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LiberationRepeated cuts and constant blows to an area deprived of life and feeling only gratify one that seeks to utterly destroy a person's being. Swollen fists, broken spirits, and bloody knuckles are the prized possessions of tyrants. Bravery has no stench, but corrodes the air, choking the lives of those that thrive on causing grief to the weak.
As we speak, as we...try to find choice words to categorize our feelings, you'll find that none come to mine as we stare at each other's soul in amazement. The feeling I feel after years of false love, isn't what is, but what always was...
Welcome Back, Alice!So you visit again, again, and again?
Less travelled by all, both women and men?
You see, nothing's changed since the last time you came
We are all mad here, and all are to blame.
I saw you turn down the road of the guards
And saw your face when you picked up the cards
It's true, it's true, you came to the land
When others, like I, keep our head in our hands!
Where queens are sharp, like shades of red
Where rabbits do fear of losing their head
Where flowers do sing, and tea is drunk
How time and tea make all run amuck
I'm here, I'm there, I'm up, I'm pale
No arms, no hands, no legs, no tail...
I see you smile again at that
The Tale, "The Tail of the Cheshire Cat!!"
Silent SufferersWe walk beside you, but you don't notice us
We talk like you, but you do not hear us
We celebrate like you, yet it is only for a season
We need light in our lives like you, but all of our days are dark...
We breathe like you, but we are always suffocated
Our hearts best the same, but ours stop occasionally
Our skills are genuine, while yours are crooked
You cheer enthusiastically, while we scream in torment...but you'll never hear it...
You cry and get comforted..we cry ourselves to sleep.
We always seek help,
But you'll never know...
No More Memories....Can you imagine me being a different person? What goes through your head when I am next to you? Why are you so distant? What are you hiding?
Please answer me, before I fade...
Chapter 1Chapter 1
"Once upon a time...many moons ago, there was a thriving city surrounded in fog, and within that fog--fiends lurked. This place was inhabited by many eccentric people. These people came from many foreign places, bringing their beliefs, traditions, even fears together. Within this town, there lived a woman that had an extraordinary power; she was not like the rest. She had a very lovely aura about her, and her beauty matched that aura. She was a Spirit Warrior. Behind the walls of this fortress filled with knights, bards, and things of that nature, she was one of a warrior breed that died out a long time before...or so they say. This race was called 'The Eternals.'
This people devoted their lives to fending off the more powerful demons and fiends of the world that plagued the land. Alongside the knights and guardians of the world, they helped plunge the darkness of the land into the fog and dark places of the world. Sanctuaries, places of prayer and refuge wi
Anger: My Greatest Ally..and FoeWith you, I feel free, unchained, unrestrained...inhuman. I feel weightless, like I can fly above everything fearlessly, but at the cost of my sense of direction. I have no fear, no hesitation, nothing holding me back, but...but...nothing is holding me back; no words, no memories, no thoughts...no will.
I feel like I'm invincible. I love that feeling--helplessness is not a crutch!! Once that grasps at my heart and mind, my soul becomes obsolete...my being becomes enigmatic, my actions erratic...my feelings...void and of no effect. My only thought is to lash out and cause as much pain to the one that caused it to me. ANyone else who gets in my way...tough.
I love it...
I hate it..
It's not me...
I cause so much damage with it, and yet, I cause so much damage with it...God, this is the imperfection that makes me perfect!! It is my greatest ally...my greatest foe. A house divided amongst itself cannot stand.
I am constantly building myself up...while tearing mys
Restless ThoughtsIs this heaven...or hell?
It's far too dark in here to tell...
Am I floating or still in place..?
Awake or sleep, awake or sleep...
Common GroundPain is living
Peace is sleeping
Faith is eternal
Hope is fragile
Life is ugly
Death is beautiful
The strong survive
The weak perish
Hearts are for those that know the meaning
Souls are for those that care
Love is for all that want it
Salvation is for everyone
Giving up is easy
Giving in is not an option
Fighting is only for what is worth fighting for
Dying is for beliefs
So tell me which category do I fall under?
Some Monsters"It approaches!!" is all I hear... Haha I'm the mighty beast you fear...? You should. Calling on fire to rain from heaven, stopping the wind from blowing prosperity across your land...I see why you think this.
It's a futile thing to get so many armies raised against me.
You open your gates to the enemy, but close it to allies. Why do you wish to see me destroyed...?
Does hell follow me, or are you tired of the correction? How does it feel to know that the very thing you asked for is the downfall you sought to escape. I know what you are. I see what you do in secret and show you openly.
What does it profit you to call on so many people to stand with you? It's a bittersweet thing to know me. Is it not strange to you that I show up when things are "easier" for you? Aren't you all tired of seeing this beast? I carry no fangs or weapons, yet you treat me as a hell hound. I love your honesty. As I move closer to your walls,I feel your cold stares, burning into my flesh, peering into what you
When you lose a best friendWhen we said friends forever and
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
She's an artistShe's an artist.
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
At peace within this tranquil garden,
I picture the moments where I've made you smile.
Those times are endlessly precious to me,
I think they're worth the while.
They're worth the time I've spent with you,
Even if it wasn't long.
I only wish I'd spent a little more,
Before our love was gone.
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
Still HereSuicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness
Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
smotherher spine was dusk
and unmade nests,
but he tried to live there
he was neither nocturnal
nor a dawn-believer,
so he suffocated
in the birdhouse of her ribs.
between my vertebrae, you are (cemeterial)oh, these writers never speak; they
claw words out of bird carcasses,
poets pecking viscera like necropolitans.
they count their ribs to remind you
of a corpse or of a matchstick. dry bones
between fissured wrists & funeral pyres,
these have been dying days &
they're all mortuaries.
Why Do I Try...?I've said my piece and you turned your ears
I stayed awake to battle your fears;
I told the truth, and you didn't like
But it's came to this, the final spike;
Beautiful, cute, all of this
Not one time did you ask for this;
A friend, was I, even now
I give respect, I even bow;
What could've been, what isn't here
What was so far, is now so near;
You down yourself, you take the blow
Why do I try...? You're never gonna get it....
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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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