50% off for a limited time!

Get Core

Theme

Display Mature Content

Suppress AI Content

Get Help and Send Feedback

literature

Late night

Deviation Actions

GhostOfTheEmptyGrave

Published: Nov 22, 2014

895 Views

Literature Text

All alone in my room
Surrounded by darkness
The clock keeps ticking
Time doesn't stop
And there I lay
My mind wandering
While I wait
For another day to come

More by GhostOfTheEmptyGrave

Literature

someone's world

To be someone's world... A beautiful yet scary concept One I have yet to experience

Recommended Literature

Literature

We Have No Time

All we have Is a sliver In it Lies our Future Everything we will Do in life We all die before we know it It's a fact of life And I am already dying Everyone is A slow painful death One year at a time One month at a time One week at a time One day at a time One second Then we flatline Whisked away On a metal sheet Buried in the dirt To think we were born yesterday Only to die tomorrow

Literature

In The Dark

You tell me One Step at a time Then why is it I am always Apart of your shadow?

Literature

after all this time,

my heart is trapped within lungs, and the more i breathe, the more i remember- he can't stand it sometimes, i know we're both broken. but ocean boy, i'm chained to you. (maybe i'll be an anchor) soon my lungs will break with me. i touch you through a gap in the fence- sand white as innocence, eyes bright as stars. so please, horizon. tape us back together.

Suggested Collections

Poetry and Writing

Literature

what does it feel like to be sober at a party?

sometimes you want to spit out your teeth because you’ve been grinding them so hard under a diaphanous coating of crimson lipstick; but you know the floors already freckled with confetti- aluminum and glass and paper- and the eburnean pearls tucked away in your mouth are not able to be recycled and sometimes it’s rivulets on the back of your neck, droplets dripping like honey, because the rooms heating up from people swarming like bees; as your cheeks burgeon like crimson roses your oversized sweater becomes your only source of safety- maybe from the constant touch of others, as they bump around like lost passengers at a train

Literature

you're never hopeless

you tell me you feel hopeless as you talk with tired eyes- the sky drips with black pen ink poured on crystal cosmic lights your eyes become black vacuums- your words turn to somber sighs, and I ask you: on the darkest of nights, have you ever seen a starless sky?

Literature

Darling, Don't You Dare

To the girl who skips dinner, Because her reflection hurts more than Starving. To the boy who wears sweatshirts On hot summer days, Because he doesn’t want his mother to cry over his Scars. To the boy who weeps uncontrollably Until he falls asleep, Because it’s the only way to escape into his Dreams. To the girl who spends her days in her bedroom, Because the dark is more peaceful than her Mind. To the child who gets angry, Because no one understands. To the teens who self-harm, To the ones in recovery, To the ones that just can’t do it anymore… Stay Strong. For the girl who skips meals And the boy who wears sw

poetry

Literature

Depression Isn't Real

Depression isn’t true, my dear Depression isn’t real. It’s just a silly tragedy You’ve forced yourself to feel. Anxiety is fake, my friend You wonder why it’s there. But others have it worse than you! Stop forming false despair. Cutting is dramatic, love, It’s ugly, and it’s dumb. Why not just get over it? Is the attention fun? Suicide is stupid, dear, And selfish, if I may. Get over yourself, darling, Can you hear these things I say? Why aren’t you replying, love? Oh, where could you have gone? I never meant to hurt you, love, Did I say something wrong? Why aren’t you replying, dear

Literature

Melancholy.

Melancholy slips over me like an old sweater, worn and familiar, threadbare at the tips of the sleeves from where I thumb and pull the edges with anxiety. It is a comfortable state, habitual, and I am so used to it's chemical composition that I am hesitant to leave.

Literature

She.

She walked with faeries at her heels, Nipping playfully at her ankles. They frolicked in her hair Lifting and swirling strands So that it danced when there was no wind. There was magic in the way she spoke, The way her voice lilted, a beautiful cadence Words did not simply dance upon her lips, they waltzed. Her eyes shimmered and gleamed as if the entire universe were contained within them. She was enchantment personified. Her lithe, graceful movements drew people to her And it was those gentle, beautiful movements that eventually carried her away from me.

Poetry

Literature

Stories of feelings with no names - Revision

i. The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message, let alone formulated time to write a reply. You still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by. You rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from your late Grandma Moses. ii. You lost your voice one day. You woke up to a hollow echo in the base your throat and knew you’d lost something special before you’d ever had a chance to say anything worthwhile. Y

Literature

Cliches I Have Dated

i. Anna collected stardust like pennies, except pennies are worth something. ii. Claire had ink running through her veins; dead, from an unsterilized needle. iii. Robin had birdbones strung together on windchimes. iv. Sarah’s eyes were always to the sky, and never on me. v. Lizbeth took my breath away with every punch to the stomach. vi. Rosalie had too many things in her ribcage; emotional adrenaline triggered her arrhythmia. vii. Emily left me for a boy with starrier freckles. viii. I am one cat away from a stereotype, or one girl closer to a happy ending.

Literature

the third time i call, you pick up and i say

yesterday i walked past the diner where we fell in love, and i thought i saw the waitress wave at me as i went by and i realized that the most terrible thing in the whole world would be you rereading all those text messages i sent you when i was stupid in love. those weren’t meant for you, okay, those were for the boy who split his milkshake with me and held my hand through an entire season of Friends and sat with me in silence on dirty rooftops while we smoked stolen cigarettes. look, i didn’t even mean to call the first time, but i was drunk and high and cold and my old favorite song came on the radio and i remembered how much

Featured in Groups

clock dark day late mind night poem tick time wait come

Just a short poem I came up with. Enjoy.

Comments31

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

ResentedShadow

Feb 17, 2015

deep... makes a guy reflect on himself. i like it!

DeviantArt - Homepage

DeviantArt Facebook DeviantArt Instagram DeviantArt Twitter

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