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I'll Go Out With A BangI find myself beginning once again.
So far from an elusive end.
My consistent sigh of breath, I detest.
My constant need to inhale and exhale, I repress.
But still I find myself trying to impress.
And I'm still trying to do what's right without seeming suppressed.
But to you, what I'm fighting for, isn't even worth the fight.
And this bending and winding,
With no assurance of an end.
No reassurance to possibly again begin!
Failing is not an option I was given!
You made that crystal when I first began.
This needed perfection.
The weight of the sky.
The air so dense.
The world spinning on top of my shoulders.
I loathe it all.
Then my chest rises into a suppressed dying fall.
Oh! I hate my lungs!
They will not stop moving within.
I feel each of their poundings against my rib and skin.
And then I decided, I shall be an arsonist!
I will coax the flames to get some kind of pleasure.
I need some type of satisfaction!
A thrill I never before had the privilege to ex
PariahThen being alone proved to be more compamy than being with them. And in some weird way you felt at home by being away. And the light seemed dark, especially within the day. And the night seemed also too dark and became a scary place. All because you were once afraid that sinners became saints for their lives became blank and as white as a cotton slate. And somehow you did not belong to this world. You became an alien race, tainted and warped in your alien face! You became a stranger to your friends; their words became putrid laced. They decorated your mind along with every foul thought they would make. And how your heart became at stake of ever getting staked. But the wood they would use, of course, was of a nasty taste. So you ran. You ran and ran coming up on a new place. And the heart never again vulnerable became a heart now saved. And soul
EsyliumI once found myself fabricating,
All alone and separate, simply thinking.
And with my every part hesitating,
I found myself recreating,
And all around imitating,
I guess you could call it replicating,
For my thoughts were well breathing.
My inhaling and exhaling orchestrating,
Every breath lively illustrating,
Never once adulterating,
It all was so exasperating,
All of this make-believing.
But still I kept elaborating,
My very thoughts exaggerating,
My whole self reverberating,
My mind kept impersonating,
But I held to my thoughts rapturing.
In turn, made you more infatuating,
And, in my mind, illumiating,
And I never ceased creating,
GreyAll I remember is grey.
The long faded grey road.
To our right, through smoky eyes I saw.
The small slated rocks that mimicked small grey mountains.
The threatening grey clouds clinging low in the dusky sky,
Practically making it an ashen fog.
That favorite grey shirt that he wore,
Which smelled of cologne and rainy, grey wind.
The silver truck that could not stop.
Yeah, I can not remember anything other than grey.
DyingBefore I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe.
Before my hearts stops all blood, let it beat.
For I became lost some time ago,
When at first I wandered and found myself alone.
To this day, I lay in my coffin of weeds.
Still silent and waiting for you to see me,
And if you happen to come across,
My body on this ground once bare,
Perhaps you'll think me lost;
But if you stopped to stare,
You'll seem to find my chest still fighting to rise.
Barely clinging to breath so you can watch it die.
I locked my heart in a mahogany box and threw away the key.
There was no one to care for - there was nothing left for me.
My heart had ceased beating long ago
after years of misery and pain.
Through countless highs and lecherous lows
I became immune to pounding rain.
I walked without even my shadow as a friend.
Numb to all emotions that surfaced to my skin.
Knowing I would be alone to the bitter end
suffering the consequences of sin.
I was shunned and shamed -
bruised and maimed.
No one cared - no one knew.
No one bothered to change my view.
My life was a silent movie
of a language no one spoke.
With plenty of plot holes for all to see
and an ending of mirrors and smoke.
It was getting hard to catch my breath.
Surely death would be oh so sweet.
Addicted to the thought like Crystal Meth,
it skipped through my head like an erratic beat.
She stumbled upon a key that washed up on the shore.
Wondering what it could unlock.
