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.when her love left, it left
the house empty
and she says
i hope one day it'll
come back to me,
cos i don't keep this shotgun
on my front porch for nothin'
.you are dead and buried
six feet under yourself,
still feeling the way you did
when you were seventeen
and when you bathe, you still
keep your head under the
water, wrists upturned, red
eyes open, trying to drown yourself
.my mind said he was
going out to get some
sanity, don't think he's
coming back because
his things are gone
and now i'm up to my
neck in words that have
snapped cos i twisted
them all too far
(it gets me down so much that it keeps me up at night)
.at night, something mad
climbs into bed with me and
i go to war with myself -
words i do not want sit on the tip
of my tongue, so i bite the whole
thing off - crimson droplets fall
from the sky, and i start bleeding
rain - dead babies, their heartbeats
slipping through the cracks in my
floorboards - kettles abandoning
pots and then finding that neither
can function properly - white sheets,
pillowcases, walls and white faces -
a rabid cat clawing at the inside of
my temple, let me out - krill in the
bellies of whales, their hearts like
empty lockets - suffocating in the
silver lining - secrets giggling like
children in my mind, a game of hide
and seek i don't think i want to win -
a lamb frolicks around the body of a
lion and i reap something i never
even sowed in the first place
(you idiot, you idiot, what have you done)
.my cat has nine
lives and i fear he will
spend each one doing
the same fucking
staring out of the
window at the birds on
the fence, when he could be
out there, sinking his
.sometimes i think i'm just sad
and sometimes i think i'm just mad
(and sometimes, i think there's really no difference between the two)
words at me
(i bet the sheep don't lose a wink over the starving wolves, either)
.the cat keeps
leaving dead meat
on my doormat,
a pile of bones,
bloody and raw
he wants me to
know what i'm
walking into, he
wants me to know
just what i am
(and on a good day, something whole, a wing wet with spit or a hind leg, a limb, you are helpless)
why we're better now back the way we came past
yellow-eyed coyotes, two
getting the hell out of
our futuristic vineyard,
expanses spilling oceans
on my neck. I wanted something
certain from you
the heart attack
I slept through
now, my lips pulse;
sanguine peaches making
music of arrhythmic lace
as you rupture in the sea:
a wet throat blooming
open in tessellations
Identity Crisis who are you
who am i
are we lovers
leaving behind scarlet letters
& last minute kisses
are we foes
green eyes & angry fists
who are you
who am i
maybe peeling back
these layers of skin
will unravel the answer,
but what happens
when there's nothing left;
bloody hands & empty eyes
Who are you
who am i
are the shadows that we see
inside this reflective glass
or is that too,
the galaxy won't tell
its mouth has long gone dry,
leaving my page blank
who are you
& who am i
you've been dead for a year, my deari met you on december 21st,
the longest night of the year.
you had solstice eyes: cold, dark, alluring.
i knew you were not meant to last,
powerful as a gale but fragile as
the tulip stems you snapped,
a sickening cycle of you,
an overwhelming tidal wave.
they say two wrongs will never make a right,
but i made so many bad choices that
i wound up back where I began.
it was too easy to love you,
but getting you to love me back was impossible.
i clawed at your chest until I struck blood,
until my nails split into shards.
you were born a phantom,
and i, your corpse.
holding onto you felt like drowning in quicksand;
i fought but always sank into your arms.
i breathed in dirt, breathed in dust, and
found my organs choked with you,
smothered by your existence.
you sucked out my breath
every time i kissed you.
i died every day with your hand
knotted in my hair.
You left on june 21st,
the longest day of the year.
i bit down sorrow and deconstructed
the labyrinth within me,
the one you hadn't th
The ArtistShe really was an artist
She knew of all the shades and hues
To keep people from noticing
That blotchy purple blooming bruise
She fiddled with her palette
Mixed pain in with her dread
Painted her arms with blood
Of the most startling red
Her artwork was her passion
t'was never put to trial
For she would always remember
To paint herself a smile
a hospital bird with soot in her lungsshe slept through a car crash
that almost killed her.
through whitewhite walls,
where her lover dies.
nobody thought she'd make it,
but she woke up a few months later
with flowers in her hair
and ash in her airway;
trying to remember how to start all over,
but forgetting to remember how to live.
fall slipped from her open eyes
and winter crawled in for a long hibernation
to her the clouds looked sick
and pale like they might
let everything inside them out,
but she opened up wide instead,
spilling blood where there was none to be spilled.
her heart slipped down the street
and with unsteady hands
she stitched in a bird and cut off its wings.
life lessons.laugh a little,
love a lot.
you'll get your heart broken
so maybe not,
but who am i
to call the shots?
sadness will consume you
if you allow it to.
happiness is a few steps away,
but it's up to you to find its path
& don't forget,
nothing will last.
take what you get
& work for what you want.
know that something will set
but waiting will get you nowhere.
be kind to those you love
so they'll know that you're there.
play the hand you're dealt
& gamble what you want.
learn to deal
because all of it is real.
learn your lessons
before you play them out.
know them thoroughly
before you get out.
syracuseListen to the audio version for the full effect, pretty please.
cloudshot sky like an oil painting and i am watching the
darling, i will swim for you
and swallow every whitecap.
i will pluck myself a coat of pelican wings,
sew them up with salt and spray--
become icarus for you.
you are calling me across the waves, love--
but you pull against the ache
in my bones, the hollow--
the clawing out for unseen sunsets and unturned tides.
i hear you, love
give me time.
i will always listen.
have you ever been driving on a dark roadshe swallowed a bottle of
those sleepy bed-time pills
and laid out in the snow to make angels.
but hovering in that
spaceless, infinite nowhere
between being and not
(or whatever comes afterward),
she finally came to life.
her fists broke window panes
and mirrors who lied and lied
and whispered "you're pretty,"
even though she knew she wasn't.
and that boy,
oh that boy who she lusted after
but he laughed and lured her to his cave,
and he drained her blood that day.
there were empty bottles
(glass and plastic;
some filled with prescription and poison).
she, all frosted skin and
whistled in the dark (be brave, be brave),
but could never stop them from following.
so she carved wings from cold,
broke warmth to let ice in,
and the bitter embrace of it's-time-for-bed
and her angel washed her away.
Little Miss It“Do you enjoy her company?”
That, Avadaci concluded, had been the extent of his grandfather’s kindness. Thank the stars he had broken his neck after a failed attempt to ascend the castle staircase. Not that many were privy to this information. The official listing on the cause of death involved something along the lines of falling in battle after slaying at least a dozen demons, although this was treated with quite a bit of skepticism by the general populace. Yet, interestingly enough, a decent portion of the locals believed a tale about the cannibals of Unkhtom devouring him whole.
Not that Avadaci really cared how his grandfather had died. He was just glad he was dead. And if he was glad his grandfather had died, Avadaci wondered, why did he have to attend his funeral? In fact, the whole kingdom was glad his grandfather had died. Why did they have to attend the funeral?
“Oh Avad,” proclaimed his mother, “obv
.i heard her say there are
millions of people in the world with
broken hearts, and they survive
well what about the ones that don't?
what about the ones that crack right through
& end up holding onto themselves by the skin
of their pearly whites?
(and are you happy now? do you have a girl? have a kid? do you sleep at night? i've said sorry a thousand times, but i guess it doesn't count when it's in my head)
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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