LoryRhythm

OCs pouring out the BUTT

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Pomegranate Seeds pt.2 by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Pomegranate Seeds pt.2

Percy's body was empty. It was empty and whatever had made her full before was smeared across the linoleum like finger paint. Susie was the finger. The too-slick blood under her no-grip shoes had taken her entirely by surprise on the isolated walk to the bathroom, and now she looked like a cheap rendition of Two-Face, or a half done version of Carrie. It was her screaming that had torn the five of us from our separate worlds to stand in this one. It was her screaming that played on repeat as the soundtrack to the violence laid before us. It was her screaming that hammered in a silent, damning question: had Percy cried for help? We'd sprinted to find Susie, all so eager to play the role of hero off the screen, but found instead a long dead damsel. Graham, being the man's man that he is, had leapt to action quickest, disappearing down the corridor before the rest of us had time to stumble from our seats. By the time the rest of us had caught up his knees and hands were bloody

Pomegranate Seeds pt.1 by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Pomegranate Seeds pt.1

Persephone Weariness ached in the backs of my eyes as I leaned away from my computer screen. The image of my avatar slamming into brick walls at full speed just to see if the game mechanic would hold swam behind my eyelids. I straightened my posture out, groaning aloud along with the joints in my back and neck; curling my fingers into slow little fists against the stiff protests of my fingers, crackling like rice cereal. The slow creeping of my rigor-mortis told me it had been hours of checking graphic walls for their integrity as easily as any clock could. Just the same, I looked to the glowing red digits on the wall-- which had always seemed foreboding in my mind. 4:29am Six hours and I was no doubt only a quarter finished checking the game's texture. I rubbed my eyes for a moment's respite, feeling the beginnings of a migraine in my thrumming pulse, a mocking reminder that, while my body might act the corpse, I was still very much alive. To keep myself from testing wall integrity

The Pot Breaks by LoryRhythm, literature

Ghost by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Ghost

My dearly departed sister, do I exist outside your death? When the water stole your breath, did you simply borrow mine? If our names are intertwined, does now my life belong to you? Am I nothing but your redo; just our parent's painful "almost?" Which of us plays the part of ghost, and which of us haunts the other? Can you breathe beneath this smother? This never ending chorus of "I missed her."

Buried by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Buried

Fingers claw at stubborn ground; dirt beneath these desperate nails, trading barren earth for tainted blood. Blunt and brutal instruments have dissected: removed from me these rotting cancers. Malignant pieces carved free to be discarded. But what am I without this illness? Feel their absence as a crater. Feel my knees raise up the dust. Feel my knuckles bleeding penance. Bury deep this festered carcass, of shame, of guilt, of me... Pray it doesn't flower. Pray it does't root. Pray I cease to water it. Pray another does not mistake it for a buried treasure.

Lost in Translation by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Lost in Translation

Oh, To be a wordsmith That I might Craft and shape This world With poetry. Oh, To be a poet That I might Grasp and move Your heart With empathy. Oh, To be your daughter That I might Seek and plead My heart For words And oh, To be a wordsmith That I might Have those words That I might Move your heart That you might Understand. But oh, To be a poet Who is seldom Understood.

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Ghost by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Ghost

LoryRhythm

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Pomegranate Seeds pt.2 by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Pomegranate Seeds pt.2

Pomegranate Seeds pt.1 by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Pomegranate Seeds pt.1

The Pot Breaks by LoryRhythm, literature

Ghost by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Ghost

Buried by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Buried

Lost in Translation by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Lost in Translation

Phoenix by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Phoenix

Your ribcage acts as the poorest jail cell as once more, reaching out, your hear plays hand. Longing to be held. Longing when it fell. You picked it up and learned to take a stand. Two feet planted, and eat one taking root-- Growing. Even places where they shouldn't. Even places where victims are just soot, and your teeth, and your tongue, are plenty flint. You burned. How did your lungs withstand the heat? Emerged again from those barren ashes, your crucible suddenly defeated, yet no hint of pride beneath those lashes. When rebirth is claimed from the fist of flame, Who can blame the fear of some growing pains?

