bookwurmzhao

Jane

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Skin by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Skin

bit by bit, the choppers snip snip snip through raw flesh, tearing cellular structures that shriek with putrid rage and the black-shot veins of cannibals. they dangle like threads. she is cinderella (or maybe it was the evil stepsisters. it doesn't matter much anyway.) she peeled off her heels like masking tape from her mouth and gently set her toes aside in their houses of straw and sticks and wolf-blood bricks.

Carmen by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Carmen

carmen dances like the fog tinged sulfur-laced red— blood of the night sky. like the world is crumbling around her and she don't give a damn, because carmen— she breathes this soot face salt. she stamps her heels like embers and cinderella. sparks smolder the hems of rags and satin stained with blackberries and rouge and she brings the house down, baby. she burns the house down.

Sparrow Song by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Sparrow Song

I found a little sparrow this morning. She was flying about in early April. I wondered if she might be cold, if the wind cut through her feathers in slivers or in bursts. The sky was white. Sometimes, when she flew near my window, I saw her mottled browns and feathers that looked like wet fluff. A pine tree grew underneath my window. Even though the dark green needles hung heavily from paper-thin branches, she settled on it anyway. I wondered if she might be lonely. She spoke to me from her paper-thin branch, but I could not hear her through the glass of the panes. She looked at me, and I saw color in her black eyes. She fle

A Work of Fiction by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

A Work of Fiction

Forgetting is one of her greatest fears. There is something in the inevitable loss that terrifies her and strips her down to nothing. No more memories left to remember. Just a dull ache in her chest, where her heart should be, and regret. Regret for what, she can’t remember. Sometimes she tries to express this insecurity in words. It never quite comes out the way she wants it to—fragments of half-formed thoughts linger in the air like so many false promises, and words come to mind that don’t even exist. She does not know if they even understand how much this upsets her, this loss of her

So Where Does This Bring Us Now by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

So Where Does This Bring Us Now

All these feelings that I keep bottled up inside are flowing out now. Rivers of blood run through my veins, and words come crashing out from my soul. Not enough. Never enough. Words cannot do this disaster justice, and we have only so many of them before they start to run out. Disappear, like us, into nothing. Because, in the end, that is what we will become. Our hearts will stop and our eyes won't see and our bodies will turn cold and our hands won't feel. I won't feel you. So bury me. Bury me as you plant a tree, and water me and let me grow tall. I've always been so short. Feed me with love, my rapunzel of my life, and tell me your st

Cradle Your Head in Your Hands by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Cradle Your Head in Your Hands

But he cannot find the words to express all this. So he says, "I love you." And hopes it is enough. - She cries a lot nowadays. I always thought that she was strong. Unbreakable. It makes me wonder exactly how much it hurts. How much it can hurt, this pain that they call love. And I feel dead. - I think I understand. I want to understand. As if understanding him might solve it all. (He's not even mine. He's hers. Or he was.) - And he wants to hate her, so much that it hurts, because hating is better than loving—or so he tells himself. 'This is love.' He wants her to hate him. Hate, with white, blinding fury. No obligation

Believe Me, Darling by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Believe Me, Darling

Sometimes I think it's true, this whole love thing. It's like, once we fall in love, everything will change, and the world will have meaning. Explanation. Like it would be worth it. - She's the first one I've put a name to this year. She's Chinese—not straight-out-of-China Chinese, but the kind that can do it all. And she's beautiful. It used to be just her. But she wasn't the only one who could make him smile. I felt like I crumpled when he smiled. This, I know. Last week. Only one week. I get scared when I realize that I'm not special. Like that child prodigy that should have burst out doesn't exist anymore. Like I killed h

I Swore I Wouldn't by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

I Swore I Wouldn't

Today, I met a boy. His name was Tan. - The most painful thing for me is remembering. It's not remembering what has happened—that's past, and over now. It's knowing that I have forgotten. ("The most painful thing for me is forgetting." Those should have been the words. Not this jumbled mess of contradictions and addictions. Not addictions. Then what? Afflictions, hyperdictions, motherf***ing hypocrites? I don't know the words anymore. I don't have the words anymore.) There are these holes in my memory. It shouldn't bother me too much. It's a common occurrence, forgetting. A natural disaster, if you will. There's only so much we

Untitled by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Untitled

I. The screen jumps to life, Flickering with the weight Of an untrained hand— The lens dart across the pattern rug. Curses, nearly silenced, Erupt And the world is falling. II. Good morning. Tea-stained paper lines the walls of a room. A single floor lamp pulses gently; Beyond its confines of vision and light A faceless specter lurks among the dust. Or should I say 'Good evening'? A simple 'Hello' should suffice. In the center of the room sits a woman. She is trembling. III. The third video comes Half an hour after the first. The shadow of a man— A specter—hides behind her. She's beautiful, isn't she? An

