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No place in this worldMy face has a grim expression
My eyes filled with regret
I just wanted to forget
The world that exists today
has no place for me
I have gone astray
Should I just disappear
into a sea of strangers
I don't want to hear
the truth of life's dangers
I am not desired
Not my soul nor my mind
I have been rejected
in this world made of twine
There will be no tears
if I left this night
For every one of my fears
has finished with their blight
There's no one left to consult
There's no one left to see
The girl who's cryings faults
That person that was me
Lonely piece of skyLook at me right now
Does anyone see the truth?
How lonely somehow
a part of me can be, so blue
I truly wonder
Why I am such a mess
Sometimes I ponder
Where can all my clouds rest?
Some people sing up to me
Think that I know everything
Believe that I am happy as can be
But they know nothing
It's cold when the sun goes down
I turn from bright blue to black
There is not many souls to be found
Only stars beside me to track
Oh sweet stargazer hear this
Why can you not believe
That shooting stars miss
Never truly obtaining a dream
Does anyone know how lonely I am?
Not really much to say
No one can really understand
They only just pray
Oh starry sky
Listen to my trouble
I wonder why
I always tumble
I'm all alone
No one can hear my screams
It's so damn cold
But what does that actually mean?
This is itThis is it
My final dance
While the notes
Began to prance
I sang a tune
To say goodbye
To who I was
Without a lie
To lull myself
Into a dream
Where my thoughts
Collide it seems
Farewell to you
These words will be
My final note
On what is me
Happiness in a bottleThere once was a girl who carried a huge bottle of happiness on her back. Why? She thought that if she brought happiness to the lands, her parents would come back home and she could be happy again. So she passed every town and city, sprinkling happiness everywhere; this caused some unwanted attention. People from the depths of despair came crawling to her feet, begging for some of the happiness in her bottle. When this occurred, the girl gave them some of the bottle and they were well again. They praised her and called her a messenger of God. She became well known and, because this occurred, her parents came back home for her. By the time she spread all the happiness in her bottle among the people, it became empty. She thought she would be happy when her parents returned but they only came back to benefit from her new found popularity; they never really loved or cared for her. The little girl became sad. “Is this really what I wanted?” she questioned herself as she fell int
Dark SilhouettesThere was one a small little girl who lived with her parents at the side of a large hill. She wasn’t allowed out often and chose to stay in her room due to her mother being paranoid about the outside world. One day, while she was asleep, a silhouette of a woman in a long black dress came into her room. The little girl woke up because she had to go to the washroom but before she pulled off her covers, she looked to her left. The shadow stared at her while playing with an acorn her mother had given her from one of her trips outside. The little girl panicked and dove back under her covers but when she peeked out to check if it was safe, the woman was gone. The next day, the little girl awoke again and opened her blinds, the thought of the woman still lingering in her mind. She went to her bedside table and reached for the acorn before she realized, it was gone. “Mama?” the little girl called out. The sounds of footsteps were heard, getting louder and louder as the
Night WarsI dropped my sword and collapsed onto the floor
I have gotten so weary and cannot wield it anymore
The skies burn red with the shadows of past
Soon my armor will break and I will no longer last
I grow tired of battles in the night
All the bad dreams that I have to fight
To remember what I have been through, what I have done
This is no war, it's a slaughter and they've won
My helmet has cracked, my chest piece is falling
All I hear are sounds of insanity calling
My screams of sorrow, anger, and despair
Hidden within my mask has now filled the air
There is no ending this war, there's no chance
For I, who has shed tears with blood on my hands
Cannot save the versions of myself I have killed
So I wished for all of my time to be stilled
I dragged my sword across my frozen earth
As a baby would drag her blanket after birth
The difference between the pure and the tainted
Makes me want to hate which some who I am acquainted
I closed my eyes and wished upon a simple rose
I wish the enemy to who
Sweet dreamsMarvelous moonbeams
Do you care for a dance
Next to the reflecting seas?
Look into my eyes
Tell me what you think
Beyond the broken hearts and lies
Shine in the night lights
Don't mind what tomorrow proposes
Make my life pretty
I know this might be silly
Listening to the crowds in the city
Let me hear from you
Before the morning begins to loom
Singing for smiles
Travelling through the air
Have you been doing this for awhile?
Come and bring these to me
Good night world
Seduced by thoughts and words
I will go to the place where imagination lured
Christmas in the trenchesI see lights of many colours
All the holiday songs and huggers
On this eve of Christmas cheer
I look around to nobody here
Everyone has their own family fun
Little plastic dolls and water guns
I ran away from that holiday feel
Now here I am, hurting as I kneel
"They all have someone else now
With all their cookies and milk from cows
They don't need me for these times
I don't have much to offer, not even dimes"
The only joys I get to see
Are the wonderful ice on Christmas trees
Shining in the sunlights' glow
It makes me feel like I'm not alone
Whoever is isolated and by themselves
I wish you luck and place that on your shelves
Look at the beautiful lights in the sky
I will do the same as the holidays pass by
asked me why i
love you, and
i was lost for
words– which doesn't often happen
to a writer– because i couldn't
the way you look
smile. it's something
that a hidden part of me lives
for; that one tooth
out of line, that
one dimple on the
of your face.
i couldn't tell her
how i often lie alone in a big bed and
miss the way you smell, the
way you b r e a t h e.
and, oh, i couldn't tell her
how i had never
wanted someone there
with me to
pull me out of the
dark– you taught me that someone
doesn't have to
understand your pain; they just
be there to try and
so i couldn't say
why– i just smiled and said that
it doesn't matter
why, because, for
once, i have fallen in love with a
O Teleftaios Stratiotis
Ο Τελευταίος Στρατιώτης
Ο κόσμος είχε αλλάξει για πάντα.
