literature

Stories

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Literature Text

Stories


People are gnawed in fairy tales, eyes, tongues pecked,
such sweet berries. This is comforting, pain visible.
To give someone your heart cut out with a blunt knife
much more satisfying then to say "you hurt me".
Milky toast, so civilized, we are better they say.

When she spoke frogs leapt out, grass green, eyes budging,
miniature universes gleaming with the idea of infinity.
There is no end. We will tell these stories forever.

The mirror told her stories. When she was young, she trembled
every time she heard those footsteps. They were always his.
The mirror asked for blood, so she cut and cut.
And the footsteps went away so why not ask the mirror for other things.
Especially when you obtain a spoiled brat of a step daughter,
servants who remember the former wife so fondly.
And you are always lacking.

So I tell myself stories, why not. The cat yawns at me,
eyes hooded. I sometimes repeat myself.
But we both sit. I yawn at her. She yawns at me.
Above us the sky yawns utterly bemused.
If a troll eats me, it would be OK
Frogs and infinity, blood and the stories we need to tell yourselves
© 2013 - 2024 swansisters
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toxic-nebulae's avatar
*more satisfying than