ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
This is NOT a suicide note
With that said
Am I free of speech?
Or did I simply just say
"please come and kill me"
No, that is not it
For of course
I'm not satisfied with this
And I must ask you
"would you be?"
Would you settle for
Loving those who cannot love you
Maybe the world has grown smaller
Yet I cannot say to your face
"I love the way you..."
But what do I love
I hardly know you
Or maybe I do know who you are
But not how you would say
"how do you do?"
So do I think of ending my life?
Oh yes, every day
And I've decided on this
My weapon of choice I say
"to keep on living"
What if I am a liar
And a really lousy one at that
Do you really care
If the title would be
"This isNOT a suicide note"
With that said
Am I free of speech?
Or did I simply just say
"please come and kill me"
No, that is not it
For of course
I'm not satisfied with this
And I must ask you
"would you be?"
Would you settle for
Loving those who cannot love you
Maybe the world has grown smaller
Yet I cannot say to your face
"I love the way you..."
But what do I love
I hardly know you
Or maybe I do know who you are
But not how you would say
"how do you do?"
So do I think of ending my life?
Oh yes, every day
And I've decided on this
My weapon of choice I say
"to keep on living"
What if I am a liar
And a really lousy one at that
Do you really care
If the title would be
"This is
Literature
Meeting Again
I remember you. but I also hope that you will remember me too. You’re out there somewhere smiling, crying, having the time of your life. Please don’t forget me. That’s all I ask of you. I don’t want every kind word to be meaningless, to not matter in the end. I love you. Family doesn’t break. No matter what. You are blood to me, the blood of the covenant transcends all bonds. No matter where you go, my heart will be with you and I hope you will carry my spirit whenever you struggle and toil in this life. May we meet again. Note: This was inspired by my niece and nephew (one of them) getting adopted. It's one of those "good for them, bad for me" type of situations. I don't know exactly what will happen and that scares me. I don't know if I and the rest of the family will be able to contact them before 18. It's frustrating and to be honest, a little demoralizing. Due to my grief, I'm writing this book a little out of order. It's a way for me to cope with my situation. For me to move
Literature
A Quest for Less
Within the boundless realm of existence, we stand as mere mortals, wrestling with a sense of entitlement, convinced that the world is indebted to us merely for our presence. But do we truly deserve praise and glory, for simply occupying space and breathing? Or is it a relentless pursuit, a race with no finish line in sight, a mirage we can never grasp? Our desires are insatiable, we crave more and more, Our yearnings, boundless as the starry night, In ceaseless pursuit of endless delight. Lands vast and treasures untold. We accumulate and accumulate, trying to make the emptiness whole. A comical display of our trivial vanities, and insatiable greed. What's the point of all this gettin'? To win some praise, some fleeting cheer, For all our shiny trinkets and treasures, Before we say goodbye and disappear? Beneath the soil, we shall return to dust, Our bodies, mere sustenance for the worms, As nature reclaims what was always hers. Shouldn’t we yearn for something else, a
Literature
Age
My hands have never been as heavy as they are now. Looking at my fingers, withered by time and hardships, I recall their former lightness as I bent timber into pieces of art—so agile and precise. As I sit here in front of the workbench I made decades ago, the same workbench in front of which I used to spend night after night pouring every ounce of my being, of my soul even, I am reminded of how much has changed. As I sit here and gently run my calloused, numb hand across the same old wood, which although has no ears to hear me, I still feel the need to apologise to—for my inability. It hurt. It hurt to look at my countless tools, knowing I’ll NEVER use them again, pains me more than my diminishing health ever could. Ever since I become like this, all I do is come here in my workshop and just sit. It was difficult to come here today. I slipped and fell down the steps to the basement. I've fallen down before, but today was more painful than ever. Getting up was hard, and my knees still
Suggested Collections
duly noted
© 2010 - 2024 Aborro
Comments11
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Good. I love the explaining-myself thing. Wanting people not to fall in false dilemmas. I like it.