Determined to solve the riddle and explor
RoseThe greatest romance
Lies in your deep crimson color
Your many petals
Softer than skin
Your sharp thorns
Cause me to bleed
My love for you is infinite
The pain you cause me
Is a pleasure
You may be just a flower
But your beauty
Knows no rival
You AreI am the moon,
And you are the sun,
I pale in comparison to you.
I am a student,
And you are a professor.
I cant keep up with you.
I am a snowflake,
And you are a blizzard,
I will never be like you.
I am a tree,
And you are a fire,
You can destroy me easily.
I am a star,
And you are the universe.
You are simply my everything.
Locks of LoveI haven't cut my hair
Since just before
I walked across the stage
Sixteen months ago.
I grew it out
Because, last summer, you loved
To run your fingers
Through its coppery threads.
That always made me feel
When you left for school again in August,
I couldn't bring myself
To get a haircut.
What if you came back,
And this time, my heart was ready for you?
Mid-semester, you told me that,
While you and your friends
Built your school's bonfire,
It was customary
That no one cut his hair
Or even shaved
Until the structure was finished.
I don't think I told you
That I let mine continue to grow
In your honor, except
I didn't cut it on Burn Day.
When we kissed on Christmas Eve,
You weaved your fingers
Through my silken locks
And made me feel beautiful once more.
I still didn't cut my hair,
Even after you left in March,
Save for the split ends
I trimmed in May,
Hoping to eradicate negative energy
But not wanting to let go of you.
Now it's September.
I shrug into Harry's shirt
underneath my autumn scarf--
cologne on the cuffs bringing
color as I close my eyes,
the brown of his hair,
laughter, pine green.
Fingers on marbled buttons
smooth as the cream
he puts in his chai.
I think of him like rain on a Sunday,
a slow breath uttered in calm,
eyes shut to listen,
he is peace,
stability in grayer moments.
He is the space in my empty bed
I ache for him the way
I crave prayer and
the feel of a rosary.
Epiphanyhearken when healing
from the hurt of love hamstrung
the hander of the handkerchief
may be your heart’s hope
If I Were A Love PoetFor my Laban. For my love.
Sometimes, often enough
when my thoughts are consumed
with you- I find myself wishing
that I was a love poet.
Wouldn’t it be beautiful
to piece words together so artistically
that I could make people understand
what it’s like to miss hands
that have never held me?
Wouldn’t it be the damnedest thing,
if I could make a stranger
know how it feels to kiss you?
Sweetly, passionately, softly
Hesitantly- and yet all at once?
Even though their lips have never met yours,
Even though our lips have never met.
How lovely would it be
to sanely, yet romantically
explain to my parents what it’s like
to fall asleep with you?
We could tell them how you giggle when I beg you
to be the big spoon- because I feel like it’s to much responsibility.
We could tell them about the sleepy kisses you give me
at 3 a.m when you find me searching for
thuggish loverno more on love. tell me
instead of the hearts you've
beaten, and the way
they kept on
togetherburningi love him and it seems like
we are all coming together
in this wide
him all lanky arms and
open spaces – electric skin – power
line veins catch
ing fire against
the golden grass
lim b s
arms spreading some
big togetherburning sky-bridge
him and me and
Some kind of frightful skinandblush
how i love him, how, i
how i love the cacophony
of our time
YouWhen every breath brings a memory,
I begin to dread to breathe.
And in pure haste, I silence my lungs,
Or at least I try.
And every thoughts brings about your face,
The look I have seen a thousand times.
(Even in my reasoning, I cannot deny you.)
I ordain myself to stop.
Or at least in contempt, I attempt.
And damn the night.!
I loathe its darkness.
But more the suffocating dreams...
Because of you I am unable to endure any sleep,
Nor the thoughts that pre-exist.
No; to hell with reminisces of you.
No longer will I let myself commemorate history.
Lovely once? But lovely in perpetuum!
Our once evermore infinitiveness,
Oh, it has turned into almost happenstances.
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