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Something Loved Something LostYou told me once, that you were never sure if you really loved something until you lost it.
[Did that include me?]
I don't think you really lost me, though--I lost you.
I lost the only person that made sense in my life, the only one who knew more about me than myself.
I lost my world.
And it wasn't until it completely stopped spinning that I noticed anything was different.
[You had me fooled, didn't you?]
Remember the way I laughed when you told me I was beautiful?
I laughed because I didn't believe you.
But I also laughed out of pure joy--I had never felt so alive in my life as I had in that one moment.
That's the kind of girl I am, you see.
I am a girl who can find a million beautiful things about everyone else, but nothing even remotely good about herself.
It's a disease really.
One that's out to kill me.
Because not everything about every person is beautiful.
You are living proof of that.
[So, why then my dear, do I still love you?]
Dear SelfDear Self,
You've been this way for so long now that I think you might have forgotten some things.
I'm writing this so you don't have to forget, so you can remember and see how far you've come. So you can smile at yourself for being so silly.
I wonder, do you still have that smile?
The one that almost resembled a frown, but somehow just barely upturned the edges of your lips to qualify as something happy.
You had a habit of using it, but mostly just to assure everyone around you that everything was fine and dandy. So they wouldn't worry.
Do you remember your swing?
I don't know if you recall the way it creaked as it swayed
Like someone was there, making it move. When visibly it was empty.
You made it yours, and thought it gave you the ability to fly.
As your hands gripped the chains and your legs propelled you higher and higher, the ground became so far away that you'd spread your arms and laugh, as if you
In the Dark, I Am PrettyCould it be that because you cannot see my face that you find me beautiful?
I can only imagine how it is to live life in darkness
To not be able to observe the world as anything more than shadows
[What is it like to be blind?]
I should tell you now that I am many things, but not perfectnot beautiful
[So, why do you persist in calling me so?]
I think it is because you are perceptive in ways I can never be
Unlike me, you are beautiful in the light and the dark
You see what most are blinded to
The inner loveliness that others somehow overlook
You say the best way for me to see a person is to close my eyes
[Will shutting my eyes really change my perspective?]
I wonder, why can't all of us be like you?
Why is it that we identify a person only by how they appear?
The outside is what one sees, but it is the inside that truly means something
In a literal sense, beauty eventually fades
At least, outward beauty
But you told me the beauty that you have come to noticethe beauty that yo
The Dream That Never WasI will not be here long dear, but I have to know
Are your eyes always such a melancholy green?
All faded and weathered, drained and worn
You say you have troubles,
My dear boy,
Do you know?
You are not alone
As the rain cascades down your window
And the thunder shakes your splintered floorboards
I sing you a soft lullaby
Timidly, I touch your hair
Day-old stubble lightly grazes my fingertips
And I watch you breathe
I hear you sigh
You whisper that I am beautiful
And I almost believe you
You tell me you're so tired,
So exhausted that you could close your melancholy eyes
And sleep, sleep forever
Because wakefulness seems a misuse of time
Of precious dreaming
My darling boy,
Do you not know?
You are a dream
Dear SerendipityYou are a word so closely fused with fate, destiny, chance, and sometimes love
The most beautiful word I know
Is it possible not to fear an unknowable future?
Perhaps life is not about knowing, but rather about finding outdiscovering
Maybe it's hints of surprising, unforeseen, partly inevitable circumstances that test our limits of comfort
Tell me, is love properly defined as two lost people thrown together by chance?
Or could it be that they were always meant to find each other?
Did some divine, other-worldly force reach down and gently place these lives on the same path?
Or is it simply destiny that caused these two souls to meet?
What if I choose the wrong way?
Will I spend the rest of my days wondering and imagining what my life would have been?
Or will I move on, as if nothing ever slowed me down in the first place?
Too many questions, not enough answers
I believe there are things that can never be explained
Fate is a mysterious, frightening, yet exciting concept
We all desi
The Porcelain PeopleI had a dream once, about a place where people were obsessed with perfection, and longed for beauty.
In this place, anyone who looked normal was considered ugly.
