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People Living in Tunnels Under Las Vegas
The newspaper headlines told me so.
As I was reading the article in my bed,
eating a handful of Oreos, I thought
about being wet.
Not the kind of wet (slipperyslidyfuntimes)
you want to be,
but the kind of wet you feel in your bones.
Wet like the time my grandfather left me and my sister
watching his tackle box by the side of the road
in Toronto in six inches of slush that
was slowly seeping into my socks,
while he bought cigarettes from the man
in the oversized poncho at the gas station.
And there are cities full of dreams
and cities full of dirt,
but Las Vegas is neither of those.
It’s a city instead with no name or face,
nothing recognizable you can reach out and touch.
Someone told me once that in Spanish
Las Vegas means “the fields.”
My grandfather told me once
on a fishing trip, while I sat
on top of his tackle box,
about the Asphodel fields.
How these Romans believed
people whose sins equaled the good they did
went to the Asphodel fields, and drank
from a river
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 153 61
it isn't the cold space
in our too big bed
where you used to sleep -
not the empty kitchen
with your stupid ironic coffee mugs
or even the way our dog
keeps waiting by the door.
it's not your voicemail
on speakerphone playing
over and over again,
the way i can sometimes
almost feel your fingertips
in my hair.
it's not the silence
or the pictures in the hall.
not the way people keep telling me
"he wouldn't have wanted you to be like this."
because no one can tell me what
you would've wanted.
the thing that kills me the most
is even after six years
(hours of sleepless nights talking
about nothing and everything important
and sharing dreams and telling secrets
and whispering "i love you" till
our throats ran dry)
there were so many things we had left to say.
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 4 6
she bites her lip
to keep in
the words she will not say.
because sometimes
strength demands distance.
they don't tell you this
when you're young,
but sometimes love isn't enough.
sometimes things just don't work-
no matter how hard you try.
sometimes you lose-
you fall on the pavement
and no one catches you.
she had nothing left to give,
so she gave herself a break.
sometimes love can't save you.
sometimes, you have to save yourself.
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 20 8
i love you
in the spaces between breaths;
where words are obsolete,
and feeling becomes
the taste of your lips
like summer honeydew-
you are king midas,
everything you touch
turns to gold and shines.
if you are to lead me to ruin,
let me be rome.
i was not built in a day,
but i would gladly be
burned down in one
for another lingering
touch of your hands
in my hair.
i love you without thought,
without any wisdom.
what thinking is there
in the kind of love
that keeps you up
with fever dreams?
too hot to touch-
your lust burns up my heart
and replaces it
with fire,
till i am only ash
living in your
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 9 9
procellous distance.
I hate texting.
I hate those monosyllable replies; I hate the long drawn out conversations. I hate the cold, metal voice I use in my head to read messages that should be said with feeling, emotion, joy. I hate waiting; I hate waiting for a "yes" or a "no" or an "I love you." I hate it when a message doesn't come, when all you want is a sign that the person you're thinking of is thinking of you as well.
More than anything, however, I hate how somehow a text becomes a replacement for your arms; for the feeling of your breath on my neck, your hands in my hair, the whisper of a smile against my skin. I want your voice sleepily wishing me goodnight with your body intertwined with mine rather than reading "Night!" on an artificially bright screen. "i luv ya," is not the same as the rich, husky "I love you," I hear as my eyes flutter shut. I hate the distance of a screen; the way you are so close, and yet so much further away than you ever have been before.
I hate texting-
but not so much as
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 8 6
there are places and things
i remember differently
than they actually were-
i always see it
this way in my mind;
the sun,
shining so bright.
the clouds moving
so slow in the
alpine sky-
your eyes were always
falling into mine-
creating puddles
of harmonious goo
to bathe in and drink till
we were one and the same:
and you were me,
so I was you.
but there was thunder in
the distance
i could not hear:
those skies were full
of rain clouds
i did not see.
and so summer ended with a storm,
and now i think
maybe i remember these things
quite differently
than how they had seemed-
when my heart slept
fondly in your hands.
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 5 7
i love the quiet blush
of the sunset on
the lake;
gentle waves lapping at your
toes like minnows.
sitting on the dock
with the willow trees
around us,
the wind sighing and
content as a smile.
there are some moments
i wish i could stop,
pause and revisit
again and again
and again and again.
because even though the world
around us teemed with beauty,
i could only see the radiance
of your smile
on that last day of summer.
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 15 14
there's a numbness
where those fingers used
to rest on yours.
it's night and you're tired
but still you can't sleep;
there's nothing
that could make
you feel any less alone
there's a blindness
where you used to see
where you used to be seen.
and you are shaking
with fear and shame-
and have you ever been
so so lonely lonely you think
the dust on your eyelashes
exists more in this moment
than you do?
because there is change coming,
a storm on the sea.
and there's nothing you can do
but roll over on your back
and wait through
another sleepless night.
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 16 10
glamour. by Drastic-Afterthought glamour. :icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 1 1
lovers in a fever dream.
where are you?
stuck inside a day dream-
chocolate doves
flying in the spaces
fingertips can't touch.
maybe we're just lovers in
a fever dream,
dashes and flashes
of pastel colors and
the feeling
of forgetting something
you once knew.
when you walk between
the clouds do you miss
the closeness of the ground?
do you miss my earthy arms?
we're nothing new;
just two people
who don't know how to
say hello.
i'll be seeing you-
when you wake up from
and go back to sleep.
i'll be there in your dreams.
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 8 8
he is everywhere
around her:
living the dreams
she used to love.
[he doesn't know how to say sorry;
she doesn't know how to forgive.]
she is everywhere
around him;
living the dreams
he wants to have.
[she doesn't know how to let go;
he doesn't how how to love.]
they are everywhere
around here;
living the same
broken dreams.
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 9 7
she feels dirty
in all the worst ways:
she's scrubbing her body
till it's raw and red,
trying to get rid
of the kisses
under her skin.
there's a river
of shame and lust
overflowing in
places she never knew
were there.
"this is who you are,"
she tells the mirror,
"this is the kind of girl
you are now."
she's haunted by
moans and groans
and bed sheets.
the way he pulled her hair
and scratched her back.
the way she liked it.
she feels dirty
in all the worst ways.
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 15 15
he's the kind of guy
you need a map to find;
something to help you
through construction sites and
sleazy city projects.
he's the kind of guy
you love to get in a fight with;
the kind you want to see
with a bloody lip
and a broken nose,
fighting in the back alley
on a Saturday night.
he's the kind of guy
who doesn't want to just hold you,
but possess your soul.
the kind who scratches his nails
down your back just to feel
your skin under his fingernails.
he's the kind of guy who
you sit with by the ocean,
contemplating life and god
and seedy hotels.
the kind you kiss with
the fiercest kind of longing,
but never love.
and with the salty wind on his lips
he whispers to the sea
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 12 10
she said
"i won't let this
break me."
and she wasn't sure that
was true.
life can't be held together
with duck tape and glitter glue,
smoke and mirrors,
the things you tell yourself
to get through the days.
she said
"i'm not okay,
but i'll be all right."
and she thought it could
be true.
after all, if the plants
could evolve, and the continents
could divide without a second thought
to returning,
how hard could it be
to sleep alone at night?
she said
"i will survive."
and she knew it was true.
but living and surviving
aren't quite the same thing.
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 23 8
i'm not dead.
there is something unnatural
in the gyrations of your hips;
shoulders caving in and then jutting out,
little more than a stylized seizure.
have you not missed me?
the tender dust floats away
as you blink your eyes.
waking up from a fever dream.
wouldn't want to get in the way,
just run me over.
you've never paid attention
to stop signs before.
why so silent, dear?
did i hit a nerve?
back in town just to say,
"hello i'm not dead."
just your worst
or did you forget about me?
:icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 14 6
introspection. by Drastic-Afterthought introspection. :icondrastic-afterthought:Drastic-Afterthought 3 1


