projectilewordvomit

i tried.

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State Fair by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

State Fair

You were still alive when I started this poem. Maybe Newport's walls couldn't hold you in after all, Maybe running away from home is the only way back. I spend every summer looking for you in the sky, between the blurred bokeh of carnival lights and the blasts of mortars. Nothing but smoke. I hang on to that last week in August like a promise. Maybe in the crowd of two hundred thousand, your face would flicker in the dark before disappearing altogether. But after the bright lights burst, all we are left with is orange bruising into blue and the fade of sulfur in the air. After it's over, all that we have are the ashes in our palms.

This isn't a poem about letting go. by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

This isn't a poem about letting go.

Okay, so remember that time we shot bottle rockets off at the neighbor's roof, just because fuck 'em, you said. Light 'em up. You'd buy those silver, round whirlygigs, flying razorblades, you'd call them, too sharp, too dangerous, cutting too closely to our heels. We'd drive to Hudson the week of the fourth, Go to that little fair. You know, the one on the St. Croix. It's not there anymore, but neither are you, I guess. I spent those summers lighting the tails of Black Cats and roman candles with your cigarettes, You'd always say, careful, lighting it for me burning your hands instead of mine. No matter how many cherry bombs and jumpi

Displacement. by projectilewordvomit, literature

One, two, three by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

One, two, three

My boyfriend watched, open mouthed as I unscrewed the lid of your urn, and ran my fingers through your ashes. Your depression, your soul dust. I felt an ocean rolling under my ribs and an urge to cradle your urn, rock you back and forth like you did for me when I was young. - At the funeral, my uncle announced that you hated religion. But he left out the part where you did believe in a God, just that he was always punishing you. - “There was nothing you could have done” said the other uncle. I think of all those spent wishes, the birthday candles extinguished for gifts, the meteor showers I wasted on love, the prayers offered from

Fill in the blank. by projectilewordvomit, literature

Bolide by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

Bolide

If the world ends tomorrow-- My dad will sit out in a lawn chair the freezing Minnesota air, chainsmoking and smirking. And you, maybe if you wanted, we'd stand at the top of the Indian mounds like we did on the Fourth of July years ago and watch meteors firework across the sky. There will be no mini doughnut stand this time, no children laughing at the bright flashes, but also no repentance. If the world ends tomorrow, you don't need to apologize for anything. Hearts are fragile things and it's not like this world hasn't been struck by a meteor before.

Carbidopa-Levodopa by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

Carbidopa-Levodopa

The bank gave you a pink sheet of paper and 6 months, Mom gave you a garbage bag of clothes and a slammed door, The doctor gave you three tests and a diagnosis. Whoever said things were always going to be okay? - "Doc, I've come to tell you about the future!" Marty McFly yells from the tv set. Sorry, Marty. Nothing can fix this. There is no going back. - Bulldozers have reduced our home to real estate. Orange fencing, realty signs, stickers. A plot of land has potential. And us? We are a statistic. - Michael J. Fox hocks Marty's shoes, counting on a cure, and your nurse counts out your pills, and you-- you count on me.

Bokeh. by projectilewordvomit, literature

Event Horizon by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

Event Horizon

Look, this doesn't have to be some bullshit poem about raising our lovers to the status of stars. There is no wonder in the celestial. For a small fee, you can name a distant dot in the sky after your love and hope it's there forever. Nice try. The moon winks secretly from outside of the cafe window and for once, you pay her no notice. She is not a gaze-worthy glowing pearl. She's just a pockmarked space rock. Nothing more. I take in the soft crescents of your nails, your fingers tracing invisible galaxies on the table. You smile, once and I recall briefly your lips at my neck, and the hidden constellations behind them. I realize that some

Borrowed Space by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

Borrowed Space

There’s something about apartments that feels second hand. When we moved, our neighbor gave us plates with apples printed on them. Their colors have faded into a chipped sigh. They would have gone with our old kitchen—we had red curtains and apple-lined wallpaper. She got those plates from the bank, a gift for opening up a new account. Probably the same bank that took our old house. Will they want the plates back, too? I shelved the plates with the tired, mismatched coffee mugs. The blue, flowered ones are from Grandma—she didn’t want them anymore after her husband died. The clouded grey mug came from the machine sh

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State Fair by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

State Fair

Satellite by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

Satellite

It's one of those too-long nights, where I'm too awake and you're too honest. You tell me you have your fix: leave a constellation on the walls, your star gazing eyes glazing. But no, please-- You are more than a meteor. More than a flash, crash, burn. It's like the sky is cracked and the stars are slipping into space. The pockmarked, indecisive moon has turned her back on you, as before. But I am still in orbit. Maybe if you are drunk enough, you'll lean on me slur out solar systems of sadness, stagger down streets through broken nebulae of lights. Maybe tell me you're sorry; I was right. But after so many oblivious shooting stars, somehow I

Your eyes aren't oceans and my heart is no sextant by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

Your eyes aren't oceans and my heart is no sextant

Fact: By the time you die, you would have spent one third of your life sleeping. I spend most of my nights dreaming, not sleeping. I dream of summer skies, of the shadows cast by the sun stretching across suburban streets on August afternoons. I dream of bullseye-red cardinals splattering onto kitchen windows, beaks bent against the glass. I dream of his long-legged stride away, always away. But I never see his face. I stopped dreaming about lilacs months ago. Now I dream about other things. Of autumn leaves and not leaving. I dream of colors again. Question: Is it worth it? What about the heart-racing cracking and melting of ice, the er

Fill in the blank. by projectilewordvomit, literature

Bolide by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

Bolide

Event Horizon by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

Event Horizon

One, two, three by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

One, two, three

Carbidopa-Levodopa by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

Carbidopa-Levodopa

Bokeh. by projectilewordvomit, literature

Borrowed Space by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

Borrowed Space

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Daily Lit Recognition for October 28th, 2015 by DailyLitRecognition, journal

