୨୧˚olivia wood˚ও

https://www.instagram.com/livs.a.million?igsh=agvknndyoxd3mwhk&utm_source=qr

Writings

Followers

134

Following

୨୧˚olivia wood˚ও

https://www.instagram.com/livs.a.million?igsh=agvknndyoxd3mwhk&utm_source=qr

Writings

Followers

134

Following

enough enough enough(untitled: lunatic)

୨୧˚olivia wood˚ও

2 min read

I am sucking on my index finger to keep myself from going back to that bottle of soap soap

soap trying this so called exposure therapy because I can't write unless its perfect

my poems have to be better better better. my flat herbivore teeth sink into the flesh

stretched over my knuckle otherwise I will go back to the soap and I already licked the bottle

clean it was thirty three fluid ounces it...

Poetry

birthday

୨୧˚olivia wood˚ও

1 min read

I'm old now :)

I'm 15 guys I feel like I was born yesterday

it's not that big of a deal I just wanted to say thanks to Daily Prompt cuz this app is awesome

I (feel) like my writing has improved since I got here like over a year ago so I'm really greatful for it

I'm terribly inconsistent in posting things because I was born without motivation and also time management skills (my creative writing...

Clocked Out (Remembering Coffee Cake)

୨୧˚olivia wood˚ও

4 min read

(Project for my creative writing class and I’m so done with it I hate it omg but I haven’t posted in like five years and it’s finally finished-ish so…enjoy maybe?)

8:00 P.M.

The linen blanket is cold. My head rests on the pillow, which is uncomfortably room temperature. There is an analog clock stuck to the wall, its face staring at mine. I turn on my side and grip the blanket with my fingertips,...

Drama

Horror

swan

୨୧˚olivia wood˚ও

1 min read

The swan sits between the pastor and tar

With her milky feathers coated in pitch

She sits in nest; she lives as a cigar

Homeless and dirty, she sleeps in her ditch

My hospitality smokes her broken

Fowl snuffed out by the television screen

Mud is the lung cancer, yet still smoking

I’m humming at the oil chokehold machine

Paper burning the salt sores in her beak

You had to be there to see the dead...

Poetry

over the counter | week four

୨୧˚olivia wood˚ও

2 min read

The pharmacy is a medical honeycomb

I had a cold so I told the guy

Who was really a cat, who was really a mouse

My tank was running out of gasoline, he said:

Okay, and? I said: What goes in it? He said: Let me check

Contents in Beverage*:

Antihistamine diphenhydramine HCI

Decongestant phenylephrine

Carnauba wax

Croscarmellose Sodium NF

Hypromellose

Titanium Dioxide

Benadryl Symptoms Include:...

Poetry

unfinished

୨୧˚olivia wood˚ও

1 min read

Beezlebub, lord of the flies

here my carcass lies, the flies

sip my blood like God

sucking blood clots of Sin out our lungs

my teeth ache to sing of love

but my brain tastes of horror

so my body rots—rejected

by the liquor and lamb

graced by the Holy; the Prince of Hell

spits honey drops, they slide down my palms and burn like firey ichor flowing sweet, but sick

like the drunken goat who comes f...

Poetry

cleanse

୨୧˚olivia wood˚ও

1 min read

Step a foot into

the rubbing alcohol bath

Two shots of bleach then I

scrub my scalp with my

dirty soaped up fingernails the

instructions said to soak for three hours

I soak for four before I wait for four more

hours; because the number Three is evil like

the devil or the color

red or bees or mice or death or a monster

that eats people that I will become if I eat my skin on my lips which I thi...

Poetry

Egyptian Ratscrew

୨୧˚olivia wood˚ও

2 min read

poppin’ and blowin’ hearts out

my gingham lips kiss you miss your drama

I’ll be hacking up clotted spoons

licking off the clumps while my mouth

tastes like Sunshine Yellow

Dad’s grave still smells like vodka

I checked last night and vomited on his bones

the cuckoo saw me and started laughing

so I flipped the bird and waited for him to choke on my pill prescription

that I hid in the birdfeeder

I r...

Poetry

click! click! bang!

୨୧˚olivia wood˚ও

1 min read

click-

click-click-bang-!

My brain is the barrel of a shotgun-

Gunpowder up my lungs-

Blood on my fingers- blood on the-

click-click-bang-!

Ready??

Aim-!

click-click-bang-!

The mud on my-

Boots is shaped like-

Bullet shells-

Ready-aim-fire-!

Aim-fire-!

Fire-!

click-click-bang-!

Is it-?

Did you-?

Bleed-?

Did you-?

Make him-

Bleed-?

...

Poetry

apple poem | week one

୨୧˚olivia wood˚ও

1 min read

the apple tree sitting in the orchard

twitches in the wind; its bark is too cold

for the ants to crawl on, and the roots

are losing their dignity to the dirt

as the snow threatens to arrive again

and kill off the profit of the season

the last family of November comes

to peal the worth off its decaying limbs

their fingers rip off the crisp fruit

clinging to the bran...

Poetry