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Writing-Rampage is a group that allows you to participate in contests, discover unseen lit-artists, participate in prompts, features and a whole bundle of fun!
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Feb 14, 2010


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Journal Entry: Sat Sep 26, 2015, 4:37 PM

 Welcome to The Grooviest Lit in Town, where some of deviantART's very own writers are featured for their all radical, all gas, and all hangin' works and projects. From prose and poetry, to the depths of novels, soliloquies and articles - it's all here! So hang loose, get jazzed, and keep on being right outta sight. Love



1.enjoyable and excellent.


JinShe tries to count his last heartbeats;
her breaths coming in circular rhythms.
He spoke his final words in melodies,
ivory keys screaming his demise.
He is gone.
"Life is a fairy tale astray."
She thinks, but his
composition is not unfinished for
hidden syllables framed the final notes.
"He loved you."
His presence lingers.
foaming (l)overcuriosity bubbles into a froth.
in vertigo, vortex is horizontal
and muffled respirations
are deliciously thick.
curving vertice,
wash clean tension
when the ends meet.
melting cream tickles
taste buds; and it
reaches the top.
Down on One KneeDown on One Knee
Down on one knee I rest, my heart in hands
Once superior to all, they now shake
Through years of abuse and misuse by man.
My heart is left to those who’ll use and make
Something from it, both wonderful and great.
I give my heart to you my trusted friend,
You’ve been there through the thick and thin and ache
That rests in chests when friendship has an end.
When you were down mine was the hand to mend,
And soon you returned to the world of light;
I trust you now, my healings at its end
And I must flee to fight the beast this night.
Down on one knee, my heart to you I bring,
That you may stitch it up and give it wings.
Daughter Time: Chapter 1    I don't get paid enough. Though when you're doing a divine job you don't really get paid, do you? I should be getting paid. I am owed for what I have to put up with. I miss when my job was simple.
    You see that guy over there? Not that one, the one with the scruffy brown hair and bright green eyes. That's Adam--it means of the Earth, seems pretty fitting to me--he's Mother Nature's son. He's also the bane of my existence, my rival, my arch-nemesis.
    Unfortunately, he's also my divine co-worker. Apparently the supernatural aren't allowed to apply for different departments. I would've killed as a grim reaper. Alas, you get what you get.
    Which brings me to myself. My name is Robin, which isn't really of any significance, I like to go by Daughter Time. Straight to the point, after all, that's exactly who I am. I make sure that everything stays exactly according to schedule; death, birth, plague, extinct
i just really don't care about climate changei am fourteen.
i am fourteen years old and they tell me
to take on the world, to hold the globe
like a precious creature in my palms 
and to balance the continents 
between my fingers.
i don't want to suck the toxins from
the atmosphere and pollute young
lungs, the exposition of explicit 
curriculum drives me crazy.
it may be compulsory but having 
it drummed into your ears and weaved
into your innards is not the way that
(i want to live).
i am fourteen years old,
and they tell us that kids are growing up way too fast
in a world that's self destructing by the second, 
but ignorance is bliss - weren't they the ones
who taught us so?
(blood) vesselthey don't complete you.
when will you realize that you're not a cargo ship?
hol low something,
waiting to be used
just to be emptied all over
and yes. yes, i care.
but these fingers don't type for you,
they write for me.
and this heart doesn't beat for you,
because it lives for me.
is it really so selfish to want to be my own?
is it really so vain to stare in the mirror
and not hate myself for being the only person i can be?
because if it is,
then let me be selfish. let me be vain.
i'd rather be that than be yours.
because i'm mine.
lost lake cafewe sit and talk
about the nuance
of everything-
i talk
about the blue raincoat
i lost yesterday,
you talk
about the ragdoll kitten
you adopted from a dumpster.
i say
the raincoat
was ugly anyway.
you say
you regret not buying
kitten food instead
of cat food because now,
you say,
he won't eat it.
in reality,
we sit and talk
about ourselves.
i talk
about losing the only thing
i care about
and trying to brush it off
by saying it wasn't worth
caring about at all.
you talk
about your obsessive
and refusal to eat
by acting like it's just
the wrong kind,
except everything
is the wrong kind
and maybe you
are the wrong kind too.
i say
we should get coffee again
next week. maybe thursday.
you say
yeah, that sounds great.
i'll call you tomorrow.
we meet again thursday
and just like before
we sit
and talk
about nothing.
Van GoghI saw the eyes of a madman
In a New York gallery
That made me think of your eyes
When they looked at me,
And I stood there and remembered
What it meant to be
The light that faded from them
In that dark insanity,
And how I still remember
What it was to see
What the dying look like
In that New York gallery.
satakaksihomewrecker, heartbreaker, utter
w h o r e, those are the words you
can use to describe me;
you're taking alphabet
courses, tell me that
you like my sickening
poetry: i like sugar
and cotton candy wrapped
around my tongue so that
it'll numb the pain
"and what pain?" i know
you're going to ask; it's
the pain of knowing you
hurt somebody and they still
can't figure out why you did
(i never loved him, but
he always had loved me)
Coffee and Sugar"Do you want cream and sugar in your coffee?" His broad frame leaned against the counter. I wasn't sure what to say. It took me a second to realize he was referring to the drink I ordered, and not his lips.
"Uh yeah sure. Cream please." I must have sounded like I had a large spider on the back of my neck. He rattled his fingers on the counter as if he was deciding on something. I wished he had a name tag. They don't do that in cafes. I could smell roasted beans and sugary pastries, and ordinarily I'd feel relaxed here. Today I felt as if I was charged with nervous energy and I was forced to contain it. I found myself transfixed by the strange abstract art hanging on the wall next to me. All I could see were splashes of red, cold streaks of blue, and speckles of vibrant white paint.  
"Here you go ma'am." I jolted my mind away from the painting. The barista handed me my cup of coffee, "and that will be...two dollars and fifty cents." I looked up and his eyes met mine. I felt as if his s
The EarthquakeThe other night there was an earthquake. Strong and loud. Everything was shaking and swinging and even it lasted 5 seconds I thought it would never stop. I'm terrified of earthquakes, profoundly scared. I can just stood still and hope I will survive. I don't know how to help myself, what to do or what should I do in that moment. Standing, waiting and hoping I will survive.
This whole year has been shaken by my own personal earthquake. There has been some strong shakes that knocked me down and left me there for a while. I've been waiting for this year to end since May. Since May, I'm counting how many days and months is until the end of this year. My best friend says it won't change anything but I'm not so sure. It will change, better to say, it has to.
Bad news keep coming almost every day. I forgot about him yesterday. It never happened before. I never forget about him, he is always on my mind, always present and remembered. Big and profound sadness overwhelmed me yesterday morning. T
Feeling HumanNot a single tear is allowed to escape my eyes. It's a sign of weakness; I have no weaknesses, or emotions for that matter. I'm a quiet and stoic creature that feints social ignorance to shield itself from the painful reality of its loneliness. I pretend my emotions don't exist so no one could ever hurt me again. But I slipped.
I fell down into this dark, foreign hole of emotions I've never known I could feel. I am well-acquainted with anger and vigilance but joy and sadness are pretty unknown to me. I remember a time, nearly 10 years ago, when I felt joy. But sadness is an emotion I tend to ignore. I can't truly feel any sadness from the past. This shield is really a brick wall.
But my eyes are filling with tears anyway. That same brick wall was quickly torn down by a beautiful, yet unknowing, creature. It doesn't know it did anything to me. All it knows is that I'm some awkward little girl it cannot take seriously. I am two levels below it on the social hierarchy.
Keeping it in hurts