Κι όμως, μετά απ'όλα αυτά,
οι δυο στρατηγοί
ο ένας απέναντι στον άλλον,
το ίδιο αλλαζονικά όπως πριν,
σαν να μην είχε συμβεί ποτέ
cosmic lattesmall town diner jukebox
casts 90's pop songs on a loop
across creaking hardwood
and paisley-print cushions;
there's a mustard stain
on the waitress's checkerboard apron,
a run in her hose
and fingernail polish flaking like dandruff
into the burly corner booth truck driver's
scrambled egg whites and hash, hold the salt.
if this were wednesday, the perky brunette
would be disheveled, sobbing
into her on-again off-again's embroidered handkerchief
while your food waits, forgotten, in the window...
but it's thursday and they've made up
and his breath is only slightly tainted by his addictions.
instead, she flits a smirk at you
over the pages of the novel
you hope you're hiding well behind
and fills your cup to sloshing
free of charge.
when you add creamer,
it looks like the universe
opening to you.
lone wolf is wholesome
as his body is pressed,
pierced, and perforated.
rib cage curls like fingers
as crimson nail polish
paint the tips.
nailed to the wall like game,
sanguine saliva drips
from its snarling lips.
eyes shut tight
as its frame is contorted
like abstract art,
pen his heart in ink
or permanent marker.
knees skinned like a child
his body idle as the soul vibrates
while his inners regurgitate,
morbidity slivers down his legs
white fur stains read by death
as it plays necromancer.
the pack may not walk with you
but the moon hums with the owl orchestra.
your grey specks toying with ivory fur
kissed by red cartilage edges.
fade away as your puzzle
finally becomes wholesome
9.12in a place where
grow, i stole shadows
from a jar of
pen ink. the stars
me; i had to forgive
and with high eyes and a
fire-tongue, the kind you get from
smoking too many
came from the ground and
take them back– but
my fists grew
tight. i fought him like
hell; and he, too
has yet to
you feed raw meat to lions,
i feed raw me to liars-
the crowds line-in like
they’re ready to witness
me eat crow feet like i’m lyin’,
but these eyes are tired
of watching the vultures
masquerade as innocent crows
when the flock is called a murder.
and these crimes are unaccounted for
because we don’t realize what they’re killing
are the lion-hearted and eating the carcass,
leaving souls to float in the desert
while frames play bowls to a heartless dessert.
deserted bones tumbling like weeds
in the dead glass,
and lightning doesn’t strike
in the same place twice,
so don’t expect quartz here.
the law of living has no courts here
and karma is no judge
because there are no sentences
being placed on the objects
that subject you to the adjective of their
their words unnecessary,
excessive when the circle has begun.
wing disks spinning, dizzying,
dazzling, dying down
through dirt tolls
because we all have to pay
Writer's AuraWhat would you say if I told you that paper had an aura?
The interesting thing about it is that I’m telling half the truth.
Paper can only have an aura when it’s in someone’s hands
And being recited by the very person that wrote it.
The aura of the paper comes from the person, strengthening the sheet’s purpose.
Strengthening the person.
But how, you might ask?
How can a person give a flimsy object like paper an aura?
I have done so several times, so I shall tell you.
The people-those like me-that can do this are called Writers.
Every word-every letter-from a Writer’s hand that falls onto the paper…
It has its own life.
Losing one letter can make an entire story unravel.
Make a poem’s meaning drop.
Make a sheet of paper…meaningless.
And by extension, for that moment, the Writer’s life means nothing.
A small mistake, however, isn’t as large a mockery to us as a blank, white sheet of paper.
Both it and the Writer cry out, begging
AnswersI know I am the one that is trying to find answers to all these questions But I am scared
I do not know what the answer is going to be
Am I going to be sad, hurt, pissed, scared
I do not know
At this moment I just know that I am tired of wondering and want answers to my life
A StoryLovely features rest
In a crystalized tomb
Adorned in roaming ivy
Locked in silver moonlight
Approaches handsome figure
With weary leather boots
Having rode his way there
Searching for treasures to loot
Coming to the crossroads
The two strangers meet
One forever locked in
Curse's dreamless sleep
Figure draws near
Pearlescent glass gleams
Stretching out his hand
He sees the beauty skin-deep
Instead of acting as a story
A fairytale kept in time
The figure walks away
Deciding corpses should be kept
Out of the sunlight
One poem for a lonely girlOne poem for a lonely girl
Who thought she could rule her closed off world
She wished upon a moment of the day
She carved a companion in a block of clay
The clay carving came to life
Asked the girl to become his wife
Her universe exploded and colours spilled in
She looked so happy with a silly grin
One word for a lovely girl
Whose life grew from a little pearl
Her world is filled with colour and light
With a person to hold her for the rest of her nights
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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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