|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
the future was our skin
and now we don't dream anymore.
it's the late kind of light that feels
like an ending; the dog days are
slumbering on our font porch, but
they know that autumn is coming
and one morning not far from now
they'll wake up in the blueshadow dawn
i'm pouring blood on a dead faith
rattling drawers full of your lies
guilt and dried leaves crackling
against the wood.
and whether or not i can explain it
i think this is going to haunt is both;
your ghost has already become my shadow
and i swear someday you are going to
turn around and see mine sitting
cross-legged on your floor,
wearing that blue dress you always
loved, asking why you never
could see me until it was
every chance i didn't take IIYou tell him about your cancer on a Sunday,
in the shower of all places, in between brunch plans
and speculating about whether or not the weather
will ever get any colder - hasn't it been the strangest November?
Just the strangest.
You casually mention that somewhere
deep in the secret space between your hips
your own cells are proliferating uncontrollably,
whispering treason and passing down forgeries,
teaching each other the steps of mitosis with alarming intent.
You don't miss a beat as you drop survival percentages
mixed in with tomorrow's rain forecast
and predictions about the game later that afternoon -
easy as breathing, even as counterfeit armies
shred through the soft tissue just below
his favorite place on your spine.
And as you stand there
calmly making conversation
and sharing the last of the soap,
he watches the water
run quiet rivers
through your hair.
ephemerisi was a stargazer under new constellations, quiet
and dark below your october skies. the first rains of
the season sang tiny rivers against your window and
i shivered with the knowledge that tomorrow, the world
would never be quite as warm again. i arched my back
under the meteor shower of your kisses, feeling the
burn of their ice tails searing the curve of my neck,
and dug my fingernails into your shoulders to keep
myself from falling straight into the moonless night.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye; hello.
Salt on the streets and a bite in the wind to remind me that leaving - no matter where or who - will always make you ache for the pieces you are leaving behind.
Just yesterday I woke up thousands of miles away with a promise of snow out the window and your body warm beneath the sheets, and felt more at home than I have in a long, long time.
I keep thinking that maybe if I sit very still, time will pass me by, and forget to take me with it.
I want too much.
Blue Monday - blue like the sky under airplane wings, like the thousands of miles between us.
I can't stop singing or writing, wringing art from a stone.
I can't believe it's been one week since I kissed a blue-eyed 2014 hello, walked out into the cold night, brave as a sunrise, your hand held tightly in mine.
I met a boy in (Vegas, Austin, Memphis, Mississippi, Houston, New York); a boy from (Jamestown, Amarillo, C
if i am ever lost, look for me in grand central station. i'll be whispering into the arches or searching the constellation'd ceiling for that one red tile, just like you taught me, our dark hair thrown back like children. i'll be resting my bones under vaulted ceilings on the cool marble, eyes always on the arrivals, hoping that one day i might see your name.
if i am ever lost, look for me in central park. find me in the green heart of the steel city, soft wood and cold stones. i'll be talking to the homeless man who blessed me as i passed, asking him to teach me what it feels like to lose everything.
if i am ever lost, look for me in the place where the trains sleep. i'll be laying between the trestles in a bed of day-old newspapers and discarded metro tickets, listening to their dreams about journeys with no end, travelers with no destination.
all it washe talked about her whiskey voice
with the desperation of a man
clinging to the last drop
when he talked about her cancer
i saw the stars come out
behind his head
too low to hang onto
too bright not to feel
and everything was on fire
and nothing was the same
emptinessand i can feel you / sometimes / like a second skin
i can feel you / free and laughing / beautiful
/ and wild
while i shrink and sink /
under the crushing weight of air
and i can feel /
the stretch of state lines /
pulling taut / against my ribcage
miles / and miles of darkness /
as i swell to take you in
a deep sloshing emptiness
/ rocking slow /
like all the rivers
running cold / into the arms of the sea
the fighter (pt 2)I.
but damn if there isn't anything sexier
than a blue-eyed boy with a handgun
whiskey drunk and swinging for the stars
breaking bones and homes and hearts
hands dripping galaxies and blood
i loved the black ink on your hip
the pink scars on your wrists
your name still on my lips
white pickup leaving tire tracks
deep as canyons in my skin
Poema a Nick No trates de ver lo bueno en mí
Porque está escondido bajo llave
Nunca dejo que nadie llegue a mi interior
No dejo secar las lágrimas que he llorado
No creo que realmente te importe
Si supieras todas las cicatrices que llevo
Tratan de hacer que me sienta menos inútil
Pero sé que me merezco esto
Para dejar de tener un corazón que late
Estoy tratando de no desmoronarme
Sólo borra estas mentiras
Dime lo que es real
Hazme sentir lo que yo no quiero sentir mas
Autor: Jenna Bloom
I still can’t believe you’re not here. It’ll be seven years in April since you passed on and yet I feel somehow you’re still here. Maybe it’s the watch you left me? I still wear it, almost every day. I continue to feel that you’re close by just by wearing it. And the idea of it, that of Time, makes me feel like you left me something priceless. Every time I look at this watch of yours I feel I can understand Time a little more each day.
