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Holding your heart out for your lover with both hands,
Trusting that they will not harm it,
But not pulling away if they do.
The rushing river we drink from with many others,
Drinking the dirtied flow to purify the stream again
Should there be someone to soil it.
Enduring the pain of truth,
Like breathing pure oxygen
And accepting it into your lungs.
And hate is simply indifference.
It's not like I wanted to write this or anythingshirts, really, what a funny thing to love
it just protects you from the rain
from the wind from the dirt below you from the dirt around you
really just a simple basic necessity of modern life,
nothing that cool or inspiring but
you can buy a shirt at your department store for
five bucks a piece and yet
you can buy a similar garment at a brand name store for thousands
wonder why that is as both objects
protect your skin which protects your organs
which protects your vulnerable heart
probably our shirts are a physical entity of the walls
which we build around us
a sort of armor for our sense of love
guess that some of us feel no need to envelope ourselves
in protection while others feel the need to
spend money on locking their feelings away
and well, you spent your money
why not fall in love with your barriers themselves?
How many timesHow many times have you looked
Upon the palm of your hands
And saw them dry and cracking?
How many times have you looked
At the mankind in front of you
And saw yourself in a glass cage?
How many times have you looked
Into the dream you had
And thought it could be reality?
How many times have you looked
In the eyes of your enemy
And couldn't find yourself?
How many times have I looked that way?
Fatebelieving in Fate is a terrible thing.
i haven't believed in Fate before, but to have
so many horrible things happen to me in
such an Unrelenting, Circular, Never-ending chain
the thought of all these events
just being Innocent, Playful coincidences is
LiesNo, I don't think it's called "gullible."
I don't think it's called "idealism."
Not "oblivious," either.
It wasn't as if I was blind.
I did test the drawbridge before stepping out on it.
I saw pigs and cows and elephants walk past it,
Skipping with each step, cheerful and carefree.
They passed safely.
The bridge didn't even sway.
I, a human, surely don't weigh much more than all those animals.
Or so I believed, until I actually walked on it:
My heart's jealousy was seen as bricks.
Tons, tons of bricks stuffed inside of my emotions
The bridge didn't waver at all as it decided.
It snapped, and with almost a pushing force,
It threw me into oblivion.
Darknessevery night is the same
every night it is the same
every night the same pain strikes me
chest pains, that is
his name is Darkness,
my friend who is about fifteen times large as me
his hand holds me every night in a tight embrace
squeezing the air out of me
feeding off of my blood
and tears, especially tears
he tells me those are the tastiest
and he wants them every night
if i tried to fight,
he would surely win
so i let him take the life out of me
and cry some more
and drink liters and liters of water every night,
letting my eyes flow a river
Darkness likes to keep me alive though
he sucks up the tears,
never is merciful enough to let me drown in them
i'll never be able to get out of this
every time i try to whisper
he reminds me of a name
and suddenly my throat is tight
and there i am
BloodlustI hate you.
I passionately hate you with every single cell of my body.
Everything about you is so disgusting to me,
So pathetic and annoying.
I hate the way you act and talk.
I absolutely despise your essence in general.
Every time I see you,
My neutral expression falls into a frown.
Or rather, I don't even give enough of a care to frown.
As I try my hardest not to glare,
I bite the inside of my cheek.
So hard that I feel my own teeth digging into flesh,
So that that I taste my own blood.
My blood tastes sweet, and I savor every drop.
But not as sweet as your blood would taste;
Surely yours is sweeter and better to taste than mine.
I would love to take apart your flesh with my own claws
And see your raw composition lying there,
So vulnerable, so pitiful, so... Cute.
So beautiful I'd laugh.
No, not the laugh you'd hear from a usual villain,
But the lighthearted laugh you'd hear from a couple on a date,
A child watching his favorite television show,
A man making jokes with his friends.
the i don't want to live poemwhen i don't want to live
i don't want to live
and i honestly don't want to live right now
living is too hard too painful too stressful
please take the life away from me
but i'm still alive, see, i have flowing blood
but i don't want to see it anymore
i want to cut and cut and cut all of my blood away
drain it from my body watch my heartbreak drain away
i want to die i want to die i want to die
the feeling of breathing is disgusting to me
my body makes me breathe and i hate it i hate it so much
the pain is almost physical my chest cannot withstand the pressure
please release me from this prison
i never did wrong, i don't deserve a life sentence
a death one would suit me well
but i'm too fucking cowardly to end it all
why do i feel like there's still a point in living
because i promised time i would wait for it
i would wait for time to save me
time has always been on my side
but timing never has
but when i don't want to live
i wish [someone] would tell me
if you die you wou
They try to help me
They're trying, I can tell
I ignore it because they speak words of logic and mine
Mine are words from my flesh
My blood, my skin, my muscles, my organs, my fat, my bones
My brain isn't in it
My brain was shut down by my heart
And I was never strong enough to get it back
They tell me to swim
Learn to swim, stop hanging on an anchor to stay afloat
Swim and swim away
Swim onto an island by yourself where you can be happy
The anchor is the anchor of my ship and I must with it
I want to
some things are meant to be brokeni snatch at dog-eared love letters,
molded and mashed together into
a string of mismatched desires,
revolving around you.
love is a dystopia—-the never-ending cycle
of unrequited i-love-yous,
little white lies,
and carpe diem whispering,
“life is too short.”
we romanticize the beating heart,
if it walks pretty and talks pretty
it’s obviously a strung-up puppet but—-
—-just maybe you can sew him up, the craft
of needle and thread to stitch a real boy.
i breathe against the windowpane,
tracing tales of the boy with wild eyes
and a wicked heart on the frozen mosaic glass
framed by the need to save you.
when it’s over i’ll morph
into a hollow shell of a girl, waiting
for a starry-eyed boy to
wish me back to life and—-
—-just maybe we can be real together.
