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About Deviant crimsonlettersUnknown Group :iconjust-keep-rhyming: Just-Keep-Rhyming
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In a few seconds, I'm going to be a bonafide father. That is, if my wife can finally squeeze out the little devil out of her vagina.
"Martin! Marty! Why the hell are you there?!" My wife should be the most beautiful person in this moment yet there she is, sweating and screaming like a pig. Her legs are opened wide, enough for the doctor and his nurse to huddle in, waiting for the baby. All the while, I stand at one corner, watching the baby's crown appear, sink then reappear again.
It looks like a horror movie.
To be honest, I don't want to come anywhere near even as I want to console my wife. I am freaked out. I am high and freaked out. I am having a bad trip on the day my child is born.
"Honey," I call out, "hon, you're doing great."
"Get the fuck in here, Martin. I swear to God..!"
"Baby, I can't. I can't."
The nurse looks at me oddly so I sheepishly smile, "Blood makes me nauseous."
Well, it doesn't. But I bet my paled face and sweaty brows make it seem convincing enough t
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 2 3
have you noticed it lately?
we are crumbling
so gracefully-- unspoken
thoughts and misguided words
we barely know the reason behind--
just as we watch
our hands relently untwine
every time-- each fearing
it will be the last.
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 4 3
Venn by crimsonletters Venn :iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 2 2
every second we are
without fear,
do you mind
me under your
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 7 0
what makes me sick
guided by your sickness,
i vomit all of the rest
of my sexuality
onto the dance floor--
i wanted to stop or
just carry my guts
out of here and to a
romance for two
people you can stomach more--
i no longer
know what i'm looking for.
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 3 0
Barber's Tale
It is a Tuesday afternoon, light reaching everywhere it can get. Sunlight sweeps in a barber shop. It reflects on the single oval mirror hanging on the parlour wall and spills a rainbow on the clean, tiled floor. The barber, neatly pinched in his shirt and pants, adjusts his glasses as he brushes the singular barber chair in front of the mirror. He hums to himself, an old tune he learned from his father, to pass the time. The clock on the wall times a beat along it.
The door whines.
"G'day, sir," the barber greets, not letting his eyes leave the seat just yet. "Just a moment, if you please. I'd like to make sure the chair is spic and span before a customer sits on it."
He pauses for a moment, waiting for an answer. Nothing. With a final swipe on the armrest, he turns around and smiles politely.
A heavyset man stands opposite him. His cheeks are plump and flushed, dotted with beads of sweat which he mops with a hankerchief he pulled from his stained overalls. He looks nervous and unsure
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 1 0
ground zero
i could hear your one-
two breathing,
slowly closing in
the remaining three
inches between us--
for five seconds, you paused
in the dark.
six, we touched noses until
we search for seven.
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 6 0
cotton scent
I always knew
that I will act
all right;
that is just
the way
we remain calm.
And then,
you will make
your way south
just as my sight
refers to silly blobs
while yours soak it in.
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 2 0
smile more
two thirty nine,
the dust disperses and slowly
settles around you after
you throw your body
onto the couch, clothes and shoes
and all--
you do not know
what to expect
but you close
your eyes anyway
and hope to dream
something good.
two forty three,
you are still
wide awake.
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 7 2
There is a dog
that wants
to escape
beneath my skull
and flesh and hair--
it gnaws
its way.
I wonder.
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 3 3
The authenticity of tea
with the tongue and nose,
cornered in a crowded
kiosk, trying to find
solace in chaotic
words the eyes
cannot make sense of
but hands try
to assist and
insist on--graceful
notes to excited
tones: welcome
home, welcome home.
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 3 2
the colours have folded in
on their own and i've not
much to offer you--
so long
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 6 0
i grew soft—
a result of self
like plastic cups stacked
by two's to hold onto
hot waters and tea but failing,
polymer and saccharin,
slowly undergoing
deliquesce or any
other chemical
reaction i might think of
when i wish
to dissolve
like plastic cups
stacked by three's
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 14 0
the sun rise schizophrenic
this morning or
something terrible
terribly happened:
i was awakened—
"let's have
a good weekend!"
but before i could
start an answer
or just make sense
of my senses—
"i see
you. i see
you, you see?"
had my eyes been
totally ruined
with telly lies then
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 2 0
All you did was cover
your nudity that is
your mouth
that scares the shit out
of me along with your god
complex, insomia, and
suicidal manic episodes
that go a long way if fueled
with smoke
and existential questions
like why is your face yours to
phase in tune with
what the screen indicates
and advertises in a
subtle addiction to the
corporate handshakes
and ass to lips contact
--all there is,
figuratively, that is.
I'm stuck
but it figures;
dominance is
a virtue.
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 3 0
"Brian," the sound pierced through my skull.
You cannot not be awakened, risen up from the dead of your
sleep. That is, your body is still trying to make sense of
your soul. "Brian, it's Sunday. Get up, I don't wanna be
late again."
So that's why it felt like a nail driving through my head.
"Don't make me call you again, Brian. I just wanna hear
the goddamn gospel. Is that too hard to ask?" Footsteps
thunder all over the house. Mother smites me further with
her own verses, "God almighty, every Sunday! I haven't made
it to the homily since your Grandmother died, God rest her
old soul. Always the communion! And I can't take any of our
Lord because I haven't heard his good word. Why do always
have to be so slow!"
"Mother," I agree but I bet she doesn't hear. Her voice
dies down so I finally rise. And so do other feet. They
scurry their way into my room.
"Briaaan! Tie mah shoe!"
"Nuh, tie mah tie!"
"It's a tie, ya don't have-ta tie that!"
"At least I can tie my own facken shoe lay-c
:iconcrimsonletters:crimsonletters 0 0



I breathe a lot.
Professional procrastinator, self destructive fuck.
drip, drip, blip



oh shit.


Add a Comment:
PeeterOra1 Featured By Owner May 3, 2017  Professional Traditional Artist
Again - thank you, for noticing my work! :)
PeeterOra1 Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2017  Professional Traditional Artist
Thank you so much for your attention! It is special coming from you... :)
(1 Reply)
JustACapharnaum Featured By Owner Apr 7, 2017
Thank you for the watch :)
(1 Reply)
oviedomedina Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2017
Thank you for the favorite!
Serendiipitii Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2017  Student General Artist
Thank you for the support, I appreciate it ~ :heart: 
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