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StainedShe is stained.
She spends hours under a constant stream of steaming water, scrubbing, scrubbing till she bleeds.
But she is still not clean.
She is stained.
She tosses and turns at night, trying to push the images out of her head.
She wants nothing more than to be a normal teenage girl, awake at night for an unrequited crush, or a traitor of a friend.
But she can't have that. She never will.
She is stained.
She flinches at the slightest touch, backs away from the slightest gesture.
She knows that they will conjure the images again, the ones she so desperately wants to forget.
But she also knows that it is a lost dream, a mindless desire.
She is stained.
Beautiful EyesThey speak to me, spilling your secrets, opening your soul.
There's nothing you can hide in your beautiful eyes,
As golden and magical as the morning sunrise.
They're a kaleidoscope of emotion.
Whispers of unwritten stories in each little fleck of green,
Murmuring tales of broken hearts, visits to the between.
The depth of your pain, your albatross
Spins in those eyes, plunging down, down, fathomless;
Yet, they sparkle at a distance, boundless, fearless.
I drown in those eyes, listening eagerly to the stories.
I am lost in your ageless soul...
her own face
Grimacing at the
Time after time
to tell her
Shh. (Extended)Shh, and hear the silent scream
Of the girl you used to be.
Blink; let her flash before your eyes
Let her smile take you by surprise.
Isn't the sight of those curved lips strange?
Stranger - how quickly this life can change.
Notice how she doesn't reek of pain.
The purity of her soul is difficult to obtain.
Wait...do echoes of the past have a soul?
Typical.Splish, splash through gentle rain,
I make my way to try to gain
Just one quick glance at your smiling face,
Before vanishing without a single trace.
For if you know that I've been here,
The mask would fail to shield my fear.
Even without that, my heart's awfully loud;
I'm sure you'd hear its relentless pound.
I accomplish the mission and sneak away,
But my breath's still rugged after one whole day.
What is it about that mischevious smile
That makes my quests always worthwhile?
I must apologize for this typical rhyme;
It's hardly what one could call divine.
I scoffed at a similiar verse not long ago
So imagine my shock at being its echo.
Now, dear reader, I must close and say:
Goodbye and good luck with your loving days.
For mine have come and will surely go
With my chance at love remaining zero.
Take Me To the NightTake me into the night,
When the city's lit so bright
That the stars are faded behind the light.
This darkness is beautifully sweet;
Let's hide inside it, inside our dreams,
Show me that you're what you seem.
Count the stars with me, my dear.
Though this request may sound quite queer
It's only to keep you longer here.
Are you feeling the adrenaline rush?
Does the darkness hide my reddish blush?
It arises at your gentlest touch.
Let's walk in the light of the half-moon.
My feet are floating, light as a balloon
And so are yours, I presume?
So, without futher ado,
Take my hand before these shady hues
Fade, ending my night with you.
BeautyOnce upon a dream there was a boy
who whispered metaphors into his blankets
in the dead of the night. he pǝuɹnʇ them
over and twisted them and s t r e t c h e d them
searching for the melody that would define him.
what he didn't know is that his ears were traitors;
they rejected every rhyme without a trace of shame
and never allowed him to realize that his melodies
were real music, were beauty and love woven
into delicate threads; he only heard cacophony.
night after night he struggled and agonized
never satisfied with any combination of notes
always concluding that he was inferior to the world.
on the other side of the fence, close and far away
a girl with with stars in her eyes cried; her tears
were of the purest silver, the plainest pain.
she cried for verses lost to the valley of her strife
for missed opportunities and bro/ken hearts of iron.
their paths strayed along the leafy jungle of time
l i t t e r e
Shh. (Extension II)Shh, to hear the silent scream
of the girl you used to be.
Don't blink; she'll flash before your eyes.
To let her escape would not be wise.
She's a monster, built of tears and pain.
She'll rip at your soul till no joy remains.
She's out of control, a tangled mess,
Screaming for sorrow, for pain, distress.
It's imperative to keep her locked in cage,
Sealed with your agony, your accumulated rage.
Remember: she'll hurt them, too,
the ones who mean so much to you.
For however you choose to lock her away,
She will demand of you what you cannot pay.
Forever And AlwaysForever and Always
When I was broken, laying on the floor,
You helped me up and sent me through the door...
Of a new beginning.
When I was crying, when I was screaming
You calmed me down and I starting believing...
That this wasn't the ending.
I never thought there were angels above
Until you filled me with such a love...
I could not resist.
I never imagined to look at life this way
Until I looked into your eyes today...
And knew that joy exists.
I thought I'd never glow with delight
Or that the sun would shine so bright...
But it is.
I thank God every day because he found the time
To look down on me and make you mine..
Forever & Always.
Hanging by a MomentI will always wonder what she was thinking that day.
Though I wasn't the kindest or bravest,
Nor was I the smartest or most charming,
For some reason, on that day, she chose me.
I was plenty surprised to say the least;
Certainly with her charm, beauty and wits,
She could have had anyone in the world,
And yet she choose me, a spoony poet.
It was as if an occult hand swooped from
The heavens and turned her gaze towards me,
For it could have only been divine work,
To make me worth an angel's attention.
Here I am, clutching to that memory,
Hanging by a moment.
