Damn Friends by Collateral-Damage666 on DeviantArt

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Collateral-Damage666

Published: Jan 21, 2011

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Literature Text

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More by Collateral-Damage666

Literature

The Droopy Dog

The dog lies beside me, its droopy eyes staring at nothing and its droopy ears so close I can't help but reach out and touch it, gurgling nonsense at the basset hound. Its jaws find my hand, biting down, and I scream and cry, more out of confusion and pain as my father drags the droopy dog away, spitting anger at the creature as it stares up at him with eyes so big. Before the dog knows it, he's taken by others, sold for what it has done, and stares out the rear window of the car, sadness in its droopy eyes as it's taken from its home, never to return.

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Literature

If I'm gonna tell it

Are you hurting, girl? Sad girl Faithless girl Never love another girl You're nobody's baby girl. Not anymore. --- It was the day you walked away, The day you said goodbye. It was then. I stopped smiling when you left me. --- When I am old and grey When I have children who no longer visit me And I have grandchildren who don't remember me When my husband's dead and gone And I am quietly wasting away In some hospice where the smell of antiseptic Masks the scent of death as it settles into my bones It'll still be you. I will love you.

Literature

Ugly

I am ugly I am disgusting Nobody can look at me I must wear this mask forever I can never escape this prison Don't look at me Please leave me alone My razor is my only friend It is the only thing that helps To feel the warm blood drip down my skin To feel my life force drip away Drip drip drip....

Literature

I Give a Damn

I give a damn That there is still discrimination against love. I give a damn That students all over the world are bullied for their sexual orientation. I give a damn That when the time comes, I cannot sponsor my partner for citizenship. I give a damn That teens would rather commit suicide then face the pain brought on by their loved ones. I give a damn That some parents would throw their kids out of the house, just for being gay. I give a damn, Because homosexuality is not a choice, and every individual de

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Poetry

Literature

On self-love

Maybe who she really loves, is the name of the boy she thinks of, while she lines her chatoyant eyes with charcoal maybe the name she really needs to think of, is her own.

Literature

Unaware

When you are two and five and ten you are unaware –– of the cactus in the windowsill, how, fragile, each quill bends and breaks and falls apart.–– Twelve years later, on a Tuesday, you dream about a boy who bumps his head on an iron slate and you wake in a cold sweat. You are twelve when you are always bumping shoulders. Twenty-two years of Thursday. There is nothing at all. And you wonder (and you wonder why) each time you wake. The cactus in the window bleeds with you when you bump it. No one ever mentioned frightened things bite. So you have always been unaware.

Literature

ripples on a blank shore (#15)

in rainbows with a petrichor veil; you've caught my breath in palms covered in dandelions' dust, my longing, an uncovered explosion of drafts hidden from the both of us. but i reach out, knowing wind-chime silence is a possibility as it has always been; knowing the doldrums of my harrowing echoes could be the only reality i'm pressed against, but i'm more than willing to risk my heart and expose it to the weight of sorrow if there's a sliver of a shot that we can be together. suspended in the contingency of the unknown, i hope your wrung hands red with distortion & blue with disappearance, make your way back to the greying soles of my

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Literature

The Bus Stop Dialogues

I. A young man at the bus stop turns to me and softly asks "Why aren't you wearing shoes?" He taps the faded leather of his suedo-skin and his eyes smile in a gentle lilt before his mouth does. I tell him that I like to feel the earth breathe. That textures keep my mind alive and ticking like a clock. I tell him that I'm trying to grow roots so my pale limbs can twist into a tree (the way L and I talked about it in therapy). I tell him that my soul is lonely and the ground is the only thing that's always there. I tell him that bare skin is sensitive and stroking it with every (twelfth) step is a soothing form of self-care

Literature

Schizophrenia

Voices whisper in your ear; Sweetest nothings, greatest fears. All your life your friend is there, Waiting with a tale to share. Threats are blown into the air, Ever present, meant to scare. Someone tails your every move; A hidden fiend, free to rove. Disembodied voices say: Never dare to disobey. Your friend arrives with a grin, A plan in mind, a great sin. Trembling grips your paling hand. Someone whispers their command. Terrified, you call to me, Hoping I can set you free. But as you point out your friend, Wishing that this all would end, My answer renews your fear: I see no one standing there.

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Schizophrenia

Holding on to a thought has always been... difficult for me. They're so rarely interesting enough to hold my attention for more than a few seconds. Quite often, I'll tune out what someone is saying because something they said sparks a thought which leads to another thought which leads to another thought... No, I don't get distracted by shiny objects. I'm a human, not a magpie. I never really cared that I wasn't listening to what people were saying. My thoughts, as cascading as they are, were always more interesting than they were. Eventually, I did away with people entirely, living in my own stream of consciousness. Even now, it is difficul

Featured in Groups

Based on when I was in elementary school (around 2nd grade or something) when a friend would make excuses not to hang out with me and based a little bit on the present.

Mature

Comments30

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wickedimpulse

Jan 23, 2011

Aaaw. Sadface!

I hope you find your true friends soon.

Favorite lines: What went wrong? What did I do?

Mostly because they sound like what would be in speech not poetry... yet, here they are.

<3

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