Portraits in Grayscale by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Portraits in Grayscale

We are barely two weeks into our vacation when the shouting begins. "He's still here," my mother says wonderingly to my grandmother in Chinese, and I wonder what is so special about him. Sometimes the loud words are punctuated by the quick-dying ping of a cheap bell. I think that he is a street vendor, wandered into this cluster of numbered apartments built too close to neighboring structures of gray. But even though it is late, it's not even close to lunch yet and there's no way that any vendor would be out selling. Our breakfast is wrapped in bellows, seasoned with the sound of an aging bell, and we continue eating. The next week, he i

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Skin by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Skin

Carmen by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Carmen

Sparrow Song by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Sparrow Song

A Work of Fiction by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

A Work of Fiction

So Where Does This Bring Us Now by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

So Where Does This Bring Us Now

Cradle Your Head in Your Hands by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Cradle Your Head in Your Hands

Believe Me, Darling by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Believe Me, Darling

I Swore I Wouldn't by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

I Swore I Wouldn't

Untitled by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Untitled

Portraits in Grayscale by bookwurmzhao, literature

Literature

Portraits in Grayscale

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About bookwurmzhao

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Artist

Aug 8, 1996
United States
Deviant for 13 years
She / Her

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My Bio

Hullo~

A few random facts:

*I'm Asian (yes, I want you to know that straight out). I was born in Shanghai, China. My brother, on the other hand, was born in America.

*I'm the type of person who wants to know a little bit of everything, but can never focus on one thing long enough.

*I find small, sometimes unknown details and such interesting (For example, did you know that there are thirteen star signs? You won't find this anywhere else online, but Ophiuchus was dropped into a huge pot of invisible ink when he was little so everybody forgot about him. Poor Ophiuchus. :()

*My internet personality and my real-life personality are veeeerrrry different, as some people say. Of course, they also say that my internet personality is similar to my personality with close friends.

*I would like to write a full-fledged story one day, but so far, all of my attempts have been complete failures. So, thus, my cruzer is littered with stray chapters of completely different plotlines. Hooray for folders!

*Writing is like a stress ball for me (I've never owned one). It's chocolate without the guilt. It's...(ohhh, I know a good one!) It's COFFEE (latte, mocha, whatever). Of course, writing sometimes makes me get on this super-high when I'm particularly inspired and will stay up until 1AM finishing a piece. It's at this point that people make a point to take away all my candy and caffeine.

PANDAS AND BUNNIES

Current Residence: Massachusetts
MP3 player of choice: I-pod classic

Favourite Movies

A World Without Thieves, Spirited Away, Life is Beautiful

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

A Fine Frenzy, Sara Bareilles, Tanya Chua, Fish Leong

Favourite Writers

Markus Zusak, Emily Bronte

Tools of the Trade

Pencil: Multi-purpose tool, perfect for writing, erasing, twirling, doodling, and stabbing people

Posts

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bookwurmzhao

Feb 12, 2011

Shower Thoughts

0 min read

Sometimes I feel that if I were dying then I could be the bravest person in the world. But I'm not. So I can't be.

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bookwurmzhao

Jan 26, 2011

First Entry

0 min read

Hi... so, just wanted to try this out for once. I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to write, so I guess I'll just be random. :D Today I managed to get home at 5:30. Spent 15 minutes in a meeting with my friend and our advisor (teacher) for a competition called the Seevak competition (Groups of 3 create a website about a group or individual who has made an important difference in society) after spending that same amount of time looking for our third team member, who, it turns out, went home. So he is going to get killed/maimed/SEVERELY INJURED by Sarah and me. I want to make little cards for my friends at school for Chinese New Year, sin

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Profile Comments 33

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lalaith913

Sep 30, 2012

Thank you for the favorite!

SCFrankles

Jun 24, 2012

Thank you so much for faving my story ^^

MagpieVon

Jun 24, 2012

I believe I actually meant "Favorite." Lol...it's been a long day. Thanks, all the same!

MagpieVon

Jun 24, 2012

Thanks very much for the Watch!

FallingAsleepTonight

Jun 16, 2012

Clicked on random deviant and it sent me to you! Just passing by and flipping through other deviant's work, looking for inspiration. I write primarily non-melodramatic free verse poetry, something that I hope even people who aren't lit fanatics can enjoy. Just in case you're interested

lluviosa

Mar 29, 2012

Thanks a lot for reading, and adding to your faves my only Daily Deviation: "Mud". I'm honored.

Any comments will be greatly appreciated!

Gricken

Feb 15, 2012

Thank you for the fav.