They found me wandering about in their strange world, and I was brought before a council of sorts. There I saw people that were so beautiful and faultless that it left me breathless.
A very handsome man, I assumed to be their leader, told me that this was their perfect world, and that I was disrupting their splendor with my unattractiveness. They asked if I wanted to look like them and at first I craved to say "yes" because it was true, perfection was something I had always dreamed of. I had always desired to be beautiful.
Slowly, I turned a small circle, looking at each of the members of the council. They sat with supreme posture in fine chairs. Every one of them was shockingly beautifulit was almost frightening.
Each one had their flawlessly stunning eyes pointed at me, all of them lovely shades of vibrant b
I'd Rather Lie StillThere are times when I don't want to wake up.
When my only desire is to sink into my mattress, and allow my blankets to swallow me whole.
Because it's just so much easier to tell my restless heart to sleep.
InsanityI stepped into a poorly lit room. The only light in the darkness came from three small candles resting on an end table, their glow not reaching the dark and eerie corners of the room. The walls were covered with broken mirrors; and I watched as shattered reflections of myself followed my every movement. The dim lighting cast strange and frightening shadows over my face. It was then that I became increasingly aware of the pain in my feet.
I looked down at themthey were bare. And there was broken glass sprayed across the floor. I gently lifted one throbbing foot, shards of the mirror had cut into my skin and blood was oozing from the wounds. My eyes began to tear up and I choked back a scream. If there was one thing I couldn't stand, it was the sight of blood from my own veins.
In the far corner, I saw a chair. A lonely, wooden, termite-infested chair. Somehow, I had overlooked it and not seen it before now. As I walked closer, I heard a noise from behind me, and turned around to f
and down we goyou feel like a freefall
a lunge off of a cliff
into an open abyss
where my heart stops beating
and my lungs stop breathing
and all that's left is
the sky, your eyes
and the fall
what i'm accustomed toi am not used to being literal when i speak.
i have spoken in riddles since the day my sounds made sense.
often i lied
because i was never clear
and that is what i hid behind for eons
at a time.
i have spoken about past lives,
and meeting my soulmates
because they kept changing
so many goddamned times
way before i was born in this realm.
[as if all of it was actually true]
i am not used to love being ordinary.
blame the ones before you
it had always been forever with them
it had always been eternity,
and though it gave security
it was pressure on my dignity.
they didn't understand that i needed to live
before settling for something lesser,
because deep down even they knew
i was way too good for them
and that made them hate me
[with sweet lies through their teeth]
i am not used to making love being just that.
with me, it was never just me and you
it was always time stopping forever
and then finding that a paradox
and saying it was all an act of the angels.
Remember ... breatheBreathe
Remember to breathe
Step by step you inch closer to me
The blood rushes through my veins like lava burning through my skin
Something has to break, the tensions are too high, I feel it building in my chest
Remember . Breathe
How the oxygen rips through me sending me light headed, I want to be with you, to be near you, to feel you on my skin, know that you'll be there, I want you to take my breath away so that I need to
Remember to breathe
A Vicious CourseFrightening.
Into my abyss,
I am lured.
Bellow at the struggle,
Of my screams that are unheard.
Who kept a precious candlelight aglow,
You spoke gently then departed,
Leaving what I had unguarded,
Now darkness clutches greedily at the shards,
And engulfs what you started.
The GuillotineDown on the hill a guillotine stood,
And on it a man with a thick black hood,
"Woe are the ones who stand on this spot,
And vile are the ones," said he, "Who do not."
The first to go was an innocent man,
Or so I thought as a peasant can,
Down the blade came with efficient speed,
And so the shined metal began it's feed.
The second to die I did not know,
I just knew it was I who did not go,
The wood became dark and black to the sight,
And none spoke a word of loss that night.
Third was a woman with short, severed hair,
And in shock we pretended we did not care,
Down came the blade and none spoke a word,
Not a sob, or protest, or thought was heard.
The fourth, I admit with a bought of despair,
Was a child with a mood and eyes so fair,
I said not a word, but it broke my soul,
And the rest of that night was foreboding and cold.
