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I'm SickAs I sit in darkness I feel its cold breath within me, burning my insides with its icy fire.
It’s not warm like a flame should be. It’s a contradiction. It’s unnatural. It makes me
nervous. It hurts. I trail shaky fingers over my bruised skin—it wants out again.
Unnatural. But really, what is natural? What is the definition of something one might
consider normal? It most certainly cannot be this beast within me. I cannot decipher now
between it and I. We are one yet we are two. Two that sometimes is one and one that
sometimes is two. One. Two. Two. One.
Rage. It’s always there but now it burns cold in the front of my mind as well as the
back. My subconscious is diseased with inhuman instinct and my consciousness is
becoming sick. It’s a plague.
I’ve opened the doors to famine.
Silent WonderlandAnd then the rivers did flow red. Crimson blades drawn across immortal flesh in a flawed attempt to feel again. Never-ending stories of what may never be, forced to hold one's own, and wait. Wait. Redrum and writing desks, ravens and lore, might I tell the tale of one once more? Of how the redrum spills from doG's tongue and infests the desks with written words of insects and other horrid falsities. So shall I speak of the raven's heart and what sorrows overcome impatience from within the silence? Still, silent, always quiet. Such lore within my fables, such honest words never truer to the ears of man, lost wisdom strewn about the sands of time, the sands. The grits of era, the dirt of occasion, they drag on for what seems forever. A wasteland, where fears and tears overwhelm the happiness and invade our memories like an infestation of a writing desk.
It's raining red rain from my blackened skies and the muddled waters wash away the madness within this and bring to mind a clarity of sa
The Insane The raven whispered of such sweet madness I could not protest the taste. In acceptance with the hell bird, I walked along the red, sugar coated cobblestone. Such delicious slaughter at my feet, such succulent flesh strewn down my path—but to taste would be a sin, it said, and so shall I thirst forever.
The delightful stench of rot and butchery did exasperate my senses. Such delectable, thick, puddles of luscious flesh that only continued to deepen in their sopping mess. I despised that damned, blackened soul, forever at my side—I'd one day hope to taste its putrid, sinful insides.
The wicked things I'd love to do to you, my sweet little raven. To end your perverted whispers so I may savor of this sickening path once more. Oh, the nasty, disgusting, abhorrent things I might do to your cadaver with these teeth of this immortal lie—To twist your feathered neck until you die…
These poisoned thoughts seeped from my h
Cursed The blackened fur of the devil's pet, festered before me. It smelled of putrefying meat and feces. Its flesh was falling from its cursed bones. I looked away—I was ashamed. Was this the beast I was to become? I returned my gaze to the obscene creation that still breathed through a sewn mouth. It's black, rigid horns curled sharply, only to penetrate the creature's skull.
Its clouded eyes watched me without movement. I didn't like this. I hated this. I turned to run but there, before me, was the beast. I looked behind me where it had once stood but it had vanished. It was mocking me. "You think you can scare me!" I shouted loudly at the thing, unaware if it could understand me or not. "You think you can make me change my ways?" I laughed at it, angry with its assumptions. "I know what I am to become, you foolish demon—I know this immortal soul is damned." I hissed angrily.
It was then that the beast cocked its rancid head, disturbing the stench that r
on waking up and growing olderwhispers succumb to the
whirl-away winter drifts
as frozen fingers t n l
a g e
signaling the end of
a child's rationality.
the grownups call it
but we really do
i met you in our
world torn free of yesterdays,
and far beyond tomorrows.
the sky was a blanketed
white, spreading over our
star-fields and moon-rays.
as i took your hand,
we cried tears in
laughing all the while.
i woke up.
No Breathing AloudHave you ever felt like...
their empty sorrows
Was showering over You
From a heavy cloud ?
What will we do ?
If we can't breathe,
Rotting inches beneath
They haunt me in my sleep,
Like monsters they are locked up
In my closet
I can hear them through blocked ears
Their suffocated cries...
As their lungs die
Everywhere I go...
They taunt me
I know I'm breaking
they know it too
"Why are you smothering us?"
Their lungs choked down in their
I don't remember his name
He asks ...
"Who are they?"
"The ones who torment your mind"
Can't you see
They are me...
They are me
those Who cry out for help,
Because deep down
This world has rotten my oxygen
And squeezed out my last breath,
Leaving my lungs for death...
and now I cry soundlessly
for an eternity
Mirror, MirrorMirror, mirror, on the wall,
Watch it crumble, break and fall.
Look at all the bloody glass,
How it reminds them of a severed past.
Watch a reflection slowly disappear,
Looking at all the shattered, crushed mirrors.
A breathless state of mind goes by,
Am I just alive or did I die?
Confused and in an awe,
Careless people unknown to what one saw.
Throat slit so one can't be unlocked,
Too bad the thoughts have become blocked.
Crimson splatters, dripping, breaking away,
Thou shall not know the feeling of all the pain.