Daily Lit Recognition for October 28th, 2015

Oct 28, 2015

Daily Lit Recognition for October 28th, 2015 We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Recognition! You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article. Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists! Poetry Suggested by: chromeantennae (https://www.deviantart.com/chromeantennae) Featured by: Medoriko (https://www.deviantart.com/medoriko) :thumb455019150: Elegant Queen. by GhostJay (https://www.deviantart.com/ghostjay) Suggester says: This poem is simple yet effective. The rhyme is consistent and solid, the pacing of it is smooth, and the narrative is great. Featured by: Medoriko (https://www.deviantart.com/medoriko) :thumb567793956: cue, by Cole-y (https://www.deviantart.com/cole-y) Amazing. You don't see poetry like this too often. Prose Featured by: betwixtthepages (https://www.deviantart.com/betwixtthepages)

- by RoseScarlet, literature

counting stars by ohsostarryeyed, journal

counting stars

Jul 2, 2014

i think i'm not writing so much because i'm sick of writing about my eating disorder, and then i'm sick of trying to get out what i'm feeling but end up forcing it into something positive instead. i mean yes, it's great to turn negativity into positivity, but it's nullifying the point of writing to get it all out. i don't feel more positive from turning it into something positive, i'd feel better just regurgitating my feelings onto paper (or deviantart). so i think that's why i'm so quiet here. in other news, i'm working hard on trying to decide how to proceed. i want to: :bulletred: go to school in the fall :bulletred: get a tattoo before

My Saturday Night by loosenyourheart, literature

Literature

My Saturday Night

1. who are we, anyways, to be driving in my red fast car down my alley, taking polaroids of each other and hoping my parents aren't home. who are we, to park where no one can see us and run behind my house, unlock the doors to find ourselves alone. what kind of adoration flickers behind our peach flesh, what bravery hums into the deep recesses of our already shucked hearts. there is nothing more to us than sneaking into houses and pulling our clothes off on my parent's bed, nothing more than gripping the headrest and hoping that no one hears. 2. i am confused and you are sleepy already, right before i kissed you i asked, "did y

grouse magic. by etre-aime, literature

Literature

grouse magic.

the birds & the butterflies all fighting & fucking like the bees back home, my toes browning under florida sun, my heart all fluttering & aching & pulsing purple gold & green, & I'm learning to let go. still, I look for pop-pop down each orange grove dirt road, knowing pop-pop is dead. & I reach for you in the passenger seat, knowing you're not there. this knowledge makes it hard to breathe until I dance, my heaving limbs throwing themselves into the beat with abandon, a ballsy balancing act. baby, bye. I drive, make temples out of muddy pastures, spend my last dollar on a music-man just so I can stop searching for your hand & I am howling w

may as well buy another pack by creativelycliche, literature

Literature

may as well buy another pack

collapse, and breathe into the carpet: sunday mornings are not for falling apart, but damn the amphorics, this is not an atmosphere. you fell in love like you always wish you didn't, made all their smiles replaceable, interchangeable, fell asleep with shadows and kept drinking, just letting yourself sleep with blue pills and tried not to scream. (keep this image in your head: fire and nectarines, a sudden jerk of realization, inspiration breaking your neck and leaving you forever floating.) breaking bones is not so different from breaking hearts - it's all about the leverage, the angle, the mode of attack (and at least it wasn't person

Hereafter by Jade-Pandora, literature

Literature

Hereafter

Great uncle Henry's funeral was on a Sunday of deep skies and up-drafting clouds, and everyone stood around the mahogany coffin as it glistened in the drifting patchwork of sunlight while I kept my eyes on it, knowing that soon I would lose sight of it forever. His mother died in childbirth, and he always felt responsible. What a terrible weight on one's self. I reached out to place my hand on the coffin and murmured, "Your mother will explain, Henry." My mind was blank during the long trip, and when I got home, I sat alone in the kitchen and kept dialing his voice message speaking from the hereafter as I wept, before the ser

Deviation Spotlight

State Fair by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

State Fair

projectilewordvomit

Deviation Spotlight

This isn't a poem about letting go. by projectilewordvomit, literature

Literature

This isn't a poem about letting go.

projectilewordvomit

About projectilewordvomit

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Artist // Hobbyist // Literature

United States
Deviant for 14 years
www.projectilewordvomit.tumblr.com
She / Her

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My Bio

My paintings: jinxedbyemily

Favourite Visual Artist

Chiara Bautista

Favourite Writers

Clive Barker, Shinji Moon, Kelsey Rakes, Jared Singer

Tools of the Trade

Disillusionment and regret.

Other Interests

Painting.

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projectilewordvomit

Jan 8, 2013

life.

0 min read

So. My father passed away last week, which explains why I have been/likely will be inactive for awhile. Maybe in time I can write about this but not right now. I'll still be on da a bit to read people's work. Take care, Emily.

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projectilewordvomit

Dec 25, 2012

YAY

0 min read

I woke up this morning, checked my inbox and saw that I got a Daily Deviation feature on Bokeh. http://fav.me/d5n08k5 ~dweebdanceplz (https://www.deviantart.com/dweebdanceplz) Thanks 0hgravity (https://www.deviantart.com/0hgravity) for suggesting and Nichrysalis (https://www.deviantart.com/nichrysalis) for featuring! Have a good Christmas everyone!

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projectilewordvomit

Dec 9, 2012

Calling all poetry.

0 min read

I am now an admin for #Calling-All-Poetry (https://www.deviantart.com/calling-all-poetry) -- a pretty small club with a low number of deviations coming through weekly. Head on over-- we'd love to see more submissions.