orangetot

For every sprinkle I find...

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Reconstruction by orangetot, literature

Literature

Reconstruction

I picked up my glass from the table. The oak was scarred with a din of stain and nicks. The air carried smoke and a deep sweet sweat. Condensation slipped from the glass down my fingers. I drank. I fingered the wet on the table, my tips finding grooves and arcs and curves. The speakers seven feet away from me played alien songs. I touched the carved message and began to mouth music of my own. 'And so it is, just like you said it would be…' Some one had been sitting where I am now, hand stretched onto the table, drink in one hand and a loud room around them that made little sense or held little charm for them. They chose letters and copied t

Despite Broken Lines, I Try by orangetot, literature

Literature

Despite Broken Lines, I Try

The truth is, quite Honestly, that I can't Seem to find the style, The rhythm or rhyme, Everything I touch So odd and out of time Yet I desperately clutch And I worry that I will leave you feeling Short of reference of Lines that I have spoken My weapon has chosen to leave Me with language of the broken Sadly beginning to believe I have never learnt the Important Things about us, That all there is to know, Is knowing that we are always blind. Learning is so pleasantly slow With you, I promise I will find Words to tell you this Just lend me your temper Until I can…

Exit, Entrance by orangetot, literature

Literature

Exit, Entrance

I knew the man sat on the table next to me. One seat and an aisle width away. He sat eating a muffin and reading his paper. Crumbs fell on his jeans and the headlines stuck to the Formica in damp circles of coffee. A vaguely overweight blonde set my tea down next to my untouched croissant. Her tag hung limply from her breast, I couldn't read the name. 'Thank you.' She did not smile, or look at me. I wondered if she didn't hear me. Or if she heard anything. He glanced at me. I realised that he wouldn't know me, I'm a brunette now. I'd been promoted today. This is a celebratory lunch, alone. My friends are busy people, but I don't know what

Your Hand in Mine by orangetot, literature

Literature

Your Hand in Mine

I was red. Sometimes. It depended how the lighting staff felt. I stood in a crowd, three hundred strong, here to listen, here to observe, but not all the same thing. The man sitting by the speakers, left of the stage, had his eyes closed. He saw his defining moment. He saw his wife and child and home with a spare room and an office. He saw his car and his work desk that held a picture of his dying mother. He saw himself at his 18th birthday, singing drunkenly, sickly yet happily down the main city roads and becoming a man. This defined him. I disagreed. But I don't think he was concerned. I was blue. A woman ordered a brandy and coke. T

Before Now by orangetot, literature

Literature

Before Now

Under that sweet, lazy smell in our hair, I wonder things that I often do when you ask. Because of your tired eyes, I thought you wouldn't mind if I didn't answer. It was still raining. Thin glass and rotting wood let us listen. We were going to walk earlier – along the sea and then sit to watch it. It was spring yesterday, but I think I prefer it here. In a lowered voice, you told me about your plans for tomorrow while I rested and kissed your hand. My lamp does look like a TV prop, I agree. An ambulance, I guess, flew past silently outside. If you lay still, you can feel trucks and road sweepers make the floors uncertain. Below that cal

Family Meal by orangetot, literature

Literature

Family Meal

Mum was asleep on the sofa next to me. She smelt of cream and mushrooms and other things that came from the fresh food aisle. Nan was having nostalgia. A fun family past time that meant I could simply nod at memorised intervals. The TV was muted, the man on the screen had a name that rhymed with one of a boy I knew. I frowned at him. I wondered what would happen if I touched the screen. I nodded. She continued to talk. Mother continued to sleep. Boxes where piled up near the front door. Neatly labelled with thick marker in case I forgot what I owned in the ride to my new house. I had to sleep on the floor tonight, my bed was in a new place

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Third Person by orangetot, literature

Sly by orangetot, literature

End of the Fairytale by orangetot, literature

Literature

End of the Fairytale

Your words aren't the safest place to play So aren't you going to stop? Lost in dull tones Temping to half lights Playing out all these half lies I'll hear my head and heart But its nothing to do with either, So I'll listen to your dirty words I'll know my sense and fear But I need my weakness, So all I'll feel is you Not ready to taste this new vice yet, See, truth isn't a rule in this game. And you stand there And you stare here And I can't stay away. The last thing I need is the first thing I want, Tearing away from you Sound so quiet When I'm tearing into you. Bite your lip. You don't need to tell me. I can see it

Starring Role by orangetot, literature

Literature

Starring Role

In Pandora's Box, Where the demons are kept, Lies my own. Daring me to call. It sits And smiles And waits For its next cameo. At the bottom of the Stix, Where the demons are kept, Lies my own. Telling me what I want It stands And whispers And moves Towards the darker end of the tunnel In this skin, Where the demons are kept, Lies my own Playing out its game It walks and talks and moves Just like me

Song for the Lovers by orangetot, literature

Literature

Song for the Lovers

What bothers me is that you're singing words to a different song. Reciting my sins in a twisted rhyme. Well. No one asked you to touch that deep No one asked you to play that shallow. But you did. And it must've stung. You see, I thought I'd hurt you before, But I've never made you scream like that. In this brave new world In this room where insanity is kept In this pause for breath, Why wont you just ask? I'll tell you the song, And you will sing my words And you can start screaming All Over Again.

