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Forever in InkThe motor buzz hits me and I have to draw a breath,
The needles are ready, roaring to go.
Stereotypical, beefy men, covered in their passions.
Up to their arms in the ink, the lovely ink.
My body fills with adrenaline; I’m ready for my newest addition,
The collection that my body is gallery for,
The reason I saved every penny these last twenty-two weeks and change from every breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Painstakingly chosen, the size, the color, the place, keep going over and over,
I want it perfect, better get it perfect,
I’ll have it forever.
Rigid in the sticky pleather chair,
Breathe in, breathe out,
Jittery right foot stop.
The smell of antiseptic fills the room as the man I don’t know sits down beside me,
Ready to mar my skin in the manner of my choosing.
He gives me the look, the one that says to me:
I know you, you are one of us, one of many, you’re part of the forever of this art.
I lean back and close my eyes at the first touch of the needle, needles,
InsomniacTangled in the sticky sheets,
Covered in her bed-mates sweat,
The humid room heavy on her chest,
The air-conditioning humming in her ears,
Creates a rhythm- a backdrop for her thoughts.
Wide awake in the dead of night,
Replaying the last nightmare,
The fears still vivid- demons in every shadow,
Call her name, mocking her, knowing she won’t say a word.
Scooting closer to her sleeping lover,
She presses her back to his,
Tucks herself further into the blankets,
Hoping she won’t meet her fears again that night.
Forces her eyes closed, a quick whispered prayer,
And the warmth of the person beside her,
She tries again to sleep.
In the style of Emily Dickinson: RunI run as wind has never flown-
From valleys drenched in snow-
Because of which- the village may empty be,
and all the barren roads lead to Rome.
Gasping like the beached whale,
And clenching at my sides,
Reeling from the lack of air,
A pathetic creature- am I-
I do not turn to see my shadows cast
Or the blazing colors of the sun
For the town is lost to shades of grey
And all glory to it is lost.
I shall keep my pace up,
And race the winged creatures of the sky,
For far from here is safety,
And I must reach it before the night.
WitchesWicked witches fly through the sky,
Laughing cruelly at their victims pain,
On their broomsticks up so high,
The poor men run in vain.
One man stands without fear,
Holds his head up strong,
Stands firm as the witches draw near,
Knows the fight won’t be long.
The clash is fierce,
The foes fight hard,
The screams are loud enough to pierce,
The peace of the night is marred.
The poor fool should have run.
There was no chance he could’ve won.
Words You Can CountCan you count the words that left your mouth from the first time you spoke?
Can you count the mumbles, whispers, screams, every half-eaten word that never made it out of your mouth?
Can you count the times you rehearsed it in your head and just once, tried to send it out into the empty space, away from you, like a mother bird watching her hatchling fly, knowing it’s fly or fall, and the crash, the burn, are not what you want to see.
Can you keep your words in a container?
Like little mason jars, preserved for another day that you’ll taste them, chew on them, roll them around from cheek to cheek with your tongue, scrape them on the backs of your teeth, and spit them out, knowing you let them expire and they’re useless now.
Can you feel the exhaustion of pouring them out onto paper, wondering how you could possibly let them go, out into the world on their own.
Sometimes, these words are hollow,
Like those Easter bunnies, made of milk chocolate,
Delicious, but so devasta
The FolkDreams of deepest water,
almost black, like the moonless, starless sky
the chopping waves crashing through the dreamscape,
the canvas of my mind,
of voices singing haunting melodies,
stories of the long gone,
are calling out to me like a welcome home,
if home were an unknown, unforgiving realm that would crush my body in its depth,
like the pressure of shock and disappointment.
Wherein I find myself alone,
with nothing but the voices, songs from all around me and nowhere,
the voices in my head maybe,
or maybe just beyond the next hundred yards of inky blackness,
in the cold ocean depths where no light has ever reached, or will ever reach,
where mysteries live and thrive and die unknown to the beings that grace the surface and the lands above.
If maybe then, I find myself amongst the glories of all glories,
the lost and never known relics of every sea-sailing man to face the oceans,
or every haunted sailor’s dreams, or maybe my dreams are just the last bit of sanity bleeding out i
I cannot haveI should be happy,
but I cannot help the angst.
The empty thoughts that drain me,
even as we're smiling.
I should be happy,
that I have you so damn close,
but I cannot help wanting more.
More than you can give.
I should be happy.
You give me all I ask for,
but I want more than this.
I want you to want me,
not just love me.
I need you to need me,
not just enjoy my presence.
I crave for you to possess me,
the way I want to possess you.
I want us to be one person.
But that can never happen.
The things I dream, and want and scheme,
and hope that you will understand.
I want too much, and do not want to take that much.
So I will have to deny myself in the end.
I'll take my pain and bury it, with the ashes of my soul.
I'll leave it hanging beside my corpse,
in the empty woods we once roved.
I'll take my need for pain and lust,
and send it away with pixie dust.
I'll drown my wants for you and your soul,
at the bottom of the pond where your ducks have grown.
All the things
For StuartRicher than King Midas,
and happier by far,
I swear I've become spoiled,
Having a love like ours.
