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DreamsFollow me to a land of happiness and wonder
Let loose the reins of responsibility
Fear not of your fragility
Rest in due for an eternal slumber
UntitledHe stared deeply at you his dark grey eyes somber, he always had sad eyes even if he was smiling. Broken, one would say upon further inspection, & somehow snuggling into the crook of his arm as he spilled his soul out but no one had done that- not successfully at least only to have him shove them off, light eyebrows crashing down on his clear eyes in discontent. He wasn't the type who wore bright colours, he kept to cool blues, greys, and black, maybe the occasional red. He had a comfortable voice, a light rumble after words came out of his mouth mumbled for the most part; he never spoke loud nor opened his mouth enough to do so. He was the sarcastically lovable type, the one that could play out something morbid & dry yet still get others to laugh. He had a sharp face, a straight nose, his eyes were bagged, his head always adorned with some hat, either a fedora or beanie, he had an eccentric taste in music. He was never popular in school, but was well known by many either for good or w
I live in the dreamland of my mind; full of contorted stars & cryptic creatures.
While reality is the bitter nightmare; full of pain, suffering, & emotional storms.
Even my dreams are flawed to a fault that the disastrous nightmare seeps in, killing off my sweet fantasies in the light of day.
The multi-clawed beast raking down on my colourful images, drowning me in icy water before pulling my cold corpse out as if I never died telling me with an enticing voice to move on like the solider I am.
My escapes are seen as unhealthy, unethical, twisted; bound to be crushed into dust.
Reality is supposed to be a happy mistake some say, keep you living.
But how could you continue living if you were already dead?
.A hollowed soul, nothing more.
Empty promises, never to be fulfilled.
Vacant eyes, oblivious to the world before them.
Porcelain complexion, frozen in time.
Placid expression, perturbed no more.
Cold skin, never to touch warmth again.
Not alive, passed at a young age.
Lays still, closed into a box.
Tall headstone, a small short epithet.
Quantum LockedSilent assassins they have been called
Their graceful image only a hoax
For shall those feast their eyes on them
They remain placid statues, still as a post.
Turn a blind eye and they become feral beasts
Gnashing fangs, long nails
They’ll displace you from time should they touch you.
They nearly got the phone box once.
And its owner they ever so desire.
So they could feast on his time forever.
Here I LieUnder the shade of a big old oak tree
In the deteriorating cemetery
Is where you shall find me
MaskedSilence me will you?
Stitch up my lips
Before something slips
I shouldn't be blessed with words
For they only harm
When coming from me
Sincerity sounds indifferent
Sadness sounds sarcastic
Happiness is undetectable
Rage is sharp and piercing; only that sounds right
My words are more lies than truth
Weaving intricate stories that deceive others
Hides me behind a mask
That mask is suffocating me
I can't breathe
Someone untie the blood-stained ribbon
Crack the porcelain face
Reveal the true beast underneath
You finally got to silence her.
Cease her silver tongue.
Put a muzzle on her.
Keeping those jaws together and sealed.
Unable to utter a word, sweet success and quiet for you.
She may be unable to speak but those eyes can talk; no need for a mouth, is there?
Silence for her lack of voice, not the screams coming from her eyes
StorieThose who lie
They could make great storytellers
If they weren't so keen as to make a false image of themself
Talking with silver tongues and fingers crossed behind their backs
Some more gifted than others, in the art
Lies are fragments of stories at the thought
Some do it terribly like saying they didn't smoke while the cigar is perched between the fingers
Others make it wonderful, such as keeping a young child's belief of the Toothfairy, Easter Bunny, & Santa alive
Those are lies, but beautiful ones with a story that thrills the mind
You're worth so much moreShe was the type
to cut her wrists,
and then swallow the
because looking at what
was even harder
but I want to tell her
to let the emotions
p i l
out of her mouth,
instead of her
and that I'll gladly
let the words slice me,
if it means
I Tear My Skin AwayI Tear My Skin Away
I tear this skin from my body,
Even if the world screams,
That I am only an illusion.
I tear the bones from my legs,
Through pain, I will grow,
Through suffering, I will become.
I rip the muscles from my arms,
These teeth from my jaws...
And with nothing upon me,
I carry on...
Like a broken puppet, still shivering,
Still forcing its way through the darkness;
I tremble for I am nothing...
And yet, I am moving. My voice still screams...
I draw breath into these tired lungs,
As I rip the flesh away...
And I shatter these mirrors before me,
With a voice that will not break:
Because the world cannot label me as nothing,
And I will live for my own sake!
"So tell me, is that all the pain you've got for me?"
A note for people who need a kind wordJust a note,
For anyone who has felt,
Like they have been broken.
Just like an old toy.