It took the lives of women and men,
The desperate, old, and those under ten,
And so stood one, the finalist, me,
The silent, the innocent, and the dead to be.
morse from the galaxySigns were everywhere.
Why didn't I see them in first place?
In the rain, my footprints left a trace of black. Black dots. Blotches. Spilled ink ·
They were everywhere.
This particular scent, a dash of fuel, a gentlemanly note hung over my clothes like the haze over the sink traps in the city.
Do you know what falling stars are? They are morse from the andromeda galaxy. Surreal telegrams of the universe.
I stood there, with a lighter in my hand. On this bridge. Under my feet was just air and deep down there was the street. The hard, cold, wet road with ant lines of rolling cars. They painted wild light thunderbolts on the concrete, sending me messages.
The city was full of rain and life and hidden meanings, enigmas, mysteries,
My Rose Smells Like DeathHe bought me a rose
All red and bloody-thorned
Said "it's for my rose"
kissed me, and left me behind.
And i watched it die.
We are all just like roses,
cut from the source of life-
We may blossom, but still die.
I let it dry out till-
the petals grew brittle
and the stem blackened, dead.
Still a shadow of it's former self.
It no longer smells of beauty.
It smells of that peircing
sweet rotting that deceives.
It is not life,
it is not living.
It is simply death.
The tiles were blueafter you left
i used to stand in the shower
for hours with my nose pressed
against the tile wall
i would turn the water on
hot enough that it would burn my skin
and i would pretend that was why
i couldn't breathe
the fire brushing my sides
was simply stealing
the oxygen from my lungs
i would pretend that
it had nothing to do with you
Eight ThingsI want you to whisper to me softly of rain drops and window panes and tell me how you lived a thousand lives before. Speak to me in riddles and speak to me in tongues, speak to me of poetry and stories around the world, but mostly just speak to me because I love the sound of your voice.
I want you to listen to my butterfly words, soft and hesitant and fluttering on the edge of my lips. I want you to listen, really listen, and try to understand. There are subtleties and lies riddled through every word, and I'm begging you to please, please, figure me out.
I want you to squeeze my hand, when I am afraid of the dark and when I am sobbing from the not-so-light, hold me close and comfort me and let me know that you are there. Press me close and bring me home. I want you to lie, tell me it will all be okay, darling, you're okay.
I want you to take me to see bright colors and twisting images, to feel wind sharp against my cheeks and to smile against candid tourist hot spots. Interest me, intr
mad worldyou know what hurts?
filling your head with ideas and fantasies of a perfect love and dreams come true...
and finding out that just because you wish on stars, doesn't mean those burning orbs of gas even hear you.
what hurts is knowing that your world is falling apart.
that it is crumbling away, piece by piece...
and no matter how hard you try, you can't put it pack together, because the "fix instantly" glue won't stick.
what kills me is this need to be someone, to change something...
but never knowing exactly where to start.
i know where to begin.
i need to change myself before i can truly accomplish anything else.
the problem is, i'm so used to being me
that i'm unsure of how to be someone else.
or maybe i got that all wrong.
perhaps i'm so used to being someone else,
that i don't know how to be "me" anymore
it's almost a habit to pretend that the girl i see in the mirror every day is me.
she has my eyes, and my hair
and sometimes, she even wears my smile.
but there's something
IronmanHear me read it
My friends used to call William "Ironman" because the first time we kissed he got a nosebleed and the taste of his blood haunted me for a long time after it. We'd only been twelve years old and apparently the anxiety spiked his blood pressure to the point of combustion... I remember that when we were forced to take sex ed a few years later we were divided into separate classes for boys and girls, in case a diagram of an ovary was too risqué and we became animalistic and started clawing at each other in our seats, but nonetheless when our teacher Ms Jacobs had explained to us what an erection was in my mind all I could picture was the blood rushing to his nose and then the slash of cranberry across my blouse.
With the idea planted in his mind it didn't take long for William's hands to start wandering, but the image persisted. Every time I thought about just letting it happen I wondered what would happen if he got too excite
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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