Nothing sweet as this,
Could truly be this easy,
But if there is a hidden catch,
I'll take it without qualm.
I know you wait in silence,
to hear me say the words,
I fear saying them too often,
for ruining them with use.
I wish I could carry your burdens,
for they seem so hard to bear,
but know that I will shoulder them,
and handle them with care.
You are truly the answer to my dreams,
I would know,
I lay dreaming beside you every night,
And find that waking is better than all the fantasies I find.
I want to hold you in my heart forever,
and be held in your arms the same way.
I want nothing more than your smile eternal,
to light the dark days.
do you know what you mean to me?
A simple expression could not suffice.
You are my end all, be all, my reason to be.
I need you now, as I needed you then, and will always need you,
again and again.
You are my forever,
You are my home.
DustOn the other side of the mirror glass,
Is dust collecting here.
Ages old, as years have told,
There lies much to fear.
Old memories, and tears;
reason, rhyme, and laughter,
are withered by the years.
I still wake up screaming,
Sobbing in the fear.
I can never tell now,
Whether you're really here.
Are you haunting me this way,
In my dreams, at night.
In my thoughts by day.
Leave me my lies now,
And take from me the truths.
I cannot hold the burden any longer,
Not when I've lost you.
Queen RegnantAs you embroidered autumn
into my bones, I heard the
trees giggle to themselves:
"We're going to make all
the leaves change color,
pin them along the sidewalk
for you to follow and we'll
wreathe them in your hair.
You will be our daughter."
You folded apples into my smile,
making it crisp, but sweet. I
took the time to thank you by
shrugging off my sweater and
giving it to you. A daughter
of the trees, braided with their
leaves, needs no protection
from the elements that embrace her.
"Your leaf diadem suits you,
daughter," they say as
their branches weave between
gusts of wind. For once,
I believe them.
beneath the harvest(ed)
in pleasing arrangements-
to be laid
upon the flowerbed
Mother NatureThere is a soul,
That seems to flow,
Beneath the gold,
Of the suns glow.
It flows within,
It floats within,
You feel its breath,
In the wind,
You feel its death,
With every sin.
It does not think,
It does not hate,
It only loves,
It doesn’t berate.
And her breath,
We have a peaceful death
Cigarettes and AutumnsAll these cigarettes and autumns are piling up
on me. Dead leaf at dusk from a
hoary apple tree.
Eden's falling with each
tick of the tock, measured by periodic
fingers counting down an imaginary clock.
I can nearly see the golden leaves
dancing on the breeze while the
incense smell of burning fronds
waft tenaciously through the trees.
It's a good time to be alive.
Soon enough the frost on the window's
going to hide the impending
autumn happening outside.
So presently I'm exhaling stale smoke
on the window, lamenting summer's
passing with a clear view
of each hue of a burning bush,
of each push towards doom
already intent on being reborn.
Fascinated by the symmetry.
Fascinated by the symmetry.
SeptemberThe page hasn't turned
The sun tilts on the edge
Before it falls
You have caught it already
Trees with a hesitant shudder
Shake leaves that aren't ready to die
The breath passes
But when you look up
The clouds are pulling back
They have smelled it
They are leaving the thick air
Near the ground
To escape it
But you have to stay
And when you feel it again
There will be frost
awake and alivedayworm ouroboros stuck
in the raven's throat
gets shorter in chunks
swallowed with a guttural clutter
of polished solarplates crashing down
the house on blackberry hill
rewires its shadow
block by block everyday.
a world emerges in the backyard
it is frothing & foaming
with the vividness of a mucous membrane.
the birds in the bushes burp out
milky kisses at each other
but the outcast eats the days.
someone says that the contrast
that the smell of burnt rubber
MythsGentle glens and shores
The waters quiver in silence
Beneath this film of azure glass
A different tale is told
The few that thrive below
A monarchy in the deep
Eyes aglow from the abyss
Terror stretched for miles
The stories told to children
To keep them all afloat
But soon, these will come ashore
Their breath runs thin, alas
Footsteps in the sand
Myths arise to conquer.
Autumn Fire (Change of Season) I feel the change of season
this autumn fire
the nights getting longer
the impending darkness
this cold breath down my neck.
But I am aflame and
burning with passsion
to a degree that it
almost consumes me.
Memories and dreams
the future and the past
they are merging
in a round-dance of autumn leaves
in the yellow light of street lamps
or in the dim grayness of
one drizzly September day.
I am day dreaming
and the world around me becomes
like the surface of a pond
into which I dip my finger
and suddenly the whole picture
starts to ripple and disperse
and the voices of people talking to me are muted
and I hear something else.
The veil is thinni
Moon's ChildThe rampant wolf howls true,
when watching as the waning moon,
doth cry itself to sleep.
The horror it has watched from here,
to all the things that it does fear,
it's beloved child, the ocean dear,
is polluted by the oil spill.
The creatures which were once so blessed,
in the time have become decrepit,
though the fault was none their own,
but those who tore apart their home.
The callous loss of these so dear,
makes the reddened moon fall quite near,
the ending of then the days,
where night will haunt the souls remains.
I lay awake at night tonight,
to feel the pain,
to watch the sight,
and know that this will scar us all,
for now the stars begin to fall.
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