and love never gained
and how pathetic an existence
a romantic must live
an edge of violence seeps
through my fingertips as
i claw through these emotions
ripping at them with well placed words
and nights well spent
grasping at straws
and, although i may have
ea
To the Ex by DeadmansCrescendo, literature
Literature
To the Ex
iii. it is a curious thing –
the way you make me feel
as if happiness
is not just an illusion,
as if it is right within my grasp
and all i must do is
reach out, your hand
in mine
and press our fingers
against it
and the way you look at me
says it all –
partly amusement, partly
adoration
everything that needs to be said
conveyed in one simple
motion, a flick of the wrist
a brush of skin
a light touch
our speech like disjointed poetry
making no sense,
jumping from
physics to contemplations
of religion, and as i
mispronounce a word
you simply smile
and refuse to judge
ii. i am no poet, but
the way you m
Leaves You :Homestuck, JohnKarkat: by DeadmansCrescendo, literature
Literature
Leaves You :Homestuck, JohnKarkat:
Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you pity someone. You pity someone hard. Sometimes—in the middle of the night, when it is dark and you are alone—you hold a truth to your chest in secrecy. That truth, or secret, is that you think you might even feel that awful human emotion called love. But if anyone were to outright ask you whether this was true, of course their face would become great acquaintances with the floor in no time at all.
There are times when you're able to ignore it all. There are times when you are able to push past the warm, blossoming feelings that reside in your chest. There are times when you can almost forget th
Quantum by DeadmansCrescendo, literature
Literature
Quantum
in another universe, we'd be together
laughing and jumping and playing.
the world would have zero gravity,
and our feelings would bubble forth
from beneath the surface, all the way from
our toes to our lips,
and there would be no fears in our world.
thanks to quantum theory, visiting
this universe of idealology
would be entirely possible and feasible;
after all, everything would be downright lovely,
and that dreaded question, "is it possible?"
would be unthought of.
of course it is; it's love, isn't it?
in this universe, we are apart,
together only on a one dimensional plane,
like the first orbital being occupied in a
gold
grow into you by DeadmansCrescendo, literature
Literature
grow into you
do you remember the first time we kissed?
okay, to be fair, it was all in my head,
but it was the most glorious first kiss
i have ever had
it was simple and chaste,
your lips unsure of what to do
and your fingers clicked against my bones
in eager anticipation of something more
maybe it was all in my head,
but i've never had a lovelier daydream in my life
sometimes, i hold your hand, and i feel
the electric shock bite my skin
it's the first time i've ever felt that fabled sting
of emotion and connection
do you feel it too? or is it in my head?
the way your thumb brushes between
the space between my thumb and index
makes m
Biology by DeadmansCrescendo, literature
Literature
Biology
I loved thee well, but love no more;
I will not knock on a beggar's door,
For thy love was nothing short
Of the deathless graves straight from mort,
And it is with my moment's cry,
That I see mine love begin to die.
Shakespeare promised and guffawed
That love is what brings down us all,
But more than that, unrequited be
The very sin that destroyed me.
If thou continued to pretend,
I would remain a heart at lend,
And perhaps our love would fall
But it would have been at my beckon call.
So now I stand upon my knees,
Rendered towards my biology,
Forced to admit through strangled lips,
That our love is not a sunken ship.
Vivaldi's my song choice now? by DeadmansCrescendo, literature
Literature
Vivaldi's my song choice now?
I think back five years, just five years, to when my biggest problem
was whether or not Gerard Way understood how much he
meant to me. And I look back at what I have done, and
what I have become, and I wonder, somewhere in
side my mind, whether or not little me would
be happy with where I am in life now?
Would she smile and say that I
have done a good job by
compromising every
thing we had
once loved?
Or would
she be furious with
my utter disregard for the
promises I had made, so young
and long ago? Would she be thankful
that happiness has found me in some form, or
would she be focused on the trauma I am focused on
now? I
Whistle Like the Wind by DeadmansCrescendo, literature
Literature
Whistle Like the Wind
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that I was dreaming.
No; I knew that there was no other logical explanation. I knew, through empirical and logical thinking processes, that I was dreaming; but what we know empirically does not always coincide with what we know metaphysically.
The world was a dreamy gray color, the edges blurred, as if my very hands and feet were extensions of an impressionist painting. Nothing was defined except the centers of everything around me. The grass swayed in a green blur around the edges of the street.
I began walking. I wasn't sure where I was walking. Yet I lifted my feet—my smudged, nearly t