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literature
where the wild things are_c
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Literature Text
here, you will not find
gold-encrusted fairies or
silver-coated unicorns hiding
between the towering oaks.
this is not a place you
will think of as fondly as
the patterns of falling rain
against the window's glass.
there are runs in your stockings,
here. there are little girls
smoking cigarettes and turning
their thumbs to sin.
here, you will stand under
a broken umbrella while your
mascara falls black against
porcelain cheeks, giving you the
illusion that you're crying
stained tears.
here, each blade of grass
has long since turned to ash
like the future generations
of our community.
here is not a place you want
to be, as horrifying as
the big green monster
waiting in children's closets.
when you cry for help
no one hears the noise, and
nothing is real. there are
killers in your own home,
behind furniture, under
every table and dresser.
this is a place where earth
crumbles under the soles of your
shoes and tree roots are left
clutching empty air.
here, there's no left and right
up or down. there's only
here and now.
here, there's no beginnings,
only restrictions and endings
and 'no left turn' signs.
you will be lost, here. you will
not know where you are going or
how you will get there
or what you will look like when
you show up.
here, we stand forgotten with no hope
of change.
gold-encrusted fairies or
silver-coated unicorns hiding
between the towering oaks.
this is not a place you
will think of as fondly as
the patterns of falling rain
against the window's glass.
there are runs in your stockings,
here. there are little girls
smoking cigarettes and turning
their thumbs to sin.
here, you will stand under
a broken umbrella while your
mascara falls black against
porcelain cheeks, giving you the
illusion that you're crying
stained tears.
here, each blade of grass
has long since turned to ash
like the future generations
of our community.
here is not a place you want
to be, as horrifying as
the big green monster
waiting in children's closets.
when you cry for help
no one hears the noise, and
nothing is real. there are
killers in your own home,
behind furniture, under
every table and dresser.
this is a place where earth
crumbles under the soles of your
shoes and tree roots are left
clutching empty air.
here, there's no left and right
up or down. there's only
here and now.
here, there's no beginnings,
only restrictions and endings
and 'no left turn' signs.
you will be lost, here. you will
not know where you are going or
how you will get there
or what you will look like when
you show up.
here, we stand forgotten with no hope
of change.
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another collaboration, this time with wonderful ~RighttotheCore!
she wrote the lovely parts in italics. we both worked on the last line. (:
fav hers here. go!
she wrote the lovely parts in italics. we both worked on the last line. (:
fav hers here. go!
© 2010 - 2024 Malinda-Rose
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Oooooohhhh~