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The story of glassSo I saw her.
I saw her broken
and I saw the hollow glaze in her eyes
like the the world had sucked the life out of her.
they were a work of beauty
and they filled my heart with what they didn't posses.
She lay upon the floor as if in pieces
like broken glass.
I walked towards her and the glass she shed cut my feet
but my curiosity grew bold enough not to care about the red foot prints
that trailed my walk.
I slowly picked up her pieces and my hands were raw with cuts
and painted with the red of shimmering blood
but all I could feel was my heart throbbing
all I wanted was to try to piece this girl back together
and so I tried.
I really did.
But some pieces were too far gone
under my feet and beyond the repair I could give.
So I willingly filled those broken pieces with my own
So I could see the cracks in her soul disappear
and I grew weak
so I could see her grow strong.
And she did.
I put her togethe
To Burn a Prayer...To burn a prayer
into a newborn's gentle skin
is but a scar
that the hands of time will carve
And to stitch the word of The Lord
to a young man's heart
Will shed blood in broken thread.
A golden cross may belong around your neck
But it's my necklace of thorns
Twine too tight not to bleed
To be subservient to an ancient book
Is but the slave of an unproductive world
In the eyes of a child who's mind has wings
Of a different colour.
And perhaps a life that is right for you
Is not one a child would grow into.
I'm used to itI would have followed you off the earth just to see a smile
break the stone of an endless frown
But instead I was thrown off the end of the earth for but the crash was never as soft as a fragile smile
Maybe it hurt
But it doesn't matter
I'm used to it after all
For but if something is put into routine, why change it?
I would have given warmth to the snow as it gingerly pranced down from the heavens to touch your cheek
Just to see you dance in winter's blaze.
But instead you let me stumble into an inferno
that scorched my heart black.
It broke me
But why should it matter when
I'm used to it.
For you never knew the break was in the hands of your fault
So I was left without a bandage
I would have knit a sweater of the finest of wool
to keep the shine in your eyes warm and gold
But your craft would stitch a straight jacket from the rawest of straw
And leave me confused
Boys can hurt too...And he sat
In a place no one could find him.
Where the grasp of his peers could not pull him under
And the hot breath of his family couldn't raise the hairs on his neck.
He ripped at his hair with his fingers
As if to pull out the fear
The feeling he got that impaled his heart.
He wondered how his heart could have been poisoned so
When it was sealed behind the cage of his ribs
And locked with a key of reason.
Perhaps, instead of protecting his heart
He imprisoned it.
He let that cage rust alone
So no one could get in
He let the rust encase his hopeful soul
And he let the very will to not get hurt
Guard the prison he obliviously made
And his heart slowly died of neglect
It cracked, and became a broken masterpiece.
The permanent scars that slowly appeared
Was as if an open door to the things he feared
And they crawled inside and replaced everything he once loved
His heart was
Love is LuckDoesn’t it eat at your heart
that your perfect soul mate might not even be born yet
They might not be your age
They might not live on the same side of the earth as you
They could be half a world away
Or they could have just died
And you wouldn’t even know
That one person could have been that man who just walked by you yesterday
Or that girl you saw on the train last week
That’s the scary part
They could be so close
But yet they will always be so far
the person who you belong with could be a century away
Or a century gone by
The person you could laugh with the most
Admire the most
Love the most
Is someone you may never meet
Someone who you will never lay eyes upon
Never feel their touch
And you would never know
Who they are
And the way they could feel for you
And the warmth they could give you
And that’s what makes
Dear meDear eyes
I'm sorry for all the tears that I made you shed.
I wish I could have kept you dry instead.
