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SympathyThere was a man yesterday at my window
Asking me why his wife had left him.
Opened the window,
Put my hands on his face,
And snapped his neck
“If you had only told her how much you loved her,
She could have given you all you wanted and more”
Me and You, Yesterday You asked me about my life yesterday, and at the time I wasn't really able to respond truthfully. Well, here you go: the complete and total truth (because I literally have nothing better to do).
Two days ago I enlisted myself in a 10 day insomnia research project to see if it would somehow help me wake me up to the reality of the world (ha, ha, see what I did there?). I don't know why; I don't even suffer from insomnia. Really, my enlistment in the program is like a giant dick up the ass of the research facility. They have to deal with assholes like me all the time. I guess I really don't care anymore- when they find out I don't qualify I'll probably be too far into the study for them to take any legal action. Even if I don't finish the study I still get a stipend. That's a consolation, I guess.
The thing that keeps me up at night isn't really insomnia, it's my over analytical thought process. I have an obsession with the human condition- with eyes especially
LinearLife seems to move in a
Linear direction in
From brights to black.
It turns greyer every day
Like your hair will do;
Like your sight will do
Where are we now?
Can we point on a palate?
On a page?
When we run our fingers through
The braile-stained book of life
We flip the switch, close the door, and
Try to sleep through the darkness.
I think that our days are
Darkened by insight
And pictures of long dead insects
I think that we believe
Our perfect wings to be broken.
Are we as old now at this moment
As we will ever be,
Or is everything happening…
I Know BetterShe whispers to me with her eyes when she thinks I'm not looking;
I'd say she hates me,
Steeping TeaThere is a place not too far from your
Mind’s eye where an alligator sits down
To enjoy the scenery. However, as he
Sits, the world begins to melt.
First go the trees, melting like little
Wax soldiers left out in the sun. The
Alligator doesn’t really mind. He is paying
Too much attention to the mouth forming
In the centre of a purple marsh.
As he watches, the mouth begins to swallow
The colour from the world. And it is
Painful, too. A million colours are gone now
As if they never existed, as if they were
Sucked from the flesh of imagination.
Finally the mouth opens to tell the alligator
Good morning, but the alligator is gone,
And the colourless sun has begun its descent.
Sleep DownWake up,
We can make breakfast in bed and
Weave together our calloused fingers
We can share our afternoons
Pretending like the world is made of diamonds
We can stay up late and
Laugh at those old nightime TV shows
Mr DeathMr. Death has got me by my teeth
WHY DON'T YOU RUN
WHY STOP NOW?
Do not dare to move a muscle.
Ghosts taught me to think in magicIt seemed worthless, we knew best but for some reason there was always another day to fix everything, even the day it self.
Our anger, the nerves, such exquisite toxins. Our mortal lives waste and waste... always so late, too late... going for more time, more money. Pitying more loss, more cost. Devouring all out of control... like there is not enough.
Things happen only when a question is raised. Like a rotting-soulless that needs blessing to rest in peace. Naive optimists, they are misguided. We lie a lot. Humans... right? What a lie, such an excuse... just flesh. And the worst part is that lies cant change anything. A smile cant cure laziness or bad choices.
Stay real, my friend. Because... Can you remember the last time you stopped and reasoned? Or the last time you spoke words like „Do it tomorrow ” and then „Time flies...” ? It makes no sense, so think about it tomorrow.
Remember that we are around for you. The tortured souls in your room or behind the gla
Immutable DevotionBound and determined; words that burn me in places that no person should ever experience. "Bound and determined" she says, as though she has any notion of the turmoil; simmering behind every smile that I force for her comfort. I don't think she even realizes how her flamboyant optimism sears me; char upon char, until my remnants are tissue paper tears. Scars layering scars, penetrating so deeply, that my soul has become a leper.
She waffles on; her words distant and hollow, as the ocean of my defeat silently swallows me whole. I can't help but admire her benevolence; formidability that is nothing short of impregnable, if only I had her strength. I'm not a pessimist, though I am a pragmatist; guaranteeing failure in this nefarious skirmish that I did not choose.
For her, I keep my silence; for her, I soldier on. Though I bite my tongue through the copious fusillades that incessantly barrage my feeble and cumbersome carcass; I know I am a coward at heart. If not for her, I would have
What We Thought Was World PeaceI have spent so many years making my way to the top of the legendary mountain to have my one wish granted, world peace. There are so many people in this world that deserve better, and we should all be equal.
I reach the mountain and was greeted by an old man, “What brings you to my mountain?”
“I would like to make my wish. It is just like the legends foretold; I have spent a year of my life climbing up the throat of the world, and now…and now my dream will come true…”
“Now, you should know that the wish you make is final and can’t be reversed. Be careful what you wish for.” The old man told his words with great respect to me.
“Th-the time has come.” I was getting nervous, but at least I knew that there was no wrong way this wish could go.
“Make your wish, young one.”
I clapped my hands together and bowed, “I wish for world peace.” My words were final. And I was proud.
He gave a long sigh an
Old man? "Old man?"
"Could you please tell me of Them? Of your favorite project?"
"Heh. Yes, I suppose I could tell you of them. But you heard this story many times.
Don't you get bored by it?"
The one referred to as Old man is smiling the smile reserved for the quirks of the
young "Alright, alright, settle down." He says "Well, as you know, first I-"
"I don't want to be rude." Said the young one "But can tell me about how it started with Them?"
