|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
LegacyI left your eyes by your bedside table darling. They're yours to collect and I am sorry for having to leave without saying goodbye, but the carriage wouldn't wait. Best not to say goodbye, it's wrong to say goodbye before ever really saying hello, but sometimes it's best not to look for buried treasure, regardless of where the crying children point.
I lie here naked, skin green and purple from sickness and violence. I have little modesty left as I watch myself grow thin, but I will fight on. That's what I was born to do, isn't it? Isn't that what you raised me to be? My hands slide over almost forgotten metal and ancient dreams, not truly knowing my own name anymore as I find myself asking which one is the shadow and which one can only be seen with five hands underwater. My muscles twitch each time you get too close, for you are everything I could ever hope for and everything I can never have. I'd kill you, but only after destroying you.
I see the corridor of Angels again, but through
Stop the truth from leaking.Fake a smile. Just once. Would you kill me if I said it would make my day? Some things are better left unsaid or denied, even to you my love. Brown and silver are not my normal colours of choice, but you seem to be breaking alot of my rules. I'd pierce my tongue to stop you coming any closer, though I'd whisper a riddle to make you wonder. I can see myself in your beautiful eyes, hesitant and unsure of how to act around you. I will not take up the makeup, for then I will be left without a face. Would you love me if I was nameless and faceless? I'd be little more than a shadow.
I see them dancing on the floor again as I begin to fear for the future. 'I am not I, therefore you might not be you'. A lesson I cannot forget, but it warns me that I cannot fully trust you since I am also lying. The truth would devastate you my love, you see me how you want to see me and I cannot bring myself to shatter the illusion that I am less than a toy boat and a glass bottle. Careful, I break easily- han
The Wind on the Water.If I lie still for long enough, I can feel the wind on the water brushing past my face. The sunlight has long since burnt out my eyes, but no matter. I have learnt to see you in fleeting dreams and raindrops in the moonlight. Most importantly, I see you in my reflection. Through a ray of violet light, I can almost feel you near me when I touch the surface of the water. Silence. Am I still breathing? It's so peaceful here. If you could find me an ocean in a bottle, I'd bring you to me and we'd sail away around the glass.
Although such a thing can never be, I still smile under the rushes whenever I think of you. You are happy as you are, on land, still breathing. I won't interfere. Yet you remain one of the only people to have noticed my body floating in the water. You cared that much. That is all I ask for.
How long have I been here? I broke your ribs and your arms, even erased bits of your memory. This is revenge, nay justice as the Nameless would see it dealt. I close my eyes as the s
Another Hundred PeopleChatter. I hear my name mentioned a thousand times a day, but I am never truly sure if it is to me or at me. There isn't much of a difference anymore. You aren't listening and I have already forgotten your name. I'd forget mine too if I didn't hear it so often. Nowadays I just want to blow out the candles. Shhhh. Happy Birthday my love. We'll celebrate together in peace one day. Maybe then they'd leave us alone. I only want to talk to the people who I needn't say a word too. Don't make a sound. They just know. You just know. I just know. Subtlety is finest in the glint of an eye.
I heard they found the invisible man, which is a shame really since he didn't want the attention. We enjoy being cellophane, for we are the Nameless. This much attention is not in our nature. We like to watch from shadowing sunsets, long tall and hunched. We ask for little more, only to be remembered. It is important we are not forgotten, as you are only truly dead when no one alive remembers you.
I miss my Su
Waking subconcious.I am always tired. My recent transformation confirms my previous musing of I am not I, therefore you might not be you. I am not Roulin and neither are you, but someone has to be. Everyone has to be something. These new, clean walls intrigue me, for I am not used to the light. Light is love. I have become love. Love is light. Violet light would consume me were I fictional. Instead, I simply enjoy the sights I do not recognise, for there are no ghosts where there are no memories. I can still hear them though and they call to me and calm me as they have always tried to do. I cherish the little comfort I can take from this and notate each blue and green flightpath as you would have me do. I strike out each horror with a matchstick, just to watch them curl up and fade.
You brought me peace and hope. I know so many who will never understand either of these things. The truth is I pity those who do not understand what hope is. To hope is to seek comfort and there is nothing wrong with that. Th
A night with HazeFox Black is busy tonight, too busy to keep an eye on Haze. The media are looking for the bounty hunter 'Smokescreen', too busy and too stupid to realize that she is Haze. Haze slips out of her apartment window as she often does at midnight, dark glasses and painter mask hiding her face from unwelcome eyes. Gliding down, Jetta, her prize sword sings to her.
"Leave a mark, never forgetting," She sings from her harness.
Haze stays silent. Within seconds she is on the roof of the hospital only half a mile from her apartment and she knows her prey is inside. He calls himself messiah but she knows he is not. The masses and media follow like the brainless morons they are. False Idol!