You may know this already, but I’m living in Istanbul now. I moved here to be with my fiance, a Turkish girl named Dilan. We’re very close and she fits into the advice you gave me to “stick with a girl who really loves you; don’t let her go”. It would have been nice to have you meet her. I know you’d love her like me. There’s something about her that is unlike any girl you can imagine
From a Long-Time CustomerDear Death,
I hope you are well, Los Angeles is hot and balmy even during this part of the year. Thank you for all the services you’ve rendered in the short part of my life, which was all of it. I know I have been distant lately as have the greater majority of most organic beings with conscious selves. But I cannot apologize for everyone.
I wanted to thank you for prefiguring in so many of my pieces. I haven’t asked for your permission, nor written before this letter. But I want to take this opportunity to thank you, anyway.
My family and I visit grandmother sometimes. A few days of the year we take the car up to Rose Hills, and do what Chinese immigrants do. Put the food on a flat board, light incense, sweep the rock with her name and years pressed on it like an unwanted kiss. I didn’t cry at her funeral and I think you know why. As you know, me and my family have a history of diabetes, but a longer one of unlove. I’m sure while you are more familiar with hate
Gateway of SlenderMan SlenderMan is coming after me. It won't stop until I give up. I will never give up, I have never given up since I knew what the words "give up" meant. SlenderMan feeds on fear, I have fear. Yet, I do not fear death, nor will I ever fear death. SlenderMan does not kill the people it takes. SlenderMan takes them to a place that is the sliver of shadow between life and true death.
SlenderMan is The Gatekeeper of Shadows. I know how that sounds, it sounds childish but it's true. One man, I will not reveal his name due to privacy requests, has revealed the name to me now I reveal it to you, reader. The name of SlenderMan before it was ever called SlenderMan.
The gates to Heaven and Hell are small wooden fence posts compared to the Black Gate. SlenderMan controls the Black Gate, it keeps the trapped souls SlenderMan had captured in the shadows of life and death. The souls are not dead or alive, they are between the two. SlenderMan keeps them this way for a reason I know
Been Disbelieflosing my mental creative tone..
I am eing made to forget her and every determination I builot up lately..
Love Songs for Seventy-Nine FiftyDear Guy Montag,
I know you will never know me. I know how far apart our lives are. You are tall and white and born with so many people telling you what to think. I am tall but Asian, a paradox of culture, and always pulling the rug from under others and what they say. You are all too easily convinced, at least, that’s how it was when you were young. But me? I grew suspicious from the very first word. I regard all with such conceit and condescension. We’re both selfish pricks, for very different reasons.
But I want you to know how much I learned to love you. And by extension, my own capacity for what’s right. You grew up too fast, surrounded by boys pretending to be men, people who thought they were in control of their own lives and failed to produce anything within them. You couldn’t stand to feel what you were feeling, proceeded to blindly believe all that came your way. Then Clarisse. Then the old lady. Then Matthew Arnold and “Dover Beach.” And a
Mr Drummondmr drummond is art skills and devotion based on a guy's level of abstainance? I become handsome in love, and I do good art in love..love means abstainance.
Pygmy Shit Enigma.photoshe was saying derogatory langauge for a woman, so I in rage insulted him..and he is trying to nab my paining never..as if anyone ever got ahead a brahmin's ability of sadism?
he said on my profile:-
Don't leave stupid comments. You wonder why you are nothing and have nothing - look in the mirror. You might be a winner or happy with a change of attitude. Or education
Don't brag sagely cumming.
Jew wonders why you were nothing and give nothing.
Don't look in the mirror, don't self-horror.
You are a loser and sad of your DNA that cant change our attitude and your gestation.
wrapped in your name is a hundred games of hide and seek, afternoon tea parties, and the squiggles of letters as i taught you to read goodnight moon and if you give a mouse a cookie. we were ten dirtstained fingers, one broken arm, four firefly eyes, two dark heads bowed as if in prayer over your broken-syllabled benediction.
every shopping cart is a cage from when we were wolves caught in the grocery store, growling at strangers until our mother made us get out and walk. the nightlight still plugged into the corner socket glows with every breath you took as you fell asleep when they moved your crib into my room.
one day at school they told you the rainforests were disappearing, and you hid in your bunkbed and cried for hours. when i finally found you, you made me promise we would both give our entire allowance to protect the trees. we washed our hands and said grace and ate dinner, and you never stopped caring about beautiful things.
i taught you how to read, and
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More