Those nights I didn't let you rest
I'm sorry for being such a pest
I'm sorry for fumbling to the ground
I wish I had done something more profound
I just couldn't wait to fall
For those people who said they would be there if I call
Sorry for all those nights of crying myself under
I wish I could have made a silent surrender
For those sweet words you heard and believed
I'm sorry, but they were from people who stole and thieved
I'm sorry I didn't listen to you from the start
Now my life is falling apart
I should have believed that you were right
I wish I had given you more of a fight
Sorry for letting those dancers dance and dice
What they did wasn't too nice
Stripes suit you fairly well
Too bad I had to put you through hell
Sorry for messing you up so bad
I hope that didn't m
That one girlShe's that one girl you see with the pencil woven
between her skinny fingers
She's the one who sits in the corner
instead of the middle of the room
The one who's always last to speak
The one who's words are kept secret to everyone
Always the one who bites
her own tongue
She's the girl who's beautiful
but doesn't think the same way
She's the one who can't be convinced
of the talents she holds
The flare that ignites the lives of the people around her
but she can't feel the heat for herself
She is weighed down by the insecurities she slings
over her shoulders
She's unconvinced of her own style
her own special self
She's the girl who paints
She's the girl who draws
She's the girl who writes
But second guesses every stroke of her brush
to every letter she prints
Shes that one girl whose eyes display a world
all her own
But she sees a somber world
staring back at her
Let your heart holdYou'll find be at the bottom
Watch at how my bones shake
Caged by the blazing bars of shame
Watch at how my heart awakes
Not to shatter under pressure
When your safety's on the line
And when your thoughts begin to fly
The way you act is how you're defined
I'm not the one to fight
When I'm at the head of the crusade
holding the beast that lay inside
with the worries that come cascade
I started to surender
when the light began to run
I was controlled by massacre
I had to chase the fading sun
When I'm on a faulter
Or on the end of dejection's blade
Walking a tightrope with one last thread
I still wont let my heart fade
I'm sent down onto my knees
Last words the last thing to shed
But yet when death is a charade
Backing down is the last thought in my head
Show me to the shipwreck
Watch at how my lungs collapse
Without a remedy or herb
Stay and watch my self-worth relapse
Ill never s
Silly little humanI see you day and I see you night
You are always up before it is light
Never seem to rest your head on your pillow
You seem like a rather peculiar fellow
I love you anyway because you are mine and I am yours
I follow you happily about the floors
Listening always and never too loud
I'm here for you when you are down
I rest my nose upon your cheek
And they are cold with the water your eyes seem to leak
It's silly how you do this
But I love you and can't wait to give you a kiss
The red lines on your arms are bumpy and diced
The thing that dances on them isn't too nice
You haven't eaten with me for a long time now
Its hard to imagine not eating, under vow
I see you lay in bed all day
Any hear you always say:
"I can't take it anymore. I wish I were dead"
I wish I had a clue of what you said
You're really weird, but it's okay tho
I love you and don't worry, I'm here for you
Silly little human! Get down from there!
Why did you suddenly kick away
I am a MouseI am a mouse.
I am quiet, I am nothing.
I am a book that nobody has read.
I am an eclipsed sun and a cloaked moon.
I am irrelevant and unwanted, a broken toy in an attic.
I am the dust in your rear-view mirror that you leave behind.
I am the air that you breathe in and spit out as something different.
I am the palest white. I am the darkest black. I am the dullest, emptiest grey.
I am the old man with forgotten memories and the baby who has yet to make them.
I am a forgotten word, dangling on the tip of your tongue, hanging on the noose of your lips.
I am a dried up stream. I am a felled forest. I am an abandoned cornucopia of resolute nothingness.
And there is Hell burning in my eyes.
PainParalized by the suffering
A shiver down my spine
Images of my past haunt me
No one can save me from this hell
to me you are perfect
I do not know the reasons
for all those scars burning
against your bright skin
you've been soaking
a pain reminiscing from past
we both cannot recollect
yet you are so beautiful..
when night gets darker
and I am the one...
who's hungered to undress
the spirit of you
slowly revealing the layers
coming off from shadows
disguised in desires
craving to be fulfilled
I will caress every corner
of your silhouette
until I figure the true shape
of your heart
I will rub those blisters
softly until every nerve
of you gushes into a river
and you moan into a life
I had promised you
years ago when we began
to breathe into each other
for all the truths
I must swallow
and lessons I must learn
you are the one
I am destined to discover
what it means
to love in perfection
A void within meAlone on this inhospitable night, once again
I let my memories guide my lost steps,
Wandering amid the ghosts of my past.
As I walk along the quay,
I stare at the feeble Seine flowing:
She's dying by the street lamps' hands
While the whole city asphyxiates.
Reflecting my own lack of humanity
Over the river's lighted surface,
Griefs come and go at the water's rhythm.