"If there is to be a neo Christ, it is not the son of vanity." Fox had said bluntly. Haze knew Fox would be furious when she found out. Bah, she can deal with Fox Black later, this was more important. She slides inside a balcony window and recognizes the well groomed face of Alec Zebros, the man who calls himsel
Vigilante.City lights crossfade with the morning sun. I have been watching the city from the top of the hill all night and yet I am still not satisfied. Gentle ticking and soft hush of blurred human voices are the only music I listen to all night, even if silence is my only peace. The odd whisper of prayer can be heard above the horrid screams of the children haunted by nightmares that even I cannot calm. Those who still pray to a God rely on hope, precious hope. I am not one of them. Hope is useless on it's own. I have seen too much, came back from living in sweet dreams though I was told I would be broken for ever. Yet I am alive and have been given the duty to fly through the skies of those who are in danger of being lost.
Lost.. let human minds wander too far into what they do not understand and the rest will deem it as nonsense. Once the spoken word was enough but distrust has built even further with advances in technology and now we must prove the unprovable to further accepted knowledge.
Accept mutilations for art.Look at me. This is a comfort to me since I can no longer look at you. I am almost blind and yet I see the night. Quiet! do not disturb. The children sleep and in some way I wish I was their mother. Could I offer them what I never was? I wish I was a child. Peaceful. Hypnotized. Ignorant. Happy. Nectar shouldn't be so sweet, tangy and fulfilling. I have come this far only to learn that the fools are in bliss. They have no need for nectar. These idiots who parade around worrying about the world they will never even leave a dent upon, not a scratch. Hush children, keep the silence. You do not need to speak we will understand your every gesture by counting the drip, drip, drips of the of the nectar flowing from the knife edge.
This clock is broken. It no longer ticks. No more breathing. Still. It sounds so wonderful now but you have a role to play now don't you? Yes, Guardian once again I am addressing you. Like it or not you must go through with this even though you and I both know you h
A moment of retrospect.Each time you turn you see a thousand masqueraders taunting you. You're used to it by now of course. Can you see me dancing? I forget sometimes you don't recognise me anymore. It's okay, I'll pretend to be invisible just for you. We left this behind a long time ago, but if it's worth anything I think of you now and then and wonder what kind of person you are now. Through torn memories I know you must have been special because I wrote you a song once, but the words have been torn out of my skull. There was something about violet flowers, flowers if only to match your name. I think we may never talk again, but that doesn't bother me. I wonder why you have done this to yourself, you were so beautiful. Perhaps to you this is beautiful? Nay, I preferred you then. We have both moved on to dance with new, much more skilled partners, but I'll look back at you from time to time. I'd like to think you look back too, to see if i'm there, to see if you could try to kill me.
I'd be wrong. My name i
Suicide is no joke.Suicide is no joke. There is no coming back from it. Once you have done it, you are gone. Your pain may be over, but the pain to your family and loved ones will never be over. They will be left with countless questions that will forever be unanswered. If you're in pain, you need to let somebody know. There is no use suffering in silence. If you are suffering through depression, the worst thing you can try to do is beat it on your own. Just remember that there are people out there who love you and care for you. Even if you only have one person in your life who cares, that is still one person that would be devastated if you were no longer here.
Suicide is a very final way to deal with life's issues. It is a dark and permanent solution to potentially short term problems. All I ask is for you to stop and think. There is always a solution to your problems. There is always someone out there who can help you. Never think that you're alone because you are not. Some people may understand a lot
It's Too Late When We DieIf you want to die then fine, go die
But before you go, think
Think about every dream you've dreamed
Think about every star you've wished upon
Think about every desire that has ever coursed through your veins
Everyone of those things could become true
Everyone of those things could become a reality
If you go pack you bags now
You will be packing nothing but pain
You will leave this place with nothing but your suffering
So fight, fight everyday
Pour fire into your heart
Harness the hurt
Control the memories
And leave this world old and grey
And leave this world carrying happiness
Don't ever give up because,
It's too late when we die..
Someone SpecialHe sat alone at the train station. Every day, he remained... At the same time, in the same seat, with the same book. His hands never tried to turn to the next page, not even once...
I asked what he was reading. There was no answer. Only the same cold, stoic gaze... Creeping through my retinas. Locked together. No hellos, no goodbyes. Just dark eyes, regarding me with mirthful disdain.
I wanted dearly to break him from his painful reverie... But I eventually realized, no one could do that for him. He had to do it himself... And the timing wasn't right. I could wait for him forever, it wouldn't make the slightest difference...
All of the trains were late... That day, and every day.
I whispered... "I tried."
He whispered back... "It doesn't matter..."
Those three words; each of them a dagger, forever slicing. And I walked away, immortal wounds dripping crimson from my chest...
TendernessHer name was Tenderness. Blue used to call her this way because she was very cute, very lovely, and when Blue saw her the first time, the first emotion he felt was Tenderness. Tenderness was a young paintress, very very talented. Her art was different: she didn't paint with a brush, she painted with her heart! Her colours were her emotions, and her canvas was her soul. Every painting made by her was a masterpiece, a piece of herself consacreted in an eternal work of art. Her paintings were the mirror of herself: soft, delicate...and beautiful!
