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About Literature / Hobbyist Member shermaine;Female/Singapore Group :iconwordsneverfail: WordsNeverFail
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shermaine;
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Singapore
we are the aimless, the broken, the last. we light up the bars of the world with the decadent distance of innocence.

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nothing hangs directly above your head
weighing down on a strand of possiblys and maybes
and your mouth dries up somewhat as
you stare up at it with heavy eyes.

somewhere across the room fire is
seeping down the edges of an old newspaper
and an ash flake drifts down to the carpet where it
bleeds and blends and is nowhere to be seen.

you were born wild and you won’t
stop running until it’s over but you must first
look past the beads of expensive sadness
wound around your neck because your life depends on it.

the number 820 is scribbled down your arm and you think
you’ve said goodbye to someone 820 times before
because saying goodbye is infinitely easier
than being alone in 820 shades of blue.

there’s a knife somewhere beneath your shoulder blade
and it bends as you twist and blood runs down the
hollow of your spine and that’s when you know
you are more than capable of swallowing bullets.

this is what it feels like.
gen. blue
this is what it feels like:

you and me and her and he
don't need to wear the same colours
because we are born wild
and we don't need to listen to
the call of our generation.
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there’s a cross inked down the flat plane of his back,
one thick line of black punctured by the jut of bone,
but a shrug of fabric later and that’s all gone –
was it ever really there in the first place?

the lone paper bag in the corner of the room
has wrinkles all over its front and back,
trademark symbols of wisdom and serenity –
gone through mass production and rough hands.

a still body of water slowly clouds over in the tub,
the temperature warm enough to fight away goosebumps
but cold enough for you to want to sink into it and never rise –
one slow trickle is all it takes for empty gaps to fill up over time.

a three-legged chair supporting its own lopsided weight on
a pile of ashes that will never feel fire ever again.
constellations reflect light down towards the masses and look pretty –
but that’s all they’ll ever be.

things are always beautiful when they’re doomed,
when they have an expiration date, when they’re sure to
rot and wilt and crumple, or simply turn to dust –
we will never be as perfect as we were yesterday.

and the gods will envy us.

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:iconsplashoflights:
splashoflights Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
shermaine huhuhuhuuhhuhuhuh hihihihihihihi 
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:iconelectrickiss:
electrickiss Featured By Owner May 8, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
omg hiiii :D
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:iconsplashoflights:
splashoflights Featured By Owner May 8, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
YOU'VE FINALLY APPEARED ON DA AGAIN AHH <3
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:iconelectrickiss:
electrickiss Featured By Owner May 8, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
LOL I'M SO FICKLE WITH THIS SITE IT'S RIDICULOUS 
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(1 Reply)
:iconchancerox:
chancerox Featured By Owner Sep 12, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! :badteethhug: 
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