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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
What is on the other side?When you're staring at your reflection, what do you see? It is obvious to most people that you see an
exact image of yourself, but how do you depict that lingering 'image' that surrounds you?
What exactly do you 'see' when you look into a mirror? Light is everywhere and no person can escape
it. The same can be said about a person's feelings no matter how hard they try to cast a shallow mask
behind their true emotions.
Just how fragile are we? There are some who have more willpower than others, but lack in other
departments that help to build us up. What is it that makes you a strong or weak person?
What are you gazing at? Do you perhaps see a strong individual on that other side of the light? Is
there something dark and mysterious about that 'impostor' that you just can't figure out yet? Where
are you? Who are you?
What is on the other side?
Validating Your Tears (I'm Sorry) But what you don't know is that I'm frustrated that I can't write a poem about the thorns growing on my veins and icebergs rooting in my heart. I can't write about the void in me when he no longer plays me Beethoven's music or sings me out of tune songs. Because there's none. I don't feel anything when he leave.
Truth is, I want to feel crushed, and heart broken. Because at least sadness can prove that I loved him and that what he said about me never loving him is wrong. And I don't want to prove him right with being happy.
I want to write something beautiful about him. I want to write a poem because that's what I know, that's the only thing that had me getting my emotions back in boxes. I want to write a poem about us smiling with dandelions on the roadsides and crying without rain to validate our tears. I want to write so
Words on a ScreenLife has been a v i c i o u s cycle.
I’ve stuck in it for years, since senior year of high school. This was when friends turned away, turned into things I didn’t need. Depression destroyed a lot of what I held dear, leaving my life in shambles. Somehow I made it through to the end of the year. Somehow I managed to grab hold the edge of my cap, and managed to toss it up into the air, and join my Class of 2011 in celebrating the feat of graduating high school.
It wasn’t until I was out in the real world that I realized the saying, “You are only friends with people at school because you saw them five days a week.” Quickly I watched as everyone got married off, or had kids… within the simple span of months since we took pictures on the tarp covered graduation floor. The men wandered off to their missions, the women started families. Everyone I was around for the final year of high school quickly ran off to their fut
KaterleYou are what taught me how to love, your breathing my dictionary. I sleep best when you're snoring next to me, as you're doing it right now...
We met when I was about ten, and I wasn't doing well. You came with sky-blue eyes and the old lady you just wouldn't stand to be separated from. The beauty of winter, but your heart was a camp fire in the deep dark woods, a comfort to the lost wanderers like me. When my head ached from crying too much, I had a soft place to lay it down on you. Your fur dried all my tears. Your gentle purring drowned all thoughts of sad and grey.
That house was never my home; but they say home is where the heart is, and you were there, and I stayed with you.
Would I still be alive if I had run away back then?
Would it even be life without you?
And whenever my heart hurts, I have you. Your sweet, gloved paws to touch my face, your calm heartbeat to talk to me. The only thing it ever says is 'I love you.'
It's an echo of my own, it's the voice of all my thoughts. T
do it.Suffering isn't always pain.
Sometimes its having to itch your finger,
when you wanna strike a match,
and watch it all just fucking burn.
The World Is A Trigger: Social Works. It all began with a look outside the window. Perhaps they could have of told them that they had no daughter, or that she wasn't there... But where is there use in lying when all their names are in he system? Before there was a chance, they met her eyes. After adult-talk, the sheriff walked in. His words burned against the rim of her cranium, the way he directed her to clean her room... But truly, was that his worry? Or was it the way the black mold on the living room walls curled so delicately, as though purposefully designed. Perhaps he wanted her to start simple and keep her hidden in lies, despite the obvious truth that returned her glares. Then again, maybe it was due to the dog's papers, full of business, that the sheriff slipped on. Maybe, again, he wanted her to begin small. But what is so small when he questions her desire to live in this Hell? Had she known the world, had she known a true, "normal" household, perhaps the sense would have met her to beg them to sav
masochist.It's not the simple pain that I enjoy,
it's simply the pain of loving you,
which gives me my sick thrill.
lover I will never haveto the lover I will never have...
What was I in your eyes?
A one night stand?
A friend? An enemy? A lover?
Though, I thought it was strange... You always said you hated me.
Always pushed me away.. But I guess that's alright.
You called me cute though. That day, after school.
It left an imprint on me. And I wondered.
What do you really think of me?
Just what am I to you?
We never kissed. Never-- did, anything of that nature.
School's full of pretty boys.. And hot girls..
Why call me cute? Why not some chick you got pregnant?
There's videos of it, you know.. Online.. Tons..
We want to share our bodies with the world. We want them, to notice us.
To touch us. Show us how they make us feel..
I'm just a guy.. Nothing special about me.. Not at all..
Still, you called me cute. And I guess..-- I wondered what you meant by that.
Maybe it was nothing, so I'm overreacting. But maybe, maybe it was something.
I'll never know.
Though days will go by. Before long, you
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
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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