

I pick up a penI pick up a penI pick up a pen
And then there are times when I am sure I will never be able to pick a pen up again, though the words are at the tip of my tongue: they travel down my throat, pump through the arteries to my fingertips and stall
They clog and collect in the ink of my pen where a dozen or so other thoughts hunker down to bear the weight of another, homeless, waiting for black tides to burst the gates and spill epiphanies.
A man told me once that everything has a place, a time, to die and pass from life to memory; I wo


pinkThere are days when it haunts me and hunts me down the long corridors of my home's empty hallspink
or stares at me from the park benches as the bus drives slowly by. I no longer turn away; it is burned into my eyelids and waiting for every blink and restless night, where sleep and peace evades me for better company.
And while memory guides me past the hospital smells that no amount of clorox can clean, or behind closed doors, where I push back the tide of white nurses and their gray patients,
I pause to remark upon the bald woman w
new england winter

providencethe sun watches the retreating fog as she lulls over a geometric horizon, fat brick buildings pretending to be taller than they are.providence
the street vendors fight for their corners on the sidewalk; foreign cursing heralds the rise from slumber and the smell of coffee and grease overtakes the streets.
old men and dark men, already huddled in the plaza, argue over their hats, and wait for buses as old and dark as they are.
the suits, rarely seen, dart from car to office and escape sight until after noon, pouring together into th


On The Death...On The Death Of Thomas PurbrickOn The Death...
“Thomas…Thomas!”
The limp body seated in a leather chair across from the man with cheap bifocals and an even cheaper black clipboard sprung to an upright position once again.
“Now, Thomas, explain to me what you saw, but speak slower and more clearly this time.”
“The sun set yesterday and Todd and I went to go pick up another pizza for the late night cinema, just like every other Friday. On 45th, just before the run-down gym, a lady came out and asked us what age Amelia must have started at to have four grandkids at twenty-seven years of age.”
Tho
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`youthculture is a community driven artist. As well as pushing herself to advance her own literature she actively involves herself in community projects to assist and mentor up-and-coming dA artists. Her fotofridAy project is bringing together visual artists and writers by inspiring art with art. A well deserved deviousness award and big thanks from not only the lit community, but all of deviantART as well.
Devious Comments
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Avatar by =BlauerAuss
Help||*watercolorists||#traditional
you got into the wrong car. that is freaking hilarious.
Thanks for the laugh ;D
[link]
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DRINK COFFEE!! Do stupid things faster with more ENERGY!!!
ANTI-Deviants DON'T BELONG ON DA!
Watching you now
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One day I
The next day I
Who wants
Zack The Great is part of...
AOZTG
M.E.R.C.S
My Pokemon ID card [link]
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How young can you die of old age? (Stephen Wright)
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- b3mascots.com!
Portal!
=]
Interesting gallery too =]
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Boredem - Death - Sorrow - Confusion
"He told me to tell him when I was hitting the climax then he would shoot himself. So I did, and he did. It was the greatest experience."
Hmm these have other photo's...
[link]
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"I have this need to (pro)create with no strings attached, like a real boy!" Pinocchio said.
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I need you like you would not believe,you're the only thing I want,because you're everything I need...
i love you i miss you
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Never play leapfrog with a unicorn.
I'm da dryad in deviantART's Mythical Creatures Crew!
=sunsets =flower-club
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Scars in the country, the summer and her
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<lolly> i'd walk through a perfectly good whorehouse to get me a piece of penguin ass
litNEWS: what's up in lit?
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<lolly> i'd walk through a perfectly good whorehouse to get me a piece of penguin ass
litNEWS: what's up in lit?
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Scars in the country, the summer and her
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<lolly> i'd walk through a perfectly good whorehouse to get me a piece of penguin ass
litNEWS: what's up in lit?
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