Oh, Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Why did you crumble, break and fall?
how to be a writertravel. travel to
12 different countries.
write about to the ones
you've never been to.
fall in love.
fall in hate.
fall in crippling
drink cheap coffee
live off caffeine
and cafes with
question everything and
everyone. never be a
sellout nor trust a soul
with your words.
be a disappointment.
dispirit everyone and
no one because you'll
never be good enough.
dream about fantastical
places filled with wonder.
twist them into nightmares
with raging beasts and cruelty.
never be happy.
rip apart your work.
love something then
loathe it back.
cry about your regrets
to anyone who won't
listen and ignore those
write about the same
person ad nauseum so
you become a wrinkle
in time instead.
find a way to make
everything more dramatic.
be a hypocrite, go against
your beliefs. deny it.
listen to shitty music.
claims it's your muse.
your soul. truly abore
it's existence in your privacy.
do not care to
we're all drunk and always have beenno
i haven't felt smaller than this before
and it could be
because i don't breathe poetry in
and out -
and out -
i write it under my eyebrows
with the precision
of a drunk sniper
toasted into admission
with irony s-st-tutter-ering
down his throat.
you wouldn't take a damned bullet for me.
beautiful is a word kept
for the rise
of her tidal chest,
not my shallow breath,
not my sunset, heartfelt,
i would have disappeared
between your accusing index and
neglected thumb -
don't you feel calmer?
i haven't felt smaller than this
i haven't felt smaller than this before
and it could be
because you found a home between
her stroking index and
comforting thumb -
i haven't forgotten,
no, i still remember
now twenty two penumbrae in the past
didn't stop me
in one of several crevasses
at the bottom of your oceanic mind;
you may have forgotten,
and slept in
on the details,
but i haven't,
Stop Staring at My TeethDearest Marie, I have returned.
No more the poor man whom you spurned,
Though poorer looking, your love I earned.
Please stop staring at my teeth.
Lovely woman with gentle hands,
Think not of savage New World lands.
No one in this village understands.
And please stop staring at my teeth.
The cold leaves me distressed
And yet I labor without rest.
How could you be further blessed?
So stop staring at my teeth.
They are different, as am I,
But do not bother asking why.
Just go make me a pie,
And stop staring at my teeth!
Greedy woman, do not take
The choicest morsels that you bake
For this Hunger makes me shake.
Oh please, stop staring at my teeth.
My sweet, I urge you to dismiss
The copper tang left by my kiss.
It was no one you would miss,
So why keep staring at my teeth?
ode to youif you ever asked me
to describe it,
i would tell you how
you spin my thoughts into poetry,
compose my heartbeats into music,
how your lighthouse presence
beckons me to a home
within your smile.
if you ever asked me
to write it,
i would write my fingers bloody
with all the words
that could have come between us,
all the conversations
that skirted past unspoken,
all the poems
that i should have surrendered.
if you ever asked me
to show it,
i would love your heart till it's raw,
your joints till they no longer creak,
your tears till they dry,
your bruises till they fade,
the whites of your eyes
till the bloodshot veins
fade into milky bliss,
your irises till they lose all dreary grayness,
and your pupils till they tire no more of the sunlight,
till they tire no more of me.
if you ever asked me
to prove it,
i would recite the thought-poems
that you spun
and play the heartbeat sonatas
that you composed.
i would paint you an ocea
love al nientei.
It was December,
the grass wet with the sky's tears
and the moon hanging in the sky
like desperate mistletoe.
The bus stop always seemed perversely romantic:
you could see exactly how people painted fatigue
on their faces,
some strange dance of yawns and grunts
which reminded you of exactly how damn precious
problems of the privileged are.
Of course, you did not dance.
You did not paint fatigue that morning.
When the sun hypocritically spilled its summer gold
believing your smile could turn it into something refreshing,
and because it was a wrong note in life's symphony
I stepped closer to the bright almond
of your eyes.
Your first words were
"The beige really works with the leaves.",
and I think there
the fingers hit ivory
i could never have been sure with you;
you had danced on plenty tight ropes before
you settled for dancing on
and that's fucking good riddance,
you made me hit maximum occupancy at o
you've been dead for a year, my deari met you on december 21st,
the longest night of the year.
you had solstice eyes: cold, dark, alluring.
i knew you were not meant to last,
powerful as a gale but fragile as
the tulip stems you snapped,
a sickening cycle of you,
an overwhelming tidal wave.
they say two wrongs will never make a right,
but i made so many bad choices that
i wound up back where I began.
it was too easy to love you,
but getting you to love me back was impossible.
i clawed at your chest until I struck blood,
until my nails split into shards.
you were born a phantom,
and i, your corpse.
holding onto you felt like drowning in quicksand;
i fought but always sank into your arms.
i breathed in dirt, breathed in dust, and
found my organs choked with you,
smothered by your existence.
you sucked out my breath
every time i kissed you.
i died every day with your hand
knotted in my hair.
You left on june 21st,
the longest day of the year.
i bit down sorrow and deconstructed
the labyrinth within me,
the one you hadn't th
HateYour ignorant fingertips turn the pages of my soul as if you deem the words they whisper as true. The taste of your assumptions is bitter and the spit from my mouth has turned to poison. Black waters deep with hate and disgust seep from these lips and the desire to drown you in my sins is potent.
Silver mirrors with false reflections are tainted red with a thirst for your mortality. This crimson gaze stained and soiled falls from the heavens and is damned to look upon you. Odium, abhorrence, revulsion, hatred! Insufferable this punishment I am to carry for what was sentenced an eternity!
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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