Tenderness is a very talented paintress! Tenderness paints with heart and soul! Tenderness probably is looking for perfection in this imperfect world! Tenderness is Artist and Muse at the same time!
Discovery of Titanic On this day in Nineteen-Hundred and Eighty-Five, the great black seas of the North Atlantic were parted by crafts never before seen in this realm. They plunged beneath the surface of the waves, beneath the rolling tide, and as they descended, the sea became dimmer, and dimmer....and dimmer still until all grew black and infinite. The lights from the craft shone upon the strangest of fishes, and many waves of small plankton-creatures glazed past the windows, and on to their way in this strange and ethereal world.
Down, down, down....farther still. Then, with a soft 'plunk', the craft lands upon the sea floor. The white Atlantic sand drifts up in waves, floating in the water like smoke. Drifting around and away. The lights shine on this world, but they do not show much. The ocean is too vast, to immense for them to illumine much. The fishes dart back and forth, curious as to who this intruder really is. They have never seen anything like it in all th
In This SpaceMy favorite space in the entire world is the space between my window and my bed, only separated by the brown Chester Drawer that was painted canvas white and now chips away to show tidbits of the chestnut brown. This is my favorite space. A cage between the pages of my sketchbook; torn out. Here, it’s just far enough from you. I can see the smile on your face. And the emptiness in your eyes. I can see how they’ll never match one another again. And it makes me wonder if you can hear me breathing too heavy in order to make myself faint.
This space in between my bed and my window is as big as the space in between your eyes. And I wonder if you can see right through me. Or do you just not pay attention to the sundry voices in my head. In this space, I sat down and watched the rain break the glass. This space is where I watched the ants trail in through the hole in the window’s net. I fed them bread crumbs from my sandwich. Until they infested the spot and expected a yard
DreamHer name was Dream! Well, to be honest that wasn't her real name: Blue used to call her this way because she was like a Dream. Blue never met such an amzing, intelligent, talented and deep person! Too good to be true...a Dream. But Dream was real!! Dream was one of the greatest poetess of our times. She was a sort of source of inspiration! She was sweet, she was polite...she was a beautiful human being. I'm sure her smile was a sort of shining sun, warm and beautiful! Her face was the representation of sweetness, and her soul was, how to say, the reflection of humanity! Dream was suffering, but despite the suffering, she always comforted the others! Dream was an extraordinary girl! Dream is a living dream!
Dream is a great artist! Dream is an extraordinary girl! Dream is a living beautiful dream! Dream is all the good in this world!!!
FelicityHer name was Felicity! They used to call her this way because she seemed to be always happy. Felicity was a nice girl, very funny and always ready to make you laugh. But Felicity hasn't been always happy. In the past she suffered, we don't know why, we don't know how, but she suffered. Fortunately Felicity doesn't suffer anymore. She's better than she thinks! Felicity loves to watch tv series, probably because she likes to get lost in a world of fantasy, where all the sorrows of the life don't exist. Felicity is a good friend. I think that Felicity is a dreamer too!
Felicity is a young girl who suffered. Felicity is happy now! Felicity loves tv series! Felicity is the need to escape from this world, but also the life that goes on!
grief and forgivenessYou never know how precious something is until it slips through your fingers. You can never understand the pain of loss, until it happens to you.
The words "I know how you feel" coming from a friend, as well intentioned as they are, are meaningless unless they too know that pain.
Sometimes at a time when grieving dominates the heart, the best thing to say is a simple 'I'm sorry".
Don't tell me I'll get over it, because I won't. In time it may become easier to deal with, might hurt less, it will never go away. I will still feel the absence in my life. A hole in my heart that nothing can fill.
Don't say It's been awhile, time to move on. Grief is a process, some people go through it differently, and some take longer to come through it.
If you want to help me, all I need is for you to be there.
I may not always need you to talk, sometimes all I need is someone to listen, to lend a shoulder to cry on.someone who doesn't mind how long I grieve, a friend.
I am not asking for you to sha
Round and round the garden..Sing to me and hold me until I go to sleep. That's a test of loyalty if ever there was one, for I am gathering dust upon layers of false chintzy cheeriness and glittery clothes. Look at me. To you I will always be that child, but to her I am that shadow whose name she can't quite remember, but does it matter? Green and purple became me, but I look at you and see nothing but a vorpal grin. Tick-tock, tick-tock! We are shadow people now, you and I. They will soon forget us and soon pass us by in the street, unsure if we were ever acquainted. I'm only 5 years old, or so they keep telling me. I'll clap my hands and giggle as we slowly tear the skin off of each others faces, because it's nothing more than a game and we'll be home in time for tea. Don't worry, we'll burn the photographs- just in case. History is there to be rewritten, isn't it darling?
The first Roulin stays strong in my dreams. Wherever I go, I see her face and I am unable to rest. She is no longer Mother, figure I bow down
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
Keep in Touch!
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