Thrown and tossed around like a rag doll.
To anyone who feels,
They re tearing at their seams.
And they re losing all control.
A note to the little girl,
And waited for her mother.
Or her father.
To come back home,
To keep her safe,
While she cried.
Or to at least of said goodbye.
And wishes they d come back and tell her,
A note to the lonely boy.
So quiet and reserved.
Who sits and takes their cruel words.
Thinking it s what he deserved.
To be thrown into lockers,
And thinking he can find something better,
With the company of a razor,
Rather than a human.
Because humans have caused him more hurt,
Than the blades that pierce his skin.
A note to the beautiful girls.
Who walk for miles,
Until they have blisters on their feet.
Because they will not accept the defeat,
Of having to see numbers,
That tell them they are not worthy.
They are not pretty.
And they should not be living.
If they c
You're beautifulPlease eat.
Are you listening to me?
If you are,
I want to tell you.
You re beautiful.
It doesn't matter what you weigh,
you shouldn't feel guilty about what you ate.
It doesn't matter,
I promise you things will get better.
Listen to my words,
Hold my hand.
Don't worry about the rest of the world,
It's okay if they don't understand,
How it feels like,
To feel fat,
To feel ugly,
To feel worthless.
You are none of those things.
It s okay to be chubby,
It s okay to be skinny.
Because you have a big heart.
And your smile,
Is like a priceless work of art.
And I don't want to see you destroy,
Because you're more than just a broken toy.
And to everyone else,
So for once let yourself be,
Accept your reflection.
Because you are the definition of perfection.
So don't worry,
Don't be sorry,
To be who you are.
Because you re,
notes on a matchbook love.if I were the type
to say how I really felt,
I'd tell you that
I hope you choke on your apologies
like they're arsenic
and your nails are already
with the poison.
I'd let you know
that I'll never be a body
for you to touch
just because I know that's all you want.
I'll never be a fairy in a bottle
at your waist.
this is no storybook, and
I am no myth.
hear my silence,
feel the cold absence
respond to your weak "I'm sorry"s.
I beg you,
stop digging the hole,
stop, just stop.
Hush and watch the flames
engulf the image you sold me.
you can tell me
I'm beautiful as much
as you want,
but I know that it's not enough,
that you'll always want more,
that you've been a wolf
between my legs all this time
and my fingers are bruised
from holding the leash.
now every time you whisper
"please be okay",
I will always tell you that
I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
I will forever pretend
that I've grown up from you,
that I've become a mystery
What is Hope?Hope is something we have as children,
It helps us thrive and try our hardest.
Hope is what we express in the worst of times
When all hope seems lost.
Hope is what people possess in life
To work toward our dreams.
Hope is a lie
That's not worth our time.
AnxietyAnxiety tapping on my door,
"Can I come inside your head?"
I shiver, not ready for its visit.
It charges in, smelling of worry.
Spends a morning, afternoon and night,
playing with my emotions.
A marionette dancing its old tune on rough strings.
Leaves me winded and praying to beat it the next time.
I Know You're Strong, Let's Be Stronger TogetherI Know You're Strong, Let's Be Stronger Together
if i’m being completely honest,
i can’t say i know what you’re goin’ through.
and if i’m being frank,
i’m sort of afraid to write this
because i’ve always been unsure
if i love too much but it’s my nature
and i’d rather lose by trying too hard
than to do so without doing enough.
i hope you’re asleep now
and i hope you don’t read this
till the morning and i hope by then
things will be a little lighter
but i’m hoping against hope
because if you don’t know,
i feel when things are off.
call it intuition, call it a feelin’,
say i just know it.
my friend, my door is always open
even when you’re feeling closed
off to the world and right there,
i can understand that feeling well,
because i still feel we relate to one another
better than most brothers understand their sisters.
know i look at you as a sibling
and i believe we know when the other
I miss youYou are a ghost in my head
Living, yet you haunt my thoughts today
To speak your name
Would be to desecrate this space
Where you are, I should not care to know
But you are a never-healing wound
An unfulfilled promise
A chance to do no wrong
My memories burn with your taste, your touch, your smell
Who have I become?
Too long have the years been to me
To find myself wishing for the crossroads
For the chance to say no, one more time.
.I'm not someone who can pull words out of thin air
sew them into a smoothly worded line, a pleasure to read something with an essence of silk
my words are cramped together in the attempt to communicate
they look like the child's colouring book that is all scribbles; never coloured in the lines
my use of diction is weak, I stick to simple words like glue when I could be using other ones that make me seem... well, educated
I lack the ability to communicate well in written word for you can't see how I would emphasize on certain words as I do when I speak, which makes it harder for my voice to be portrayed accurately
words are both a gift and a hindrance for they can be taken any way
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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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