Theme

Display Mature Content

Suppress AI Content

literature

Forget My Number, I Don't Want

Deviation Actions

creativelycliche

Published: Aug 11, 2010

287 Views

Literature Text

She left a pretty-girl shaped hole
Inside my heart
And I filled it with memories
That I made up
Because I can't bear to
Remember

I covered up the scar
With cigarette stains
And poetry
But the pills I'm taking
Haven't dulled the pain.

And sweetheart I can promise you
That I won't hate you now
Or ever,
But I can't call you my friend
And I won't pretend
No I won't pretend
That you or me can be friends
Again

UltraFractal6190903-11 Transforms as Plug-ins

FractalRock

$1.25

100

Download

More by creativelycliche

Literature

forever sweet

a ringing in my ears like the echo of device, faded when I couldn't cry and thought that I had found the meaning in the bitter-taste of my own mouth - this is not a question asked but a question answered, left like footprints in the stone so I can still look back, remember all this silence like the sound that marks your absence my lungs are all askitter, but it is a faded scene on the back of a post-it note, the chipping paint on the rotting deck, forever this can be a kind of sweetness in the vein: cherry red, but no one left to taste it.

Recommended Literature

Literature

lightkeeping

As you pick up the lantern in front of you, you find it filled with a busy, buzzing flurry of lights. Somebody stuffed fireflies into this one - not the proper thing at all. You unfasten the latch, open the door; the little bugs stream out gratefully. They bathe the wayside in a faint glow for a moment, then vanish in the pitch-black of the Long Night one by one. You settle down cross-legged and gently put the empty lantern onto your lap to dream up a star.

Literature

Directionality

I kiss the forehead of another dream, cast away for different lives-- all my fields of green seen through shutters of different lenses, different eyes that belong to me a half-step left of the one I stand mirroring today. These reveries-- revered to me; refused of me, refused by me. Reflections of things confused with me, things yet to be seen. When I die, will I look back at trails I've cast, branching worn, winding over grass, a tree of life carved in the earth by my unknowing feet? Even better, can I linger over every second maybe, reveal lives all hidden to me as I rise, rise past the sum of every choice and every right-hand

Literature

Name Generator

There is a symmetry to existence, For we are names made flesh, Each one walking separate paths, Encapsulating our fragile memories, Like soap bubbles floating in the wind, Bursting like powerful supernovae, Becoming part of the dream that binds us.

Suggested Collections

Poetry

Literature

Here

I witness arrivals arriving, as departures take their leave, here too brief to celebrate, gone too soon to grieve, traveling to ancient Egypt, of scorching golden sand, so that 'thorns come with roses', is a quote I understand, journeying to tropical jungles, where wild greens thrive, Inspiring to live this life, Truly acting alive, voyaging to arctic icebergs, that only show their shore, much alike a body, with a soul of so much more, jet leg is slightly skeptical, of a clocks display of time, is it AM or is it PM, when it points to number nine? nevertheless- of all these places, some far and some near, somehow I don't want anywhere, more than I want here.

Literature

This Is For Elderly Or Matured Couples

This is for those older couples whom haters call "old queers": lovers, who had been boyfriends first, and had endured the bad weather, or storms, of prejudices, hatreds, snide remarks and brutal jeers; but since their first love in barefoot adolescence, they have stayed together.

Literature

Made-Up Transgressions

Eaten churches Soul-altering fetishism Human meat filling clear pipes Artistic cultists corrupting the prime species False and catastrophic accusations You press the splinters of the suffering and creative deeper into Their flesh to use their screams for music and Their blood for shitty tattoos So, take those empty urns out of the closet and donate them to The minorities you want to fucking slaughter Pluck the hypocrisy from dicks and pussies The world you want is boring as hell Get used to living near rainbows, gothic nightclubs, And film festivals that feature directors from other countries Embracing diversity will make life so much more enjoyable Those stories are cutting your kids But if that happens, that means you Have a project to work on Great for you, but terrible for them

Poetry

Literature

Not Okay

wake up and start working for it is six A M I turn around and keep sleeping for I feel sick A F wake up and start working it is now half past eight sludge through the day, get done nought and cut it short to stay half sane fall into bed at half past two determined to take just a break but sleep till e'ening breaks get up, wake up, shake away the sleep the day is gone, you've wasted it sick to the core, but nothing's wrong just your mind, your heart, your soul dread the tomorrow

Literature

Self Love

the eternal hunt for that small island of utter peace the ultimate climb to reach that one peak satisfaction the striving for bliss completely alone in happiness

Literature

no happiness in misery

no happiness in misery (OR: My best friend died and I don't know what to do so I wrote a cento about it with Fall Out Boy lyrics) so, progress report: i am missing you to death, my best friend, dead and gone, and i want these words to make things right but i must confess, now that you’re gone, i try to picture me without you but i can’t, so now i’m just numb, bulletproof loneliness, wearing vintage misery, like i’ll never be the same, and i don’t want to forget how your voice sounds, (just off the key of sunshine riptide) and i need to keep you like this in my mind, wishing on every star, a cherry blossom about to bloom, the eighth wonder. and i could scream forever, as desperation takes hold, ‘cause i don’t know where you’re going, and i keep telling myself i'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday, and i’m so sorry how talking's just a waste of breath. it’s kinda funny, that everything i wish for will never come true. so i lie in the grass, next to the mausoleum. we

Full Title: Forget My Number, I Don't Want to Text You Anymore

Yeah, title doesn't really make any sense.

©creativelycliche

(Any use of this literature or any pictures, descriptions, or accounts of the writing as it appears here without the writer's consent is strictly prohibited.)

Comments8

Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In

tiajones

Jul 1, 2012

the first two stanzas are amazing.
and the third one just hurts with its familiarity.

very well done. <3

DeviantArt - Homepage

DeviantArt Facebook DeviantArt X DeviantArt Instagram

About Contact Core Membership DeviantArt Protect

Developers Advertise Terms of Service Etiquette

Careers Privacy Policy Copyright Policy Help and FAQ

Watch Team and join our Community Group for the latest updates and activities.

Join Community