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3 a.m. rambles on a bus ride home from NYCIt's 3 a.m. and I'm somewhere in Pennsylvania, probably,
dozing off every few minutes and cramped into a small bus seat
that is very uncomfortable.
Trees pass me by, few lights of homes appearing and passing,
or the blinking of telephone towers off in the distance.
We pass by small cities, the street lamps illuminating the silhouettes
of hotels and restaurants right off the highway.
The world beyond the bus is black, endless black.
The skies are clouded, not a star in sight, and I am
three days more into missing you.
The time blurs as minutes tick by, and I know if I fall
asleep on this cursed vehicle I will get sick,
so I continue to write to you,
to try to convey what the deepness of the night
does to my thoughts.
I miss you.
I miss you.
I hope you miss me, too.
InfinityWe can create universes.
Infinity flows through our veins and only when we dig deep enough in the crevices of our very existence do we find the stars, nebulae, planets roaming within the particles that make up our DNA. These homes, these stories, they are a part of us. Every cell in our bodies can contain so many other worlds, so many other us's that we don't know about and that they don't know about and that's incredible, so very incredible.
Some days, however, a bit of this world may find its way into our life. We feel the sudden urge to create, to release the energy that's been pumped into our veins and itches itches itches to find a way out. It crawls its way into our brains and the nerves find it's too much, too much, so it sends it back and it courses through along our life streams and down to our arms or our legs and further to our wrists and ankles our hands and our feet our fingertips and our toes where we can't hold it in, our fingers
Falling: Prologue“If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does."
Saturday, June 9th, 2057: 5:17 A.M.
I woke to silence and knew I was alone. Of course I was used to this: waking up each and every morning to an empty house. It was almost as though one could hear their own breathing and, if they’re lucky and listen to the quiet hard enough, hear the sound of air hissing past their ears like when you place your ear to a conch and imagine that it’s the ocean.
Stiff joints popped and I flexed beneath the blankets- arched my back and let out a small grunt as sleep-ridden muscles were forced to work again. With much effort I worked my way out of the bed and lumbered to the bathroom across the too-quiet, too-dark hallway to relieve myself and look into the mirror with a scowl. My reflection scowled back.
Still half awake and barely functioning, I put my
The Stages of SpringI. Autumn's presence
Nothing but the crisp smell of
Fallen leaves and the in-and-out
Patterns of warm days laced with chill
II. Snow storms in March
Cold and ice when and where
It just shouldn't be
III. Lengthening days
And screwed up sleeping schedules
As night comes later
And an hour is lost from the day
Try not to have an early schedule that week
Because deep regret will follow with the first morning
IV. Flowers blooming and birds returning
Trees coming back to life with buds of pink
And chirps of winged beauties
Blessing the steadily-warming mornings
Warmth of the oncoming summertime
Unsure of a titleYou held my very existence within calloused fingers
And palms roughened from both playing stringed instruments
And catching yourself as you tripped over life’s speed bumps.
I wasn't broken, in the beginning.
Glued together and delicate, but not quite ruined.
You were gentle with my being and you cared
But I began to grow dark with age
My fingers grew slender from typing away my mind
And my limbs grew lined and dotted with scars
That were either intentional or accidental, I stopped keeping track at one point.
Eventually, it chased you away
And despite you staying, you weren't quite there with me
As the cracks grew more prominent and my mind grew heavy with beautiful thoughts
Of falling from your hands and crashing down into the icy dark of life’s ruthless grasp.
Of shattering upon impact and leaving everything behind.
You put me back on the shelf from which you found me,
Damaged and too close to the edge and left to collect dust.
Not that I minded; it
Squeaky Shoes and Vacant EyesSqueaky shoes and vacant eyes
Earbuds that hide a mind that lies
Music so loud to block out the noise
Caused by the judging girls and boys
Pale pink scars and shaking hands,
Snapping wrists with rubber bands.
Hair cut shorter, sleeves bought longer,
Hiding away so they can sit and ponder
The life they want to leave behind
But each day life will be sure to remind
Them to go outside with a smile and a lie
And to go back home and never cry.
And after all this time with every lie
They wait for the day they can say goodbye
To squeaky shoes and vacant eyes
And earbuds that shield a mind that wants to die
Validating Your Tears (I'm Sorry) But what you don't know is that I'm frustrated that I can't write a poem about the thorns growing on my veins and 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's none. I don't feel anything when he leave.
Truth is, I want to feel crushed, and heart broken. Because at least sadness can prove that I loved 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's what I know, that's 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 crying without rain to validate our tears. I want to write so
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
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
do it.Suffering isn't always pain.
Sometimes its having to itch your finger,
when you wanna strike a match,
and watch it all just fucking burn.
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
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
fin.and before I knew it
I fell into a pit of utter darkness
falling and falling
as I kept crumbling apart
times like these
will not occur forever
and I can assure you
that is the truth
before you start to believe
it is indeed the end of the road
look above of you
shines down upon you
and you had never noticed it
and before you realize the truth
you already have found the end of
the tunnel filled with utter darkness
just to find yourself
in the broad daylight again
I Can't Lose to You.My blood rushes.
My head is light.
I can't think straight anymore,
My only thought is; Fight.
Fight your criticism.
Fight your words.
Fight your taunting.
I hate myself like this,
Where all I see is red.
It only reminds me,
How I wish I were dead.
That way, I can hurt no one.
I can not give in.
I can not lose.
I can't. . .
I can't let you win.
I want to scream,
But I don't want to lose again.
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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