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In The RainI could see a ghost buried alive,
curled tightly beneath folded leaves,
and branches stripped bare from this past winter.
She writhed in pain without moving at all,
caught in a wind that wasn't,
crying out in a noiseless whisper.
I had to close my eyes to remove myself from the scene.
What had happened to this creature to bring this...
this existence that reaches levels beyond any hell Dante could have known?
I want to reach out to her,
to brush the silken strands away from the sun bleached bone,
but I don't.
She'll infect me,
I know it.
She'll infect me with her misery,
her pained essence,
and I can't have that.
I find myself infected with a life that couldn't be far from hers,
and to add her sickness to my own...
How much faster would it take me to her?
I should do the right thing:
I should call someone for her;
help her from this place;
hide her from the light;
sing her a song,
for she is truly one of the missing.
What does it ma
Monsters Dancing In SnowThe way the sun hit her,
The way she laughed.
The way my arm brushed against hers...
So far gone,
I still remember it all.
I don't remember it the way I experienced it, though,
Now I just remember it the way it really was.
She is so flawed and far from perfect.
Back then, though,
Every flaw was perfect on her.
Skin of Saltiest TasteIn the blink of an eye,
we all start to die;
wilting like a black rose tossed in the saltiest sea.
a bird will caw,
mourning it all,
while we all start to drown in an airplane's wreckage buried in the sea.
Don't you forget me,
and all these things that I've done.
They've not all been pretty,
but I don't regret a single one.
Fine AgainCome and tear me down
And chronicle my fall
If it's all you see
You've never needed me
But I'll still wait
Broken in the shadows
To see your face
Once more in the light
I will never push you away
Or turn my back on you
In all the hell you put me through
I'll still be here for you...
When I see you smile
In your devilish way
My heart always skips
Just before you rip it out
And yet with this hole
Deep inside my chest
I know there's something more
And it can never rest
I will never back on down
Or try to walk away
Even in this wrenching pain
These three words I'll always say...
Because you're my...
My whole whole heart
Yeah, you, you're my...
My whole heart
Despite what you do
And the pain I feel
All the knives you've stabbed
The fires I've burned through
I cannot forget
The way I feel
Inside my heart
When I gaze at you
But now the sun comes up
And cuts through the black
Helping these wounds to heal
Pulling knives out from my back
Your words are kind
With apologetic lies
And I'll lie in k
Your words into my soul
Your sweet, translucent lullabies
Tears into my heart
That drown me in eternal sorrow
Don't be anything
Don't be anything
Unless you use your voice
The one that I know so well
Don't close your eyes
You might miss this moment
And moments are all we have now
Don't look away
Don't look away
My Own MadnessDarkness echoes off the corridors of my mind
Memories of hospital walls and static sheets
Those nightmare lands of pasts not forgotten
Where the men in white coats hold my hands
God, don't send me there again...
In ExileI live my life in exile,
standing out beyond the edge of the road,
feet firmly planted in the dust,
watching the railroad lights flicker and fade.
Somewhere out in exile
a thunderclap is born,
burst forth with lightning,
a new pilgrim in this wave of sky.
I watch it scream across the mountains,
through the desert,
tearing through my walls of desolation,
threatening to eat me alive
if I let it.
It doesn't know I'm here,
doesn't know where here is,
not that any of us really do;
it just feels the sky,
dodges the earth,
and rolls on into the inky horizon.
We live our lives in exile,
not by choice,
but by nature,
and I doubt that either of us
would have it any other way.
RavenousShe stands at the edge of the clearing,
sun lighting her hair on fire,
gripping at the hole in her belly.
the world decays.
She reaches into herself
as the blackness spreads across her skin,
consuming this reality.
Silently at first,
her hair flowing,
trembling as an earthquake
violently tears away at her,
but then there is audio to this madness,
and banshees are forced to cover their ears.
She tears away at her own demise,
breaking the world,
shredding herself out of desperation.
Blackness breaks and cracks
as her skin crumbles and is pulled inside
-- into the darkness that is all consuming,
that is her.
Her eyes close for the briefest moment
two frozen lakes of mercury.
She haunts this world,
long after it has all been pulled in,
Some Lessons Should Never Be LearnedHe was intensely blue eyes. He was improbable laughter at predictable jokes. He was sunlight and moonlight and flowers in bloom.
She used to laugh at the way he stared, squirming under the spotlight, a bug and a loving microscope, a bright light she was not used to. She'd turn her head away and blink through a curtain of hair.
"Why do you keep staring?" She'd ask.
"You're beautiful," he'd say, and she'd blush or frown or squint.
Later, she would learn to push away the protective shades and
She would learn to see the light as a sun, a star.
She would respond in melted kisses and stare back.
They morphed into one and let their fears fall through the cracks, pushing against sunlight and falling on the grass.
For the first time, with him, the color green wasn't so fearful. The tickling of leaves felt warm.
They learned to marvel at each others' mere existence, the way his footsteps followed hers and her kiss always righted wrongs. In twisting corridors they curled together, sweetnes
CoffeeWhat can you do with a bad cup of coffee other than drink it?
The pot isn't going anywhere.
Most people pour their mistakes down the drain.
They learned that from God.
I'm talking about the weather.
If you don't burn your tongue on the slop
Then it's a good day to be alive.
Some people like the taste of boot straps.
I'm my own minimum wage waitress.
Blowing smoke rings on a lonely omelet.
My stomach hasn't felt right since summer school '05.
Two ingredients but there is margin for error.
Always another batch.
Sun rise, sun set.
Midnight poison on my teeth already.
