A Literation
Submit your poetry, prose, and art to this fledgling literary magazine run by your favorites of the Tumblr Writing Community.
Buy my book, entitled "i'm fine"!!!!!!!!!
or if you prefer, donate!
seriously.
the preemptive professional prescription is ludicrous.
trazodone (sleep/antidepressant), clonazepam (anxiety/sleep), propranolol (blood pressure/anxiety). that’s just until I see the head doctor next week, where I’ll be given more drugs, like a larger benzo dose, probably some Prozac too, and whatever else she thinks will make me “normal.”
this is terrible.
incidentally, my next book is going to be called Medicated: See? I Can Do It Too, Ms. Ricci.
i’m about ten hours away from going to the hospital, and i really don’t like hospitals that aren’t abandoned and infested with skags, wastelanders, or zombies, so help me take my mind off of things.
truth or dare more like preform a strange sexual act or tell me who you like
i don’t like preforming strange sex acts. i like to make them from scratch on the spot.
that is a fantastic url. well done, sir.
don’t feel like you
have to impress me.
you showed
up for today.
that’s a feat in
itself.
we are white eyed, looking through the
veil that we once claimed to see beyond,
there is that which just once works further
than what we imagined, and i, well, i
i worked for that end.
that end, which will bring me to you.
but only bring me to you, after that i cannot
say what will occur nor decipher who will
come to whom.
You people have really shitty favorite poets.
well, this is awesome.
one good day.
then back to not sleeping and remembering every single thing i’ve ever done wrong while hearing everyone’s negative thoughts.
repeat for seven to ten years.
fuck this.
i’m done.
Hermann wants to eat nicotine. Sometimes.
He asks for a lot.He paces space to make himself nervousbecause some people are just better at surviving than living.If you want to get heavy he’ll teach you.He knows it.He spends his time falling from the weight.He’s got a lead brain.It’s a battle magnet.He carries it around by the guilt strapsdon’t laugh-you didn’t see the size of the blizzard that birthed him.fits of snow, cotton rocks, whipped white bullet stretchespinned with chips of teeth to his habbit of crying for help.he doesn’t land well-hates landing-it reminds him of not living up.listen-I know there were days you wanted to die.Hermann will not bow down to gravity.Falling, he catches up to himself in mid-air just before the ground smacks.Pullthroats, they call it.Sharp turner.Nothing touches the ground here.Ground is a capacity.He sees that.He falls backHe patches parachutes together with a kite knifeIt’s big enough to raise him in the up draftswhere he hides himself away in angles of airoutlined by his knack for believing that this life..it’s gonna work itself out.
Methhead Dictionaries the Zine is finally finished.
Now to list it, find the damn stapler, and you can buy it.
Hurray!
“The Leaving Song, Part 2” by AFI
“Look what I’ve built, it shines so beautifully, now watch as it destroys me…”
best song
