如题，仅包含Doki Doki Literature Club!一周目的诗。诗就是剧透，请考虑后查看，或点击开玩（游戏免费）。
Dear Sunshine 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.
Eagles Can Fly 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.
Ghost under the Light The tendrils of my hair illuminate beneath the amber glow. Bathing. It must be this one. The last remaining streetlight to have withstood the test of time. The last yet to be replaced by the sickening blue-green hue of the future. I bathe. Calms breathing air of the present but living in the past. The light flickers. I flicker back.
Hole in Wall It couldn't have been me. See, the direction the spackle protrudes. A noisy neighbor? An angry boyfriend? l'll never know. I wasn't home. I peer inside for a clue. No! I can't see. I reel, blind, like a film left out in the sun. But it's too late. My retinas. Already scorched with a permanent copy of the meaningless image. It's just a little hole. It wasn't too bright. It was too deep. Stretching forever into everything. A hole of infinite choices. I realize now, that I wasn't looking in. I was looking out. And he, on the other side, was looking in.
Bottles I pop off my scalp like the lid of a cookie jar. It's the secret place where I keep all my dreams. Little balls of sunshine, all rubbing together like a bundle of kittens. I reach inside with my thumb and forefinger and pluck one out. It's warm and tingly. But there's no time to waste! I put it in a bottle to keep it safe. And I put the bottle on the shelf with all of the other bottles. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts in bottles, all in a row. My collection makes me lots of friends. Each bottle a starlight to make amends. Sometimes my friend feels a certain way. Down comes a bottle to save the day. Night after night, more dreams. Friend after friend, more bottles. Deeper and deeper my fingers go. Like exploring a dark cave, discovering the secrets hiding in the nooks and crannies. Digging and digging. Scraping and scraping. I blow dust off my bottle caps. It doesn't feel like time elapsed. My empty shelf could use some more. My friends look through my locked front door. Finally, all done. I open up, and in come my friends. In they come, in such a hurry. Do they want my bottles that much? I frantically pull them from the shelf, one after the other. Holding them out to each and every friend. Each and every bottle. But every time I let one go, it shatters against the tile between my feet. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts in shards, all over the floor. They were supposed to be for my friends, my friends who aren't smiling. They're all shouting, pleading. Something. But all I hear is echo, echo, echo, echo, echo Inside my head.
Amy Likes Spiders You know what I heard about Amy? Amy likes spiders. Icky, wriggly, hairy, ugly spiders! That's why I'm not friends with her. Amy has a cute singing voice. I heard her singing my favorite love song. Every time she sang the chorus, my heart would pound to the rhythm of the words. But she likes spiders. That's why I'm not friends with her. One time, I hurt my leg really bad. Amy helped me up and took me to the nurse. I tried not to let her touch me. She likes spiders, so her hands are probably gross. That's why I'm not friends with her. Amy has a lot of friends. I always see her talking to people. She probably talks about spiders. What if her friends start to like spiders too? That's why I'm not friends with her. It doesn't matter if she has other hobbies. It doesn't matter if she keeps it private. It doesn't matter if it doesn't hurt anyone. It's gross. She's gross. The world is better off without spider lovers. And I'm gonna tell everyone.
The Raccoon 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.
Save Me The colors, they won't stop. Bright, beautiful colors Flashing, expanding, piercing Red, green, blue An endless cacophony Of meaningless noise The noise, it won't stop. Violent, grating waveforms Squeaking, screeching, piercing Sine, cosine, tangent Like playing a chalkboard on a turntable Like playing a vinyl on a pizza crust An endless poem Of meaningless Load Me
I'll Be Your Beach Your mind is so full of troubles and fears That diminished your wonder over the years But today I have a special place A beach for us to go. A shore reaching beyond your sight A sea that sparkles with brilliant light The walls in your mind will melt away Before the sunny glow. I'll be the beach that washes your worries away I'll be the beach that you daydream about each day I'll be the beach that makes your heart leap In a way you thought had left you long ago. Let's bury your heavy thoughts in a pile of sand Bathe in sunbeams and hold my hand Wash your insecurities in the salty sea And let me see you shine. Let's leave your memories in a footprint trail Set you free in my windy sail And remember the reasons you're wonderful When you press your lips to mine. I'll be the beach that washes your worries away I'll be the beach that you daydream about each day I'll be the beach that makes your heart leap In a way you thought had left you long ago. But if you let me by your side Your own beach, your own escape You'll learn to love yourself again.
Beach A marvel millions of years in the making. Where the womb of Earth chaotically meets the surface. Under a clear blue sky, an expanse of bliss-- But beneath gray rolling clouds, an endless enigma. The easiest world to get lost in Is one where everything can be found. One can only build a sand castle where the sand is wet. But where the sand is wet, the tide comes. Will it gently lick at your foundations until you give in? Or will a sudden wave send you crashing down in the blink of an eye? Either way, the outcome is the same. Yet we still build sand castles. I stand where the foam wraps around my ankles. Where my toes squish into the sand. The salty air is therapeutic. The breeze is gentle, yet powerful. I sink my toes into the ultimate boundary line, tempted by the foamy tendrils. Turn back, and I abandon my peace to erode at the shore. Drift forward, and I return to Earth forevermore.
The Lady who Knows Everything An old tale tells of a lady who wanders Earth. The Lady who Knows Everything. A beautiful lady who has found every answer, All meaning, All purpose, And all that was ever sought. And here I am, a feather Lost adrift the sky, victim of the currents of the wind. Day after day, I search. I search with little hope, knowing legends don't exist. But when all else has failed me, When all others have turned away, The legend is all that remains – the last dim star glimmering in the twilit sky. Until one day, the wind ceases to blow. I fall. And I fall and fall, and fall even more. Gentle as a feather. A dry quill, expressionless. But a hand catches me, between the thumb and forefinger. The hand of a beautiful lady. I look at her eyes and find no end to her gaze. The Lady who Knows Everything knows what I am thinking. Before I can speak, she responds in a hollow voice. "I have found every answer, all of which amount to nothing. There is no meaning. There is no purpose. And we seek only the impossible. I am not your legend. Your legend does not exist." And with a breath, she blows me back afloat, and I pick up a gust of wind.