Someone can use this as an ashtray.
funeralI did not speak at your funeral.
Though you knew me as a writer
I did not write a speech.
On the way to the funeral I stood on my
front porch and heard the
copper leaves rustle and
decided that was enough. The
wind spoke all that was needed from
The others wore black and
even though the words were
I said nothing.
I did not
cry. I heard jokes and happy memories
but I thought they were dark.
I could pour my memories into the
empty air and whisper how
something that created me was
I could murmur
meant anything anymore
but they wouldn't believe me.
You wouldn't believe me, if you heard
what they said about you.
They loved you, but I loved you
I think I started to cry
but you didn't see my
so they didn't matter.
I sobbed and
the earth was silent and
I did not speak at your funeral.
gardeneri need to love you
but love's like ivy grown to choke a house,
to strangle the poppies and tulips and
leave the trees in desert soil,
to frame the windows and smother glass
broken by the strength of roots gripping
at sand once loose on a beach who
knows your footprints,
and when i have torn up vines by the root,
drenched the green in caustic vile,
burned the furniture wrought with seeds
and thrown away the trowel,
i was never more unhappy;
i need to love you,
to groom the thickening leaves
and dense forests in our living room,
let my hair grow long and my eyes accustomed
to the arid night because you made promises
of rain, and the rain cannot come without clouds,
without blindness and fright
and it will drizzle but someday
the storm will be torrential and the lightning
will dazzle my fear, my need to flee,
to take the dusty gloves you use to cultivate,
stem the urge to quell germination
i need to love you,
and trust will follow like the patter of a summer shower.
love's austere and lonely officesi.
ronnie picks rose petals
and eats them, chews the pink to yellow
in his cigarette teeth. his sister, peggy,
asks how they taste, and he says, "good,
like whimsy and perfume," and picks three petals
fat with pigment and water; she tastes the first
and likes the second and the third is the sweet on her tongue
when ronnie dies of liver failure. she eats the reddest
blooms on his casket.
if tommy were a girl and jenny a boy,
the children would be perfect:
tommy with impish nose and nymph hands,
jenny rumbling with the rooneys from new city,
and mother frets for both their blond[e] heads.
peggy buys the twins paletas
but ronnie spends most days with grandpa.
he comes home and tells jenny they're blackfoot:
she could have been a warrior woman,
tommy a medicine man,
and mother wouldn't fret when tommy kisses jason.
ronnie is sixteen and thin.
willy is the youngest boy and clings to skirts,
plays with dolls because eva smothered him. tommy
pushes him down the stairs because jenny w
and zero is the biggestraspberry thorns piercing through membranes
of adroit ballerinas with pointe shoes,
bones smashed against the wood;
they are mangled bodies of birds with suitcases tucked in their wings
phrases spilling from their lips:
(i might lose important papers)
scattered along with liquefied brains on the floor.
he was so afraid, that his immune system was having a seizure,
(its brain was falling apart [birds, birds, birds])
and they opened up the zeroth dimension
(you're the biggest zero out there)
infinity upon infinity, negatives, and ten.
among the scattered papers, she will dance with you again
TempestsAs much as she doesn't mean to him he means to her.
Time shared with him is kissing, sex, and good impressions. There are hardly laughs or smiles towards the end, only forced conversation, undressing, and silence. Like the roaring waves of a tempest he pushes himself against her, into her and frightens her with his strength and his coldness.
She watches him with affection as his eyes glaze over her legs in public, thinking that he finds her beautiful. But she avoids eye contact, knows deep down that he's only picking out her imperfections, taking the time to find anything that dissatisfies him.
He seduces her with reused words, strategically placed acts of kindness that make it seem that he's interested in more than her with her panties off. She drowns in false flattery, the hope to please him, and the desperate attempt to melt his heart.
But it doesn't take long for his storm to fill her lungs and clog her heart.
As much as he doesn't mean to her she means to him.
Time shared with him
The Nature of Losshe wakes with dim morning and relieves himself,
washes his hands and face,
and dresses in the same clothes he wore yesterday.
he walks out to the garden,
following a cobblestone path to the copper fountain
to scrape algae from its basin,
disturbing robins from their bath and fireflies from lovemaking.
the sun rises above thin clouds
and beats upon him; he wipes sweat from his brow,
blackening his forehead, filling cracks brought by years passed.
he waters the petunias, the asters,
leaving the blue hydrangeas after he prunes their dry blossoms,
throwing the waste at the compost heap.
their hammock, tethered between ripe cherry trees, has weathered
and can no longer support his entire weight,
so he rests his hat on her cushion,
the one frayed and molding, embroidered with her name,
resting where she left it.
Frozen MemoriesBy accident,
I found her tombstone.
It lay buried beneath snow,
encased in ice,
under a canopy of white held aloft by the trees.
I had been walking,
as I often do,
on the clouds of steam rising from my mouth,
and what they meant to me,
when my foot caught hold of the crumbling cross,
and sent me tumbling down...
I caught myself on hands in a sea of crystal white,
flesh stinging from the cold,
my foot aching in pain,
burning hot in the winter wood.
Why would there be a grave here?
What poor soul would be forever lost in this hollow?
in the cold,
throughout the fading light,
and into a darkness of falling snow,
I worked to unmask the grave,
and reveal the name of the damned.
I toiled for hours,
until my fingers went numb and bled,
spilling red upon the white,
a contrast so stark in hurt my eyes,
but in such beauty that was not lost on me,
until I could reveal the faint carvings that were letters.
Her name was as beautiful as I'm sure she was in life,
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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