[Suffering Through the Sulfur] by Bruggush, literature
Literature
[Suffering Through the Sulfur]
[Suffering Through the Sulfur]
The fragrant aroma of sulfur filled my nostrils again,
Maybe it’s time I saw a doctor…
I walked into the office, the effulgent overhead lights glared deep into my pupils,
Suffocating my vision with a radiance so luminous, that it was darkness,
Leaping onto the table, I wait, patiently, as a patient,
The doctor looks me over and begins to test me,
What starts as a short routine procedure slowly turns into an hourly, two hourly, three hourly, four hourly session of guesses and wild goose chases with no map,
At this point, the only successful test the doctor has done, was to test my patience.
After
[Justice, or Just Us?]
For hundreds of years, the kingdom of Zildran and it’s people have prospered.
Known throughout the land for their kind, loving, caring, and compassionate way of life, they have made no enemies for as long as their castle walls have stood.
Unthreatened for nearly a third of a millennia, the kingdom has remained unguarded, unprotected, and untargeted by the surrounding barbarian clans.
Many kingdoms have fought against each other in wars lasting as long as Zildran has remained at peace, but never once has Zildran fallen under siege by rival forces.
One of the most significant reasons for this is the utmost respe
The Fabled Fable
I'd like to tell you of a story, of sorts,
But I'm afraid that it would be a waste of time,
You see, my stories don't make much sense,
But continue reading if you value your ignorance,
Now some folks ask me, of long lost treasures,
And I look into their eyes and say,
You're wasting your time with foolish endeavors,
And that's why toads grow mushrooms in the day,
The trees sway back and forth, at night,
But that doesn't make them wrong,
What would make a tree wrong, you ask?
The fact that chairs don't dance without a mask!
Pirates don't swing their swords around,
And stags don't brush their antlers at noon,
Sna
Burying Their Heads In Ashes by Bruggush, literature
Literature
Burying Their Heads In Ashes
[Burying Their Heads In Ashes]
They wait and watch in anticipation, sitting in comfort in front of their television screens, while the whole, world, burns.
They cower in fear at the sight of the coming storms, broadcasted across the nation, across the rest of the planet.
They watch the men and women, dance with words on their electric canvas, painting pictures with their tongues. The artist's job is to exaggerate the truth for ratings, to suck the viewer in to their world for the next 60 seconds, letting them taste and feel every moment that their eyes cannot capture, though they know not how futile of an attempt their exaggeration carries
[Retreating Forward]
The boy, he sits, on his bed alone
A heavy burdened tear drips from his eye,
It streaks down his face, sealing his lips,
The only question he wants to ask is, Why?
Countless bruises cover his tattered, torn skin,
But the worst of them all are the bruises within,
Bludgeoned inside, He holds himself tight,
Because he knows that no one else will, tonight,
And alone he remains, questioning his existence,
Silence he sustains, the path of least resistance,
He tears at his scabs, digging for the truth,
Searching for answers in his diminishing youth,
His shell is broken, beaten, discarded,
His mind creates comfort,