Skip to main content

Godliness is Literary

What can words do for you?

Oh I don't know. Not very much I suppose.


Now what can words do for me?

Why they give me the freedom to create and destroy

without any moral reprecussions of any sort.


Watch then:

Greta was born rich. She died rich too.


Tom was stabbed in the eye. He bled in the ICU. Now he lives like a corpse.


Lisa is addicted to ordering things from her TV. She lives in a box spitting giberish.


Karen called Kevin's girlfriend a cunt. Her broken jaw gives her distinction.


Jim lived in a small town. He started writing music. He started making money. Now he lives on an island with a pretty island girl.


Wendy didn't know better so she woke up one morning in a ward for other Wendys.


You see?

It's very satisfying.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I Can't Hear Your Little Red Rooster

Fright

I call this room Home.

He will not look at me

His eyes flicker with

a speck of violence.



my strained smile,

disgusted by

my pleading eyes.

my veins freeze

icy blood

tearing through coronaries




May Day

'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…