34 by Xzandrianataly 34 :iconxzandrianataly:Xzandrianataly 3 2 Look at the stars, Simba by lila-me Look at the stars, Simba :iconlila-me:lila-me 491 32
this is about forgetting
This is the thing about forgetting:
                For weeks you bury your face in the clothes you wore when he was near and the smell is a comfort and a torture.  You decide that the torture is not worth the comfort so you leave them draped across the back of a chair and place things on top of them to stop yourself until one day you shove your hands through the pile until your fingers wrap around the fabric and you yank it free only to realize it was pointless.  Even his ghost is gone.
                The next thing that leaves is the way his voice looked in the dark.  Those few sentences become blurred and rough around the edges.  What you remember drops in your stomach in a different way. 
                You run your fingers over your
:iconlinaket:linaket 35 17
but this isn't just distance
as in space, not just distance as in
whispers of,
"i can't believe how far you
are from me, i miss you" -
this isn't just distance
in the way
that roads seem to spill over
hilltops for years,
stretching like skin across knuckles
but never ending,
this is the kind of distance
that isn't seen but instead felt,
that isn't marked by miles
or gas money and can't be pinned in two
spots on a map with red thumbtacks:
this is not hearing from you
for days
and knowing you haven't noticed.
this is wanting to have you
beside me
and knowing you're just fine
this is the kind of distance
that knows broken bridges, that hurts
because it feels
like it can't be mended, and because
feel distant
act distanced
   from me.
:iconbailey--elizabeth:bailey--elizabeth 298 42
Roof Shingles 1 by GuruMedit Roof Shingles 1 :icongurumedit:GuruMedit 3 2
Daily Literature Deviations for June 6th, 2012
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Daily Lit Deviations for June 6th, 2012
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!
:pointr: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one
of your pie
:icondailylitdeviations:DailyLitDeviations 15 4
Mane Six Pendants - SALE by SongThread Mane Six Pendants - SALE :iconsongthread:SongThread 3,459 398 Photoshop Fairy action by lieveheersbeestje Photoshop Fairy action :iconlieveheersbeestje:lieveheersbeestje 1,723 61 Never good enough by Fatooome Never good enough :iconfatooome:Fatooome 1,444 372 Bunny love by PatriciaVazquez Bunny love :iconpatriciavazquez:PatriciaVazquez 879 68 On the fence 5 by CathleenTarawhiti On the fence 5 :iconcathleentarawhiti:CathleenTarawhiti 232 40 x Early morning in Hell x by Cageyshick05 x Early morning in Hell x :iconcageyshick05:Cageyshick05 2,254 393
clap if you believe
Even as a little girl, I was a budding pessimist.  Everything was half empty - not just glasses, but people, too.  I remember loving Peter Pan as a little girl.  Not the Disney version, but the play with Mary Martin as Pan.  Every time Tink drank the poison, I felt my heart clench, first because I wanted to find someone who'd die to save me, and second because I knew she'd die.  I never clapped for Tink because I didn't believe that the little flashing light from the audience had a soul, that the little bells had a heart.  Whoever I watched the movie with clapped though, and I'd pretend, never touching my hands together.  I thought that if I lied, she'd die right away and Peter would never sing about Neverland for me again.
That's how we met.  I'd bought a ticket to the college production of Peter Pan.  You played Pan.  You had that curly brown hair that looked like fistfuls of chocolate
:iconimperfectionistics:imperfectionistics 851 156