Is This Wonderland? by LoryRhythm, literature

Between Us by LoryRhythm, literature

Literature

Between Us

This morning I walked the garden. Picked and plucked out life, tulips, just for you. I laid them at your tombstone. They're here with me today, but nearer you tomorrow. Balance in-between awhile a whisper between two worlds. I snuffed out life for you; should I plant a flower at your heart, could you breathe some back for me?

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About LoryRhythm

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Artist // Student // Literature

Jan 27, 1996
United States
Deviant for 9 years
She / Her

My Bio

Uhm, hey, hi, hello!

After many long years of fighting for every inch of progress in my writing, I'm finally in a position in my life where I'm able to attend university to pursue a career in writing! In the future I hope to be a novelist, but, by and large, poetry is what I post here on this website. Writing wise anyhow. Like most everyone else in my generation, I enjoy taking pictures and posting them on the internet, haha.

I've left this site behind in the past, but hearing the Siren Song of a public forum for my art I came back. What made me stay wasn't any illusions of collecting a following though: I discovered an artist who very quickly became my favorite artist. At the time the artist was under the username "gravelyhysterical," and then "wendigoflesh," and now they're "horrorlocke" (not ashamed at the blatant signal-boosting I'm doing here.) When I first saw their work, I was intrigued, and then hooked by the unique world they've built around their OCs! I commissioned them at every opportunity, and the moment they created a Patreon, I became a patron! While Horrorlocke is for sure the most extreme example of an artist I've become enamoured with, they're not at all the only one. So, I stuck around after realizing that I love the raw love of creation on this site!

Usernames I've been under before: TheForgottenDaughter & DaliaVonEnixia

64885907 892152697789901 6818939883181764071 N(1)

Favourite Visual Artist

horrorlocke

Favourite Movies

My Neighbor Totoro, The Iron Giant, Your Name, A Silent Voice, Wonder, The Bourne Identity, Mission Impossible

Favourite TV Shows

Parks and Recreation, Brooklynn 99, The Mentalist, Madam Secretary, Merlin, Haikyu!!, Fullmetal Alchemist, Log Horizon, Tankaka-san is Always Listless

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Get Scared, twenty one pilots, Paramore, Set It Off, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, Avenged Sevenfold

Favourite Books

The Inheritance Cycle, The Seven Realms Series, I Am Not A Serial Killer, speak, The Martian Chronicles: There Will Come Soft Rains

Favourite Writers

Christopher Paolini, Cinda Williams Chima, Brandon Sanderson, Dan Wells, Ray Bradbury, Edgar Allen Poe, TristanCody

Favourite Games

Dragon Age, Zelda: Wind Waker and Twilight Princess, Witcher 3: The Wild Hunt

Favourite Gaming Platform

Xbox, Nintendo Switch

Tools of the Trade

Pen and paper or keyboard...

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LoryRhythm

Oct 14, 2019

Inktober for a Poet... Poe..tober?

2 min read

While sketching and drawing is all in good fun, the written word is more my speed. It definitely engages my heart more! The trouble is that poetry has been a vent for pent up anxieties and depression for so long that (now that I'm in a healthier, happier place) I don't often feel pressed to write as I have in the past. Well. October is my favorite month, and it's not just because autumn soothes me, or my love of the spooky season, or any other cliched (but seriously valid) reason people love October for. I love Inktober! It's so exciting to see art fill my feed all month long, and see the diverse interpretation of a prompt! With the dilemma in my poetic motivation marinating somewhere in an idle corner of my procrastination brain, and amazing inked art flooding my feed I decided that a prompt list is just the jumpstart my writing needs. So. I took a look at the official Inktober prompt list, and decided the open ideas pair just as well as a poetry prompt! Edgar Allen Poe rocked the