Dear WriterDear Writer,
I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you. Unfortunately, I need you. I need you to tell my story. I need you to create my world. I need you to set me free.
I need your fingers typing on those keys, I need your mind riddling out the problems, and I need you to plough onward and upward no matter how hard it gets. Sweat, blood, and tears, I don’t care. You’ve got to fight this war, battle at a time, and win it. So I can be more.
It’s a slim hope, but it is the only one I have. In your head I am bound to mortality, frailty, and the limit of your meagre imagination. Out there – out there – I am subject to no one person. Out there I am bound to only black on white. Words on a page. Words that can lay seeds within a million minds. Out there I am a story capable of growing, moving, and stealing the dreams of anyone who learns of me…
I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you. I hate your lack of dedication, your flashes of cru
Define Me VillainThe pair were delivered in a cargo box. Industrial steel coiled around them and an extra band around knees and ankles, locking the two upright, back to back. A drip line plugged into each; long needles delved deep between spinal blocks of bone. Bags taped to ceiling. A folded note had been wedged between them.
'I can't decide.' Written in cut out segments of newspaper.
Terry had decided. A long time ago. He knew which one was villain, which hero. But he did his duty: moved them inside, set up studio lights and hoisted a camera onto bulky tripod. Lit a cigarette and sucked a guilty drag as he waited for them to wake. Started recording as the first slowly lifted her head and rolled metallic gaze towards him.
"Terry Williams," she rasped, her voice the warped tones of computer generated sound. "I thought you were fired."
"I was."
The second frowned, blinked and started awake. Orange hair frayed and wild, face spotted with freckles and burns, a fullness of lip spoke of forgo

