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I feel like I'm out of focus
Standing by the riverside
Watching day by day fade by, so agonising slow
I feel like I'm underwater
Drowning in the deep
Unable to get a grip, as time slip away above me
I feel like I'm the leaf
Chasing in the wind
Living in the moment, taking nothing for granted
Death BreathThis is not guidance or help
But take my advice
Stop the stupid fight
No inferior dies
The hunger of the broken-hearted
The hunger of the broken-hearted.
He found her broken-hearted.
So he gave her his to mend.
It was all so very good meant.
But his heart was never true.
And when he finally left her,
She had not only cracks left,
But a fresh hole in her chest.
Desperately needing comfort,
She stole the hearts of others.
Finding some peace for a while,
Before the hunger came back,
And drove her to toss it away
To find a new and sweet one.
The hunger of the broken-hearted.
The shadows are whispering
The innocent words that to
The unfaithful soul becomes
The cruel but unspoken truth
Play one more time
the song we played
way back in the days
When life was fun
and time infinite
We spoke no bad
we were innocent
and always so naive
Take me back there
let me be naive again
even if just a moment
The keys are dusty
the melody rusty
From a lost time
were kids were
but innocent kids
With only one colour
Will I paint the world
All in blue shades
All in creme white.
Because we are all one
United and equal
No differences to tell us apart
The dream of us all
Being all as one
United and strong
What would it be
If there where more
colours to see?
A world in a mess
Not one alike the other
If yellow and green
And not red and red
Went hand in hand
What would happen
To the perfect clan?
We should all be alike
A copy of one and another
Not painted differently
Alien to one and other
We should be made
The same altogether
Not formed by strangers
Sickly obsessed with her body
She stands by the shattered mirror
Praising her hateful body
As she decorate it with another red line
stupid love poems for stupid boys.he was the
smoke in my
saved for when
i'm so lonely
that i cannot
but the problem
with giving your
heart to a boy
with a pack of
for ribs is that
he will want your
well– and after
all that blood and
blue lip kisses,
he will leave you
with a coughing
lighter and a
burnt tongue (but
it's really a great
Soles (Forest Girl)Soles (Forest Girl)
i didn’t believe in carving initials into trees.
i always told you that was corny to me.
i told you i was a city boy,
comfortable in car drafts
and gleaming lights
that dilute natural shine.
to the sight of airplanes,
police cars and helicopters
than anything else.
but you dreamed of wings
so much bigger than aspect ratio,
so much wider.
you were higher.
so that day you took me there,
i knew i was out of my element.
your forest stories teased me;
sitting on the edge of your shoe soles.
and that riverbank that you tiptoed on.
little smirk always flashing your white pearls
when you were whisking through this place.
holding my hand in a tight grip
as you gave me a tour of your hidden burrow.
i had never been so in--
and out of place before.
the atmosphere was brisk
glancing the hairs on my neck,
goosebumps rising on my skin
as i swore feathers fell from your shoulders.
purple streaks nuzzle orange bands
that hold together golden twines
The woman from ParisI took much pleasure in losing my way in Paris' morbid and dangerous streets,
Where sole the high arrogant walls whispered me words I was able to understand,
These stretches of granite trapped me like the grave I've always dreamt of.
The Ladies' ice-cold and distant beauty inebriated me with all the bitterness of temptation;
Under a dirty, driving rain, I gazed at them and suffered
While the parisian mist permeated on my heart its burning frostbites,
And hearses of madness couldn't stop from parading through my mind.
"Veux-tu voir la face cachée de Paris ?" - A slender voice dragged me out of darkness
The Seine flowed, flowed, flowed...And stopped.
Her voice, like a carillon, announced Summer's return,
The breeze blew the rain, the sun revived these leaves dead for centuries,
As if she saved me from a waking nightmare.
"Je t'en prie, ne me regarde pas comme ça..." - An embarrassed smiled was being painted on her magenta cheeks
That was her, th
homesick for childhoodshe was a carefree little girl
with smiles hidden deep down
in her pockets, and she'd only
give them out to the most deserving.
when the quarter hour of her life
struck, however, things changed.
her world was painted black
on accident, millions of shades
turned ashy due to a sickness
that breeds on those empty
spaces between words.
she was dropped into summer
covered in homemade scars,
and with summer, her innocence
was eaten away.
pinned to a bed
like prey, she watched herself
consumed into another
(this world is the 7 a.m. frost
left on winter windows.
and it scares me)
The Cracks Of RealityI traced the tips of my fingers over her porcelain
Felt the skin raise in bumps of sensation.
My mouth fit so well into the crook of her neck
And as her her eyes closed, her breathing shaky,
I found myself swallowing and my heart beating twice as fast.
As her hips rolled into me, as her nails clenched into the sheets,
She told me once more that she loved me, and I assured her I felt the same.
But then reality came, settling into the cracks of my fantasies.
And she slipped from my fingers.
And I was alone.
the days spent on the front stepsevery time you rip the lid off
the shell of styrofoam
questions your motives.
every secret you whisper into her naphthalene
stays there. it dies a little
as protein is scrambled. home is not a place.
her curve is ejected
as unidentified. it is bile
rolling back, the sheet of ebbing tide.
you always speak of horses
armoured, whisky clattering on their breath,
kingdoms burning and knights
riding off into the valley of deep sleep
you always speak of ships
leaving, pearly cord
as a farewell extending from coast
to hull forming an image of crying Mary
it shines in front of you
it calls out your name
when the day is done i'll be goneIn my fingertips is the devil
Daring me to touch what is not to be touched
And I care not, reaching through my own open ribcage
To touch what lies between inflating balloons that are my lungs-
In my ears echo your voice,
Begging me not to reverse the corruption in my heart
And I care not, reaching between my lungs to grasp my heart with my inked fingers
To release the sigil stitched deep into the veins of my heart.
but he loves meshe says, "sweets, pay attention:
just because he kisses the bruises on your skin,
don't make up for the fact he gives 'em to you."
Neutron StarPoetry alights on my heart like dew.
I wake up on a cloud
and the silver lining is my sun
shooting insight into my star-crossed eyes.
I swallow it with a dose of daydreams:
take as often as needed,
which is often as much as the Milky Way wants,
The cosmic doctor comes to visit
laughs at my insecurities
and cries at my confidence
and spins me around on my axis
until my cloud settles on my skin
where I'm fallen and nestled in bleary morning wildflowers
And the supergiant gone critical
and the moisture sapped from oceans of hope
in my verdant blanket.
I burrow deeper
into waking aether
pluck a quill from a dazzle-bird drifting by,
and sticking a spile into the skyflowers,
I pour my lifeblood ink
onto papyrus laced with whimsy.
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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