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35i have experienced seven-month-sleep, and
let me tell you,
your bones will ache, knowing it's
that part of you that never repairs,
that switch that gets flipped,
lets you know life will never be the same.
it never gets easier than it used to be,
respiration turns to oxidation,
clinical strength metaphors set in.
you will learn that death hides in the shadows,
he has a bus pass in hand;
he just wants to get out, too.
34i am rusting,
twisted, i cannot manage to breathe.
a half-healed wound caves in my chest,
give me a reason to exist. .
i have loved a boy with a heart like the moon,
but desperation bit in,
i did not drag him into it,
because i could never drag him out again.
tearing him apart is killing me, too.
i will let you in on a secret:
i have loved twice,
i still love.
wolf-boy [i still think of him as a star]
he did not know i am winter,
he tried to tame my seas.
my hero-boy, he knows,
knows when i am bitter and biting,
that is when i need him most.
i do not want to be a supernova,
i don’t want to kill everything i touch.
i am a supernova,
and a sea of tears will never change that.
tell me, have you heard this one before?
the story of the girl who broke it all,
miss cheated elsie,
she just wanted love,
but she broke broke broke like a mirror,
like the thread of the fates.
i am bitter,
like the bile rising at the back of my throat,
i will wear my hands to the bone,
writing like this,
i will search for a pulse and never find it,
after all, when was the last time a corpse
33can you feel it,
the ice in my lungs?
regrets for a thousand stories un-ended
[frost blossoms in my mind,
i’m rotting from the inside out.]
32they say that girls like me,
we'll never get anywhere,
except for three miles down the river,
broken boned and dead.
this numb isn't natural,
you aren't meant to be icy.
they hold a fire to our eyes,
and they burn us alive.
31 [sacrifice]i am smaller than the ocean,
but bigger than the burning,
bigger than the fire in my chest,
i have learned that this heart is too much,
it cracks ribs when it beats.
[i will take the pain, so you don't have to.]
30there is a tugging behind my eyes,
a throbbing in my aching mind.
it wishes to return to dust,
but i, i will not let it.
hypnos may take me,
but thanatos has a while to wait yet.
i still remember
the way you dug your claws into me,
you tried to make me stay.
maybe, maybe if you hadn’t,
i would have hung around.
as it was,
tearing myself away
is the hardest thing i’ve ever done,
except for healing, that is.
i didn’t show you,
didn’t let you know i was broken,
so you never tried to fix me.
in the end,
we were always doomed to shatter,
but i’m sorry we had to break that way.
you never knew why my favorite color is grey,
i would’ve told you, you know,
told you that it’s nondescript, like me,
told you that it’s underrated,
or maybe it’s just dull,
maybe it’s just like me.
i still remember the way
your words coated my ribs,
dripped stickily into my stomach,
where nausea was mistaken for butterflies.
for a moment, i mistook you for a star.
no, no wolf-boy,
you’re a cold blooded hunter,
i left my mark on you when i left,
and i don’t know if I forgive you or not.
When you lose a best friendWhen we said friends forever and
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
She's an artistShe's an artist.
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
At peace within this tranquil garden,
I picture the moments where I've made you smile.
Those times are endlessly precious to me,
I think they're worth the while.
They're worth the time I've spent with you,
Even if it wasn't long.
I only wish I'd spent a little more,
Before our love was gone.
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
Still HereSuicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness
Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
Ideationlocked in a room
with only one escape,
or so it seems.
your hands shake and you drop the key.
Suddenly you're unsure.
Do I want to pick it up?
Do I want to find it?
Do I want to leave?
you think to yourself
there's no other choice.
find the key or corrode, or rust
wear down the hinge
use sadness as the key.
You have the answer now.
Just open the door.
Just walk outside and don't look back.
Let yourself leave with no regrets.
And yet you can't.
You're afraid, you think,
but you are actually strong.
Don't run away.
Don't take that leap.
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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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