Once again, on this breathtaking night,
My feelings are sealed and my chest hollow.
Purple rain, chills of cold.... Or regret? I crave
My musical drug, my remaining salvation,
Spreading a sweet poison within me and
Eroding the remaining happiness I still have.
I plug my headphones...
A grin of relief appears on my weary face,
I flee to lenient lands, where a familiar Angel tucks me in.
These notes of violin split the immutable silence,
Fill the hole in, lit a bonfire to my soul.
This mermaid sings my dreams to me,
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
you talk like a travestyoh, mercury boy, you can't
write your way out of this
body or out of this mind;
you can pray like it's high-fashion,
insist you're only burning yourself out
(but tell me - do you feel like a god yet?)
if only for murky mirrors &
silver cicadas caught
in your ribcage, you've
got a knack for decaying
The PointIt’s the taste of cake mix on the spoon, that first time you ‘help’ bake a cake.
It’s seeing the bright world afresh after a dark nightmare, when you first wake.
It’s when you make them laugh and, in that moment, everyone loves a clown.
It’s when your heart stops before the roller coaster plummets down, down.
It’s when the lights go out before your favourite band plays and you scream.
It’s that moment you look around and everything’s perfect enough to be a dream.
It’s the anticipation of waiting for a new episode of your favourite television show.
It’s the first time you listen to your favourite record and you just sort of know.
It’s reading a book cover-to-cover and a million times more and still crying at the ending.
It’s the stiff, tight, real feeling of a smiling scab as you watch the wound mending.
It’s when you first meet your best friend and you hate each other (but in a good way).
california wintersthe tears
I rationed have all
run out. Tuesday comes
up behind me and steals
my breath; my cat snores.
she can’t sleep soundly
since she lost her seventh
life. I’m like that, I’m always
worried someone will try to steal
what I’ve already given away.
I miss color. newsprint sobs
washed me out. I am a
blank canvas, I am a faceless,
I am one
of you. I wake up sweating
and it’s winter and I can’t
sleep because my memories
follow me between my sheets;
jake still won’t listen.
we never knew we were the
lucky ones, we scarred, too. don’t
touch me. don’t want
me, don’t bare my bones
when you think I’m not
watching. I’m afraid of
myself. breathing loud
enough that others know
I exist; you follow me,
needing, laughing, it’s
a game. who has lost
the most, we all want
to win; I’m so tired, so scared,
there’s no one in the world
who sees me. I can’t cry.
we’re in a drought.
The Irony Of PerfectionOne who does not possess the gem of perfection sees himself but of a shadow of someone that is more, but yet renders clueless the plague he ceases to see upon him, for his imperfections sculpt him into a masterpiece all his own. The irony of perfection is only seen by the one who created himself perfect, his excellence in every lift of his finger and blink of his eye to bore him as he gains no further in what he used to value, in what his passion used to be but his love to vanish surprisingly as he preformed flawlessly to no where. Perfection creates nothing but bordom to build slowly as a sour scab on his soul, realizing he can go nowhere else but infront of a halting stop sign. He sighs as he watches his shadow build himself into more and more each day, longing to become what he was as if the shadow himself while the shadow builds only to become the possessor, unaware that he will soon wish to be his own shadow someday.
Un roti de Cupidon"Patron.. je suis pas sûr que ça soit une si bonne idée..."
Un bruissement d'ailes presque froufroutant sur sa gauche le fit se retourner d'un bond, mais il ne put percevoir qu'un bref mouvement du coin de l'oeil. Ils étaient rapides, bien trop rapides. Jamais le vieux ne réussirait. De nouveau ce bruit soyeux, semblable à des ailes de tourterelles, mais bien plus proche. Dans son esprit il pouvait les voir, tournant au dessus de sa tête comme autant de vautours prêts à la curée.
Le bruit assourdi des détonations résonna et tout autour d'Emmanuel une pluie de plumes commença à virevolter tandis que cinq bruits sourds accompagnaient la chute d'autant de corps autour de lui.
"Ramasse les, petit. On a encore du boulot."
Avec une grimace mi admirative, mi dégoûtée, le jeune homme se mit au travail, enfilant des lourds gants de cuir pour se protéger. Son sup
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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