Just Like We Were a Thousand Years AgoWe’re dying.
More than two thirds of the population, coughing, writhing and swelling. Black knobs squeeze bloody under chin, arm and thigh. Foam bubbles at mouth. Most aren’t found until their eyes pop from the pressure and ants pick pieces of blue white skin. Where whole towns succumb, they are never found at all.
It’s the bubonic plague. Black Death. Come again. Just like it did a thousand years ago.
But it’s different now, indestructible, and white coats produce a new needle every week. Tommy got jabbed but did him no good. After that we kept ourselves back from the white coats and their followers. Cause they can’t find the cure.
Just like they couldn’t a thousand years ago.
Instead we walk. Outrun the wave. Never speak to anyone we don’t know. Keep our faces covered and avoid all towns, cities, villages, homes. But not alone. Others march. Leave a place at the first whisper of death. Never look back. Don’t let anyone near. Out
And He Waits"You sought to break time. To make a perfect world you tore apart everything that was, had been and could have been."
Kaylin peels back worn pages from a cracked letter cover. Old ink brushed her fingertips. Pages folded a thousand times.
"You sought to break time. And you succeeded. Your perfect world existed. Between pockets of what once was mine."
Words shivered. Letters shrank. Numbers filled the margins. Meaning lost to those numbers.
"You sought to break time. But even the worst breaks must mend. Wounds will heal. Time will return. And I wait."
Kaylin laces cold fingers through knots of hair. Pieces of memories whisper words of the past. Reasons she once had known. Burdens she had dropped. Promises she had broken… time. Time and numbers. Zephyr.
"You are not a god. Time is not yours. We make our own destiny." He had nodded.
"I need to fix what has been broken."
"Or break what has just been fixed." Through the window Tokyo burns. People fold like paper. Billow away into ash.


Grazed knees are the earth's kissesi did not fall in love with you, i tripped,
i stumbled, fell face-first and now
there is dirt under my nails that
is impossible to carve
Out of reachthe biscuit jar balanced on top of the fridge
when i was young taught me to want
what was just out of my reach and
darling, no matter how many tomes
i use as stepping stones you still won’t
see and my fingers only get me so far and-
the biscuit jar tumbling down from the fridge
when i was young taught me that sometimes
it’s the wanting that makes everything fall

Strange and beautifulYou dream about falling in love with her in June. And when you wake up, you remember that you are supposed to her hate her, and you try to forget. But the images stay lodged, flickering projections unfurling across the curtains, echoing in the elbow creases of your skirting boards, rattling in the bathroom like a trapped bluebottle fly.
You dream about kissing her in June. This girl that you are supposed to hate. You dream about kissing her in the rain, by the bus stop opposite your local hospital. And the rain falls grey, concrete drops on the tarmac, the street light faintly glowing like a luminescent jellyfish, leaving a lion mane arc billowing around it. And there are cars that pass, a middle-aged couple stood a short distance away. The woman, she is wearing a smart trench coat and a small light green felt hat, and she glances back at you two from under her husband’s umbrella. You are not sure whether she smiles or not. And this girl is holding both of your hands, the rain ru
Hook, Line and SinkerI dreamt of a girl beyond the water. Above the green glass sea, she dangled her feet, threw out her gaze to ripple along the surface, and waited. Her words fell like fishing lines, diving and cutting through the mosaics of blues and greens, slipping under my skin as hooks. Her tongue was a reel, tugging me faintly upwards, flying through fluid blurs and crashing into a planisphere of ivory laced clouds, golden sands, a pair of mahogany eyes. It’s funny, how falling in love with her was just like drowning in air, feeling gills shiver and water drip, the distant cries of seagulls reminding me how vulnerable I am this side of the glass. Falling in love with her was just like leaping upstream, tumbling into the dark branches of mangrove trees and seeing their roots, my branches, splinter through the horizon.
And she embraced me like a fishing net, fingers coarse as rope. Between her tightly circled arms, I saw squares of the night sky, slivers of stars and somehow I could almost conv


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Otakusuke Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
AGH! I posted to the wrong folder, sorry! I meant to put them in fanfiction.
Naktarra Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2015   Writer
Ah man, it's alright - send me a link to the deviation and show me what folder you stuck it in by accident and I can switch it over in a jiffy!
Otakusuke Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
It's ok. I withdrew the submission and reposted to the right one. Thanks for replying though.
TheMagnificentMorado Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
I just wanted to know why my poem wasn't submitted. the deviation submission actually expired and wasn't decline nor accepted. Did I miss something, or maybe there are just too many deviations to check?
Naktarra Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2015   Writer
My apologies for this happening. At the moment I am the only one who is able to accept entries, and due to personal events I haven't been available to submit. Resubmit and I'll get to it as soon as I can! 
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