"Hmph. Oh, alright." Says the Old man with only mild irritation in his voice."Well, at first it was just a hobby, you know?
Something to pass the time. But, as I kept them for longer and longer my interest in them grew: A sociable species is
nothing new, and neither is adapting to your surroundings." The Old man's face spread with a slow grin that was
barely insane "But a species that adapted it's surrounding to itself, not the othe
Winter's Cold TouchI walk to the front door of my house; the cold wind gives me shivers. I grab the golden nob and crank it open. A gust of warm air hits my face, prickling away my goose bumps. When I enter, I strip of my heavy coat and boots to keep the house from my wet clothing. My feet touch the tile and sends jolts up my spine due to its icy resemblance. I walk to the kitchen and warm some water in the microwave to make hot chocolate. I wait as the whirring of the heater turns on, warming the house. The water is done; I drop spoons of starchy powder into the smooth hot wavering water. The exes floating powder entered my nose; I take in the scent of sweet chocolate, but soon close the lid. The couch at the end of the room is beckoning me. As I drift to where it sit, I pass the glass window and watch the meek raindrops beat against the glass. Slowly, I lower myself onto the couch and cuddle with the cushions, which were lightly sprinkled with a cold that soon dissolves by my touch. As the house fell s
Making Light of ScrapesAutumn, Year 754 of the New Age
Glenmore, The Glenwood, Crocus Glade
Featuring Princess Glenda, mentioning NPC lord Donder
Donder gave a bellow before chasing after a cluster of leaves, racing around his mother’s glade. Fiery hues blossomed in the trees, heralding the Rut. Glenda watched her son proudly from the protection of her wisteria. He was growing into a strapping young colt, dark pelted and muscular like his father, but with Glenda’s eyes and sleek coat. Even her newest hoofmaiden, Dedorna, couldn’t stop praising her son’s handsome appearance.
Glenda was first convinced motherhood would be a task, something to toil at and worry with, but her son was surprisingly mindful of her. He obviously adored her, and was fascinated by everything she did. She never knew being a mother could be so rewarding.
But Glenda gave a start when she heard her son’s bellow rise into a pained cry, and she sprang to her dainty hooves.
LostI lost my love twice to the river.
The first time her soul was long gone when I found her.
She left the house at an hour I was still asleep, wearing a shirt of mine I had forgotten she took. There was a hole in the sleeve of the right one that her thumb fit perfectly through, and just like that, it belonged to her.
An empty space filled the living room, with her notebook bonded closed on the desk where she wrote. As usual I couldn't bring myself to open it, fearing her potential appearance behind me would be admonishing for such an invasion of privacy. She would have whacked me across the head again and laughed, telling me that one day, when she was no longer with me, I would be allowed to read. Her laugh I closely associated with the feeling of watching lightning from my old home on the hill. It cracked the earth with such a force that I could feel it in my heart, though I was safely nestled many miles away. Her talk of ever not being around fazed me for mere seconds before the ring o
Escala de coloresTodo parece tan poco interesante, visto desde aquí. Desde mis ojos. Vengo de un mundo lleno de destellos en la oscuridad e historias que contar, y ahora me encuentro esto.
Una exclamación me llama torpemente, como si hacerle caso fuera lo más sensato. Eso es lo que hace la gente. Pero yo miro y miro... y no veo nada. Es todo gris. Impersonal. Frío. Distante. Hasta las luces blancas de la entrada me parecen pintadas en la pared, de imitación, como para dar el pego.
Entro y me encuentro lo que ya conozco. Pasillos, focos reflejados en el suelo, puertas, escaparates, muñecos que parecen personas y personas que parecen muñecos. Todavía no sé distinguirlos muy bien. No les pongo cara. Los veo todos iguales... Grises. Negros. Blancos. Qué más da.
Todo es tan igual, tan repetitivo que me pierdo aunque siga todo recto. Todo distrae, todo engaña y todo grita con todas sus fuerzas para llamar la atención.
Be your own life's MichelangeloBe your own life's Michelangelo
I just had 16 years old, and I just lost two of the poeple I cared the most about : My grandparents. It's the first time that I loose someone I old dear... I don't really know how to react, I always had a tendency to look in the past and grief... This didn't help this habit of mine at all... Once again, I though about what I could have said, or done. What I did, and said, and what I couln't now. Me, that was always kind of the phylosopher, I should have use that time with them, to ask, talk about, what they saw life as... I could have, I should have... I can't anymore, and it hurt me, that I have been so naive to think I could have the time later.
I was always the kind to let myself floating in the river of life, and then, complain about what life had taken me...
It's some month that I use this to shot poeple out...
One day, when I was walking in the city center, I saw a young girl in a street, she seemed to be painting on a wall. Intrigued, I began
The Air I opened my front door and lifted my eyelids. The morning air was cold enough to materialize my breath, but my face felt warm enough that the air was refreshing rather than chilling. I stepped into the doorway expecting something extraordinary, only to feel the familiar crunch of gravel under my shoes like tiny bones breaking under the weight of my conscious body. The morning was familiar with me already, though we had never met. She wrapped her body of fog around mine as I stepped out of my doorway and swept her icy fingers through my hair as I drifted down the pathway of gravel-bones. The day was my pet, she was my other half, we were one, and against such a non-concrete being I felt naked.
"Together," The morning seemed to whisper into my ears, "together, together, together."
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More