Doki Doki Literature Club

Monkeys can climb

Crickets can leap

Horses can race

Owls can seek

Cheetahs can run

Eagles can fly

People can try

But that's about it.

The way you glow through my blinds in the morning
It makes me feel like you missed me.
Kissing my forehead to help me out of bed.
Making me rub the sleepy from my eyes.

Are you asking me to come out and play?
Are you trusting me to wish away a rainy day?
I look above. The sky is blue.
It's a secret, but I trust you too.

If it wasn't for you, I could sleep forever.
But I'm not mad.

I want breakfast.

charafcter syori with a knife

It happened in the dead of night while I was slicing bread for a guilty snack.
My attention was caught by the scuttering of a raccoon outside my window.
That was, I believe, the first time I noticed my strange tendencies as an unordinary
human.

I gave the raccoon a piece of bread, my subconscious well aware of the consequences.
Well aware that a raccoon that is fed will always come back for more.
The enticing beauty of my cutting knife was the symptom.
The bread, my hungry curiosity.
The raccoon, an urge.

The moon increments its phase and reflects that much more light off of my cutting
knife.
The very same light that glistens in the eyes of my raccoon friend.
I slice the bread, fresh and soft. The raccoon becomes excited.
Or perhaps I'm merely projecting my emotions onto the newly-satisfied animal.

The raccoon has taken to following me.
You could say that we've gotten quite used to each other.
The raccoon becomes hungry more and more frequently, so my bread is always
handy. Every time I brandish my cutting knife, the raccoon shows me its excitement.
A rush of blood. Classic Pavlovian conditioning. I slice the bread.
And I feed myself again.

sayori in a scary position

But he wasn't looking at me. Confused, I frantically glance at my surroundings.
But my burned eyes can no longer see color.
Are there others in this room? Are they talking? Or are they simply poems on flat sheets of paper,
The sound of frantic scrawling playing tricks on my ears? The room begins to crinkle.
Closing in on me. The air I breathe dissipates before it reaches my lungs.
I panic. There must be a way out. It's right there. He's right there.
Swallowing my fears, I brandish my pen.

The colors, they won't Bright, bea t ful c l rs Flash ng, exp nd ng, piercing Red, green, blue
An ndless CACOPHANY Of meaningless noise
The noise, it won’t STOP. Viol nt, grating w vef rms
Sq e king, screech ng, piercing SINE, COSINE, TANGENT
Like play ng a ch lkboard on a t rntable Like playing a KNIFE on a BREATHING RIBCAGE
n ndl ss p m Of m n ngl ss
Delete Her

Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of
Get.
Out.
Of.
My.
Head.
Get out of my head before I do what I know is best for you.
Get out of my head before I listen to everything she said to me.
Get out of my head before I show you how much I love you.
Get out of my head before I finish writing this poem.
But a poem is never actually finished.
It just stops moving.