From Within by orangetot, literature

Today Class by orangetot, literature

Literature

Today Class

We\'ve been here before, But you still can\'t resist Door Number Three. Todays biggest killer, boy, Is your hot baited breath Begging for that change. You burnt up all your courage kid, So just open up those eyes To everything you left behind. Step right up child, This fight it a thousand deaths old, But you still don\'t know who you\'re breathing your last for? Well, they better speak up quick, Because today is the day the sun drowns. But as the moon is still smiling And as we\'re not pretending Why don\'t you just tell me? Whats your favourite flavour?

House of Cards by orangetot, literature

Battle Field by orangetot, literature

Literature

Battle Field

That damp burning feeling has seeped though your skin, Found its way inside you And now it breaking you where no one can see, And where nothing breathes There there child, I never said it wasnt a dream, I just told you it isn\'t yours. Suddenly, you have twice as many cards to play, And suddenly its my army, not your. Now the cat has turned the corner, Let me lead you in to the fray, dear, Let me tease you away from home, sweetness, Let me try my hardest to hate you Until the end of your days

Meet You at the End by orangetot, literature

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Lost between the curvatures by pachunka, literature

Growth by pachunka, literature

people are trying to sleep. by undulate, literature

Literature

people are trying to sleep.

five blocks past the pink house with a brown roof, three blocks past the building with sixteen windows and no numbers, and one block after the orange haired lady with forty cats is the cemetary. every friday night i travel past my landmarks to the east gate. it is always locked, so i climb the fence, careful not to make a noise, people are trying to sleep. there's always a fresh grave near the olive tree in the north lot. an old man, "beloved friend." i sit down with him and we talk about his life. he isn't married and hasn't fathered a child. he loves and misses his mamma. his ground smells strongly of the summer heat. not far off,

names by undulate, literature

Literature

names

i have ten different names for myself and none of them rhyme. i give them out in rotation to people i don't know. it's a gift to each one in exchange for bummed cigarettes and small talk. while waiting for the bus one day, a latino boy asked for my name when i asked for a light. i told him it was amanda, the name of a girl i hate. i started mimicking amanda's way with words and brash antisocial attitude. we talked for five minutes before he had to leave. later, when i saw him walking through the mall, he avoided eye contact. after fifteen minutes of sitting next to an old christian woman in the student center, the woman turned to me and ask

i work at sears. by undulate, literature

Literature

i work at sears.

a girl asked me who i was in the checkout line at wal-mart, today. i was buying pants and she recognized me from somewhere, though she couldn't quite remember. i read to far into the question, as always, and thought of a clear picture of myself: at one in the morning i was sitting in front of a computer, my cat on my lap. in my hand was a can of some highly caffeinated beverage and next to me was a neglected marbrol menthol resting in my ashtray. i was writing a paper for non-western art history and my eyes were so tired they watered. i turned to her and smiled, holding back the urge to tell her who i really am. "i work at sears."

About orangetot

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United Kingdom
Deviant for 22 years
She / Her

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My Bio

Current Residence: Portsmouth
Favourite photographer: Gregory Colbert
MP3 player of choice: My iPod... Its my baby
Favourite cartoon character: Mojo Jo Jo

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Broken Social Scene, Wolf Parade, Sufjan Stevens

Favourite Writers

Oscar Wilde

Favourite Games

Silent Hill 2

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orangetot

Mar 28, 2006

Gonna Have It All

0 min read

Tomorrow I'm moving house. I'm taking my books, mybluecube (https://www.deviantart.com/bluecube), my friends - some carrying my boxes, my habits, my addictions, my job, my European travel card, my blueprints, and my mirror. But I'm leaving this place here. Maybe it's too soon to be sure but I really do believe that someday we're gonna have it all.

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orangetot

Nov 25, 2005

Throw Away Your Blues

0 min read

This has been a softer entry into my life than I imagined it would be. The first week of my adulthood has brought nothing new, no one carrying my hopes to me wrapped safely in warm blankets and safe hands, but it has brought perspective. My life is changing, and it will continue to for a long while - if I'm lucky, it'll never stop and I will never be stationary and stale. In my space, in all that is me, I should be vital and constant... I think I've made a good start into that. While I'm here, a direct if nameless address - I was told a while ago that someone out of touch, sight and mind could still hurt you. Well, how easily the willful s