i've been away from deviantart for a while (so busy with college) and just saw that I had gotten a DD, my first, on October 17th.

I just want to thank all of you who have been following me, whether for years or a few days. I can only hope to continue to improve as an artist.

your love and support has meant a lot to me these past years, thank you.
  • Listening to: Till the End of Time by A Boy and his Kite


bet you never thought of that.
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Age: Teenage. :P
Loves: Legendary Pokemon, Music, Writing, Drawing (though not well), oddly shaped rocks, pretty colors, paper lanterns, smoke (but not from cigarettes), the sound water makes, watching caterpillars build cocoons.
Hates: Mediocricy, hate, incorrect grammar, losing people.
Wants: A laptop, ballerina slippers, coffee mugs, coffee.
Favorite Words: Afterthought, vertigo, landslide, precision, direction, choice, frayed.

Current Residence: St. Louis
Favourite genre of music: Indie, Pop, Rock, Classical
Favourite photographer: Steve McCury
Favourite style of art: Pre-raphaelite
Operating System: Windows
MP3 player of choice: Ipod. :3
Favourite cartoon character: Pac-Man
Personal Quote: "The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it."


Add a Comment:
arabesque-o Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2012  Student Photographer
happy birthday?
Drastic-Afterthought Featured By Owner Aug 27, 2012  Hobbyist Writer

thank you! :heart:
frozen-fyre Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2012
Happy birthday ^^
Drastic-Afterthought Featured By Owner Aug 27, 2012  Hobbyist Writer

thanks! :hug:
demonyojimbo11 Featured By Owner Jul 1, 2012  Student
Drastic-Afterthought Featured By Owner Jul 1, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
:D :D :D :D
demonyojimbo11 Featured By Owner Jul 1, 2012  Student
Drastic-Afterthought Featured By Owner Jul 1, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
(1 Reply)
disrhythmic Featured By Owner May 19, 2012
Thank you for the watch. <3
forestmeetwildfire Featured By Owner May 19, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
you have such a wonderful way with words :heart:
i hope to read more of your writing soon :]
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