Our Wings Flutter And SingOur Wings Flutter And Sing
my feet graze texas plains
southern currents hitting my back
and my body is left
as my soul follows what feels right.
my arms spread wide,
eyes closed and
i let the thought take me away.
i love this cliche
because i have wings with you.
i can fly because of you.
and no matter how many times
i scribble your name as a title of this poem,
i can never mutter it enough
because i’m addicted
to how it rolls off my tongue.
i miss you when i wake up,
when i sleep, when i dream,
because at least there
i wave in the morning
and kiss you through the night.
even departures there feels like
i’m leaving my home
to return to my house.
i think of you first and last,.
of your yawn and laugh,
how you scrunch your nose
and your little grin
even when you try to refuse it.
and i know you hate smiling in pictures,
but i make it my mission
to make you smile as much as possible.
i love how you keep your hair to one side
with the part in the middle.
i love how the l
of goodbyeyour eyes
are painted with the saddest
I have ever seen
with the shade of sunset
and its tangerine gleam
those eyes, my love
are painted with
the colour of
if we were to never speak again.In silence absolute
I almost forgot you,
I almost remembered to forget
you, lonely afternoon
of naked breath,
the softness of sunset
as it rakes along my skin.
The nonchalance of the sky
almost unbearably falters
an outbreak of tears
weigh down my hair
memory of your touch,
memory of your heart,
eyes blinking through the rain
glimpses of turquoise-
blue souls dancing, but
not quite entwined.
claws into my brows,
furrows the flesh
rivulets of thought
that tear through my nervous system
cellular tinnitus, reverberations
in my spinal column,
raising mountains from
my body, darklight clouds
ghosting in the peripheries
of my vision
memory of your touch,
memory of your heart,
a lyrical tattoo
of ripened countryside
a vibrant concerto
washed between us
tidal colour drowning,
from your sweet humour
to my aching sternum
the cliffs fall away
and autumn breaks in upon us,
auburn sorrows of light
I Write to a Lover Who Doesn't ExistYou must've noticed how I was left bleeding
Because all you could do was stare
At me with those gemstones you call eyes.
We danced around bookshelves in the mystery section
Pretending not to notice each other
And ignoring the fact that our eyes kept meeting.
I wonder now that if we'd danced in the romance section
Would we have still ignored that part of ourselves?
And after all, aren't mysteries ment to be solved?
You must wash your hair with sunflower petals and pomegranate seeds
Because your aroma is that of a goddess
And I was attracted to you as quickly
As if you had called my name.
Would you call my name?
And would you say yours as well
Because although I have a feeling you go by Aphrodite,
We have not yet acquainted ourselves.
AdulationI can't take a breath
without thinking about you
when I do
it takes my breath away
every day my love for you
grows more intense
my need for you
you are as vital to me
as air and water
a smile from you
sends me to nirvana
saps my strength
every waking moment
is spent thinking of you
revolves around you
nothing makes me feel
so happy and alive
as being with you
you give so much
my heart, soul, loyalty
are all I have to offer
these you have
want them or not
I am so in love with you
my only fear on this earth
is that of you leaving me
my world would crumble
but with you near
I can survive anything
BellsNote how we've never really touched,
how only our elbows grazed each other in the darkened theatre.
No intentions, never;
only accidentals that skewered the phrase.
But darling, if I have ever not craved your chewed down fingernails grazing my cheek,
the memory has been long lost in a time of happier melodies.
thuggish loverno more on love. tell me
instead of the hearts you've
beaten, and the way
they kept on
Make me a soulMake me a soul next to yours,
Make it small so you can hold it in your hands,
Make it blue like in the morning to wake up in you,
Make it strong to cry in silence when you've gone.
Make me a heart as big as the sun,
Make it warm, make it good,
Good to love, good to give, good to pray,
Make it beat for us, for you, for God.
Make me hands to feel,
Make them pure to touch,
Make them soft to caress,
Make them hard to live.
Make me a voice to sing your beauty,
Make it calm when you fall,
Make it sweet when you're mad,
Make it say 'I need you'.
Make me eyes to see you when you're working,
Even if you don't notice me.
Make them big so you can see yourself in them,
Make them deep so they'll be your refuge.
Take my whole existence and seal it with a kiss,
But make me lips to know you love me.
Make me love to know I live.
Make me know that I can dream.
Make me a soul, please.
Make me yours.
How It Began"God, your two o'clock is here."
"I have a two o'clock?"
"He's been here since 7:45. I figured it's only polite to... sir."
God sighed. "Fine, send him in."
While He waited God cleared His desk of papers and blueprints; no need for outsiders to see His plans. Soon enough the door to His office opened and God stood, smiled, held out a hand towards one of the two visitor's chairs.
"God! Great stuff you're doing in sector 2-7-0! Great stuff!"
The man's hands were clammy, his handshake limp. Rumpled suit, porkpie hat, briefcase... oh Jes-- oh dear, a salesman. God's smile slipped a little but He soldiered on gamely. With luck He could shoo the poor guy away in a few minutes.
"So, what can I do for you?"
The man sat, briefcase across his knees. "Sector 2-7-0! Everyone's talking about it! What do you call it? Man and merman?"
"Man and woman, actually. And thanks. But we're pretty busy around here, and..."
"Oh! Right! No time for the wicked, eh?" The salesman winked and popped his briefcase,
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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