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From A to BRelease from prison like a phoenix risen,
Focusing on what is and not what isn't,
Plant a new flag and grow a new nation,
An arsonists dream, crippled foundation,
The moon ignites what remains of my brain,
Still lost in the cosmos, fly on paper planes,
Son and a brother, three names and a friend,
Just like a rough gem, I am not less than,
I hold inside my heart the very essence of
every hard earned lesson, it’s a blessing,
Letter after letter, used to predict riots,
Lost my pad and pen, time to stay quiet,
Sun burnt faces, time inspired embraces,
All soul, these words remain faceless.
Can you taste the ghosts?I want to know your plans,
Feel your heart, your hands.
Can you see the birds?
Soft wings flap unheard.
We just spin around the sun,
Light feet that weigh a ton.
Can you taste the ghosts?
Secret lives, sacred oaths.
Making castles in the sand,
Smooth, no concrete plans.
And can you feel the sky?
The blue will help us fly.
The PrairiesOur golden star blazes through the heavens,
Wearing scattering rays like the crown of a king.
The wind inhales the contents of the vast sky,
Then exhales as the clouds fashion their latest design.
The seemingly never ending rows of burnt wheat invite
a type of silence, but there is none to be found here.
The gliding moths and flies buzz like loose electricity,
Stalking coyotes cry and yelp through moon lit darkness.
The water of the meadow lakes run through my veins,
My heart will always beat through wild grass jungles.
Those EyesI love the mischief in those eyes,
a puzzle I will never understand.
Each playful laugh gets me going,
something like love keeps flowing.
That sly smile is just so tempting,
your warm skin keeps me sane.
You and me, the perfect crime,
our paradise just so sublime.
I get lost in your somber whispers,
your sad stories have me hooked.
Our souls became tangled into one,
I never thought this day would come.
DreamsThe silver moon wakes
from its shadowy cradle.
Sleep kidnaps my brain
and casts a strange spell.
Atoms swirl and spin as
they set my mind ablaze.
Colours bleed into shapes,
a secret story is written.
Ocean SkiesI watch ocean skies
drown each sailing bird.
Swimming clouds kiss
the stretched blueness.
The wind flies lost;
her soft breath flows
as live shadows sway
to the beat of the earth.
The patterns of energy
lavishly flood my eyes.
flawed in her beauty.
TigerYour little paws can
climb carpet mountains.
You stalk invisible mice,
then jump on my face.
You are not a tiger, kitty,
but you sure play the part.
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,
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
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.
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.
my bedspread is white and so is my coffin.i can feel
the night closing
the stars are breaking
empty glass bottles
inside of my
mouth, and they taste like
ambien. bitter, then
but you still can't close your fucking eyes
little blue pills for
eyes– it was winter and i
dreams of nothing more than
nothing. the devil
tied chains around all the
vessels in my
body. laughed, and by god i
laughed too (and laughedandlaughedandlaughed).
this will all be over soon i swear i will take everything off your skin and bones and burn it up
and then january took the world
in it's grip and i
drowned in the snow that
will never hydrate the
can you hear that it's the night and it's so beautiful so come here darling and we'll watch the sun rise and set and rise and
dealer.ive committed the perfect crime but this perfect is inherently defected,
the cost to me is nothing absolute but coinscience shattering to most,
im a living exception only because ive been on the other side of the scandal,
poison to the masses,producing riches almost too effortlessly,
unfairly tipping the scales and altering the balance to create a edge,a dominance,
it is still a trade with seemingly set expenses but thats a myth created from pure denial,
dealer,trafficker quickly becomes owner,master.
what is yours is mine and no,this is not vice versa.
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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