Be Mine ForeverHold me tight; stroke my hair,
Kiss my lips and twirl me in mid air.
Call me Luv; watch me pray,
Lock me in your arms and caress away.
Sing me songs; brush my tears,
Just let me clutch and my fears shall disappear.
Recite my jokes; and the silly bed-time stories,
Make me accept and bring back the glory.
Be my hope; the one who always inspires,
As you are the one who my heart desires.
Be my strength; show me light,
Watch the stars be aligned tonight.
Show me reality; make me believe.
Else love is the last thing I shall ever perceive.
a silent reminder of
all the nights
she spent in
Ink GravesLetterless words and pageless books-
and ink blots on the flowers;
Ghosts scratch their heads and tap their pens,
all across the hours.
Winds can howl and cease to be,
by one twitch of my pen;
I spoke of writing a poem tonight,
and by dawn I've written ten.
Emily sits aside nobody,
the Raven, above, waits;
Frost dances in a yellow wood,
among the long lost dates.
A tall, well spoken willow,
looms over the grave;
Protecting every dated word,
and every thought they gave.
I crumple another masterpiece,
with thoughts I'd thought to save;
and as it strikes the baset bottom,
it rests in its ink grave.
True Love: A Painted Myth?Forgive me if I intrude,
If I'm a little bold,
I've always been a little odd,
From all that I've been told
But something about the way you smile,
Something about the way you trust,
Good Lord, send me a soul to love,
And forget this useless lust
So many tiring hours spent,
Looking for his name
Trying to find a hint,
If he's still the same
I could have been the secret girl,
Chosen at a whim,
I threw my heart at his chest,
But still, I did choose him
I don't know what is real anymore,
My mind does war against me,
Somehow I must get the patience,
To tame the visions that taint me.
So please forgive me if I'm odd,
My heart is just too hopeless to worry with,
But also because I am scared,
That true love is just a painted myth.
Smell it upon thy nose
As lungs of graphite
Breathe in the body
Shapely and refined
Crisp and sharp
Verily it is so
Perchance we will meet
Our souls are black
Rotten to the core
Of our third eye
Dost thou see it!
The bright shining light that calls to us
Flow like water
What music doth flow
Muffled and silenced
By its cage of wood
We shall never break free
Smell our stench of determination
Hear our mutter ramblings
Taste our words as we force them into your mouths
Watch as we carve our creations
Chisel and hammer
Dance little puppet!
Dance for us!
Do our bidding
We are your Masters
We shall last forever.
We are the Writers.
A SmileI'm waiting terrified for the last decision,
You gently touch the knife,
My heart is pounding, waiting for the lethal incision,
I almost see the blade shedding the liquid of life,
I hear myself choking with my own blood,
The sound of the knife rending my flesh - a deafening thud.
But your hand goes further; over the axe it leans,
Shining ruthless under your fingers,
I'm about to die, by all means,
A sick suspense lingers,
I almost hear the sound of my breaking bones,
The gushing blood, the moans,
But no; your hand, well, further it goes.
"A gun? "
With it easily it will be done,
Infix the cold metal and let me bleed to death,
"Will it be fun? "
Just imagine the blood outflow until the last breath,
"Or a hammer? "
My body you could simply mash,
But you'll need to endure the blood splash,
That will stain your hands and face.
But instead that, your fingers, they retrace.
"The most lethal weapon isn't any of these",
You say stepping back, as my heart is starting to appease,
"It would be to
The ManThe man who pushes through adversity,
Does have an abnormality.
The man who ignores the whispers,
The man who brushes off the lies,
The man who keeps his chin up,
when faced with the unyielding tide.
The man who remains himself,
When at first his dreams are denied,
when the man he sees in the mirror,
reflects the soul inside.
The man who pushes through adversity,
Does have an abnormality,
A faith in his own ability,
And a knowledge of his own possibility.
Smile Today, Darling!This mirror does not show me.
All I see is a girl, pale as the moonlight,
The ghost of a heart once pure white.
But when I lift my hand, she lifts hers too.
Who is this girl? She's blurred into ash hues.
There's something, though, that screams out loud:
A sparkle in her eye proclaims, "I AM PROUD."
A twitch at her lips, a fourth of a smile
Surfaces from a decade's exile.
A burst of a rainbow, a ray of sunshine,
'I'M GOING TO LIVE," is today's headline.
So now, I finally see me.
1420 MHzHe keeps a list wadded in the depths of his front, left pocket: where he holds his keys, and the forgotten/abandoned shell of a lone pistachio. The list is his biography, written in the shape of Argentine Spanish:
Me gustan los tomates en verano.
Yo amo a mi novio.
Nos besamos. (Mi novio chupa mis dedos de los pies.)
Las estrellas cantan sus canciones.
Mi nombre no es Eduardo.
Vivo con Jacobi ahora.
His pants are wadded, now, on summer-warmed hardwood; his shirt is draped over the back of a cane-back chair, the most incongruous of antiques in Jacobi’s tech-nerd lair. Headphones clamp his ears, and fill his head with the lisping whisper of interstellar hydrogen, broadcasting itself at a neat 1420 MHz. Bedroom is the wrong word for a place like this, despite the sorts of furnishings one might expect. There is a bed, a dresser, a bookshelf and two nightstands cramped with magazines, graphic novels. An alarm clock
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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