Twisted Reality
A droplet of water dangled from the ceiling. It clung on as dearly as it could, but being unable to talk, it couldnt call for help and, in such a large metropolis, no-one would notice it to save it from losing its grip. Swiftly, it slipped from the tattered roof and fell into the shallow pool forming underneath. Another droplet was already beginning to form on the ceiling, reflections of the surrounding metal walls being twisted through it as it swelled and, eventually, suffered the same fate as the many droplets before it.
The walls were thin and corrugated, and had devolved over the years from a swish si
A feather falling, softly whisping,
Skimming past your hair and ears,
Drifting downwards till it nears
Your neck, so slightly tense, yet warm.
Your mouth, smiling, yet clearly torn.
The feather falls to water, glistening,
Swims away past rocks and dirt,
Your eyes watch it, until, quite curt,
It floats once more upon the breeze.
Whisked away above the trees.
Nearby are two wings, undulating,
Flapping with a discrete sound
Until a bird, with one huge bound
Leaves its thin branch, flapping also.
This visual dance is flowing, slow,
But it is all clearly pulsating.
Sweetly ebbing and alive,
A sight to be romanticised.
An
A falling leaf whisks the air,
Mixing it as it passes through.
It lands below and remains there,
The air swirling above.
Next the leaf starts to grow old,
Rotten orange, holey grey,
Corners start to bend and fold,
The air still swirls above.
Finally it all decays,
Scatters into little parts.
The strange thing is, in many ways,
This leaf, it represents me.
It has a good life, does this leaf,
Theres lots to like about it.
It lives a life with ,yes, some grief,
Coping with winds and snows.
Eventually, it dies, falls down,
And leaves a mark behind it.
Takes a while to reach the ground,
And the air, it swirls above.
So
A falling leaf whisks the air,
Mixing it as it passes through.
It lands below and remains there,
The air swirling above.
Next the leaf starts to grow old,
Rotten orange, holey grey,
Corners start to bend and fold,
The air still swirls above.
Finally it all decays,
Scatters into little parts.
The strange thing is, in many ways,
This leaf, it represents me.
It has a good life, does this leaf,
Theres lots to like about it.
It lives a life with ,yes, some grief,
Coping with winds and snows.
Eventually, it dies, falls down,
And leaves a mark behind it.
Takes a while to reach the ground,
And the air, it swirls above.
So
A feather falling, softly whisping,
Skimming past your hair and ears,
Drifting downwards till it nears
Your neck, so slightly tense, yet warm.
Your mouth, smiling, yet clearly torn.
The feather falls to water, glistening,
Swims away past rocks and dirt,
Your eyes watch it, until, quite curt,
It floats once more upon the breeze.
Whisked away above the trees.
Nearby are two wings, undulating,
Flapping with a discrete sound
Until a bird, with one huge bound
Leaves its thin branch, flapping also.
This visual dance is flowing, slow,
But it is all clearly pulsating.
Sweetly ebbing and alive,
A sight to be romanticised.
An
Twisted Reality
A droplet of water dangled from the ceiling. It clung on as dearly as it could, but being unable to talk, it couldnt call for help and, in such a large metropolis, no-one would notice it to save it from losing its grip. Swiftly, it slipped from the tattered roof and fell into the shallow pool forming underneath. Another droplet was already beginning to form on the ceiling, reflections of the surrounding metal walls being twisted through it as it swelled and, eventually, suffered the same fate as the many droplets before it.
The walls were thin and corrugated, and had devolved over the years from a swish si
Cold Soup - Monologue by MaskedVengeance, literature
Literature
Cold Soup - Monologue
Adam, a badly shaven man in his late thirties, is sat in a grotty street upon a rotting wooden bench, talking to himself. He is very hesitant, shaky, and unsure of both himself and his whereabouts. He is sitting upon the bench with his legs crossed, without any shoes, and with seemingly chewed-through socks, so that his toes are exposed.
Adam: Super soup? Loop dee loop. Swing, slash, swoop. Fly!
Pterodactyl, dinosaur. Snail shells. Croc galore!
Im not happy, mummy. Im not. Im me. Just me. Really. Me.
RHYME R-H-Y-M-E. I like it. Its a nice word.
Remember you told me how to rhyme once?
Get
Hey :)
This profile is still inactive, I've moved over to Oli-S (https://www.deviantart.com/oli-s) permanently, so please go there for my recent works.
I've moved on a lot since I stopped using this account, as you'll see if you compare the work on here and on Oli-S (https://www.deviantart.com/oli-s)
On that note, I've just begun uploading poetry to YouTube and would love it if you'd check out my first video: 'Sweet'. The piece is also on dA. Thanks!
See you over on Oli-S (https://www.deviantart.com/oli-s)! :D
Heya :)
Just a quick message to say that I decided to make a new account, with a more name-like name, that I can upload more art onto. I feel that I've outgrown the level of skill demonstrated in most of the stuff uploaded on this account, so rather than try and sort all that out, and because this account has grown fairly inactive anyway, I'll concentrate most of my uploading onto the new account:
The new account is Oli-S (https://www.deviantart.com/oli-s). I would appreciate it if anyone that is interested in my work would redirect their attention from this account to that new account, as it will probably host some of my more interesting/better artworks from now on. :)