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limitsI see the end in it's cathartic cataclysm, and I see myself
consumed by every fear, every anxiety, every revelation.
And as I laugh and cry and bite my nails,
and as the tears evaporate off my cheek,
I leave this world alone and scared,
human to the end.
seenThe ripple twists, and the bubble erupts,
the eye devours and the nerve bloats,
and the brain ignites before the self breaks it all,
but perhaps there is still joy in remembrance...
limboExcuses for the unmotivated resonate along the glass lip,
while the bravado of spiteful ignorance hides the possible truth.
If we are to work, we should work for our beloved, but don't we first have to be loved?
And if love is simply a system to retain love, as so many seem to believe,
Then aren't we simply working to be loved?
Validating Your Tears (I'm Sorry) But what you don't know is that I am frustrated that I can't write a poem about the thorns growing on my veins or icebergs rooting in my heart. I can't write about the void in me when he no longer plays me Beethoven's music or sings me out of tune songs.
Because there is none. I didn't feel anything when he left.
Truth is, I want to feel crushed and heart broken, because at least sadness could prove that I did love him and that what he said about me never loving him is wrong. And I don't want to prove him right with being happy.
I want to write something beautiful about him. I want to write a poem because that is what I know, that is the only thing that had me getting my emotions back in boxes. I want to write a poem about us smiling with dandelions on the roadsides and
Lively Colored RocksLively colored rocks
Stationed by the waterfall
Damp and moist they stay
Yet beautiful they are
Silky smooth skin from the crashing waves
Still remaining resilient after all that has happened
Oh proud and joyous soul
There is much to be admired of you
But why settle for this?
The river awaits your calling
To an everlasting bed of dreams
Where your light shines the brightest
Wash away your fears
Oh fascinaing and marvelous gem
For your valor is needed
To service the eyes which grant me vision
To view those lively colored rocks
Words on a ScreenLife has been a v i c i o u s cycle.
I’ve stuck in it for years, since senior year of high school. This was when friends turned away, turned into things I didn’t need. Depression destroyed a lot of what I held dear, leaving my life in shambles. Somehow I made it through to the end of the year. Somehow I managed to grab hold the edge of my cap, and managed to toss it up into the air, and join my Class of 2011 in celebrating the feat of graduating high school.
It wasn’t until I was out in the real world that I realized the saying, “You are only friends with people at school because you saw them five days a week.” Quickly I watched as everyone got married off, or had kids… within the simple span of months since we took pictures on the tarp covered graduation floor. The men wandered off to their missions, the women started families. Everyone I was around for the final year of high school quickly ran off to their fut
The World Is A Trigger: Social Works. It all began with a look outside the window. Perhaps they could have of told them that they had no daughter, or that she wasn't there... But where is there use in lying when all their names are in he system? Before there was a chance, they met her eyes. After adult-talk, the sheriff walked in. His words burned against the rim of her cranium, the way he directed her to clean her room... But truly, was that his worry? Or was it the way the black mold on the living room walls curled so delicately, as though purposefully designed. Perhaps he wanted her to start simple and keep her hidden in lies, despite the obvious truth that returned her glares. Then again, maybe it was due to the dog's papers, full of business, that the sheriff slipped on. Maybe, again, he wanted her to begin small. But what is so small when he questions her desire to live in this Hell? Had she known the world, had she known a true, "normal" household, perhaps the sense would have met her to beg them to sav
KaterleYou are what taught me how to love, your breathing my dictionary. I sleep best when you're snoring next to me, as you're doing it right now...
We met when I was about ten, and I wasn't doing well. You came with sky-blue eyes and the old lady you just wouldn't stand to be separated from. The beauty of winter, but your heart was a camp fire in the deep dark woods, a comfort to the lost wanderers like me. When my head ached from crying too much, I had a soft place to lay it down on you. Your fur dried all my tears. Your gentle purring drowned all thoughts of sad and grey.
That house was never my home; but they say home is where the heart is, and you were there, and I stayed with you.
Would I still be alive if I had run away back then?
Would it even be life without you?
And whenever my heart hurts, I have you. Your sweet, gloved paws to touch my face, your calm heartbeat to talk to me. The only thing it ever says is 'I love you.'
It's an echo of my own, it's the voice of all my thoughts. T
The World Is A Trigger: Sandwich Slices Upon her skin, almost edging the inside of her left am, shortly behind the wrist, lies two scars of three marks. It took the cumulative 12-16 years of in-home slavery to cause it. All it was, was a simple instruction - heard for the hundredth+ time - of how to make her sandwich. Freshly from the knife block, silver flashed and found the girl's arm rather than sandwich. A purposeful swing & slide, unconsciously done, but almost made things better. The second was strategically placed, beginning light before a red droplet soon broke free. Her thoughts on the third one consisted of the determination to bleed years of pin over the food. But as blood shed onto a kitchen knife, it was the memory that returned normal senses. The reflection...
masochist.It's not the simple pain that I enjoy,
it's simply the pain of loving you,
which gives me my sick thrill.
lover I will never haveto the lover I will never have...
What was I in your eyes?
A one night stand?
A friend? An enemy? A lover?
Though, I thought it was strange... You always said you hated me.
Always pushed me away.. But I guess that's alright.
You called me cute though. That day, after school.
It left an imprint on me. And I wondered.
What do you really think of me?
Just what am I to you?
We never kissed. Never-- did, anything of that nature.
School's full of pretty boys.. And hot girls..
Why call me cute? Why not some chick you got pregnant?
There's videos of it, you know.. Online.. Tons..
We want to share our bodies with the world. We want them, to notice us.
To touch us. Show us how they make us feel..
I'm just a guy.. Nothing special about me.. Not at all..
Still, you called me cute. And I guess..-- I wondered what you meant by that.
Maybe it was nothing, so I'm overreacting. But maybe, maybe it was something.
I'll never know.
Though days will go by. Before long, you
ContrastLove is a light in the dark, with light providing an ignorant bliss that pushes back the dark.
The dark is the real world, in all it's indiscriminate zemblanitous nature.
This includes the darkness cast by ourselves, our shadows filled with insecurity and selfishness.
I want to learn to enjoy the light and the darkness...
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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