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i listen to too many 8tracksi've never told anybody this,
but i'm telling you now that someday
i'm going to swim into the ocean
and never come back.
i'm going to swim so far out
that not even the largest lighthouse
could find me. i'm going
to let the seawater soak
into my veins until i'm bursting,
salty with the bitterness
of all the times i never had,
like the nights you rubbed
circles on my back. i'm going
to fight against the current, knowing
that i'll be defeated before
i even begin. it doesn't matter
that someday my body will be found
by either man or animal, for this body
is mere transport; my soul
will be of the sea, of the tides
that wash onto the shore and cling
to the sand. and maybe,
if you look closely enough,
you'll find me riding the current
probably a few weeks agoyou’re seven cups of coffee in and it’s 1 a.m.
the waffle house countertop seems
expansive in the dim light.
for the first time this night,
you deny your waitress the right
to pour you another cup.
if coffee can’t keep you awake,
you lay a tip on the tabletop when she is
bent over her phone.
she might be your age,
rings etched under her eyes
from a procession of shifts spent
waiting for the sun to rise.
outside, you spark the lighter.
smoke slides down into your lungs
then shoots back out your nose,
curls in haloes above your head.
wade out into the adjacent field of barley
where the plants are hunched over
in their opulence; teeming with granules
that beg for the harvest.
cup the soft soil in your palms,
mix it with the scintillating light from the diner,
and realize you are only just beginning to understand
the complexity of things.
saccharineshe’s made of cotton candy:
spin, twirl, break, then dissolve.
sugar rushes through her veins,
viscous, arteries clogging
from the buildup. her eyes are filmy
and she leaves a sticky residue
wherever she touches. many
find her a delight but she rarely stays
for long, her presence disappears
as their lips forget her name,
their tongues forget her taste.
she starts everywhere and ends
nowhere. parents warn their children:
stay away, she’ll make your teeth rot.
yet they persistently return
with their nickels and dimes,
insisting on just one more taste.
seasonal reflectionsi. autumn arrived with a reckoning,
the pine cones held secrets and they’d whisper
to me in the night as their sweet wood hands fell
to the ground; i tasted maple honey
while sticky fingers scraped bark
that screamed sweetly to the sunset
ii. winter came slowly, timberland
freeze and peppermint icicle swirls
on frosted puddles as cold as Siberian igloos,
Eskimo girls in bear skin hats and leather gloves;
i was never one of them but i heard
they breathe out steam in glacial time
iii. spring bloomed and so did the bruises,
black and blue like Van Gogh’s starry
night, minus the stars; my teeth grew crooked
as wildflower veins and my hair sprouted
like meadow grass, i pretended i was a coppice
nymph and at dusk i sang with the cicadas
iv. summer sought the hidden gardens,
the scorched earth cultivated secrets in barren
soil, foolish, i dug for the answers but uprooted
only last year’s seeds, tore the foundation down
with broken nails; i danced with honey feet on
It’s been a year and I can still remember waking up, disoriented and alone. You were my compass, and you left. I don’t quite know how, but I’ve managed to make my own way without you. And it hurts. God, it hurts. Sometimes I wonder where you are and what you’re doing and who are you with? Are you with someone else? Are you with him? I know you won’t ever receive this letter, that the postal service will realize how hopeless these efforts of sending this are, but I can’t help myself. I can’t help that I still think about the way your lips fit perfectly with mine or how right it felt to be with you. I know that this message will end up as one of thousands of others in the dead letter office but maybe, just maybe, it will reach you.
Six months and four days: that’s how long it’s been since he has sent the letter. He lives in New York City, in an apartment that he still has yet to pay
Theological Semanticswe are on vacation in Florida
when she asks me, “what is God?”
and i correct her, “who is God?”
and she shakes her head, repeats
“what is God?”
the sea sounds fill the gap.
i can see a storm roll in
over the ocean expanse
and i take a breath and answer:
God is all of the things that can’t be explained
with recitations and verses.
God is the space that empties itself to tangibility
and the ghosts that scream in the wind.
God is the meaning between the breaths and last night’s
whiskey running through your veins.
God is the reflection in your eyes and the mist exhaled
into January nights that evaporates under the moon.
God is the sounds too high to hear, frequencies
not meant for humanity because we would misinterpret.
God is all of the pasts that never were and all of the
futures that will never come to be.
“does that answer your question?”
and the sea washes
away our footprints
The Eventual Give and TakeI can always tell when I’m pushing you over the edge, and I want to stop, I do. I want to close the wounds I’ve opened, to patch you up with dollar store bandages so you will no longer bleed sorrow. I want to make it okay. I want your eyes to shine like the stars you capture and your smile to reflect sincerely when you look in the mirror. I want to please you and I want to unburden the weight I put on your shoulders. I want you to be joyful, but not happy, because happiness can be washed away as quickly as sand is pulled back into the sea. I want to be your escape, not your prison. So give me the key, and I’ll lock it away with all of the other things that I want.
My dear, what you lack in understanding you make up for in insolence. You have never come close to pushing me over the edge. You have never made me bleed sorrow. I may appear to break and bend to the whims of your subconscious desires but remember: an ounce of advice makes for a wealth of p
The DregsThere are kids killing
themselves on concrete
beneath flickering street lamps
that watch over the city like
and T.J. Eckleburg would
shake his head,
lost in the urban sprawl
of the future eating the
past. They are
trying on tongues
under clouded moonlight,
for mother, madre, mére,
ahm, abatyse, äiti,
but stumbling over strange
vowels and unfamiliar
consonants because their
teeth are stained from
too-hot coffee and a
of fluoride. Caffeine
overload, synapse electric,
a metropolis made hectic
by layered skyscrapers
clawing at the sun, shadows
casted over the neighborhoods
no one speaks about
How to Ride a HorseBecause he’s kicked you
assert your dominance
Lead him to the mounting block
Climb atop his back
Let him feel
your weight before
you squeeze his belly
Take the reins
between your fingers
to the ring
Warm him up
with repetitive circles
Before you point
him towards the jump
urge him to a canter
as you fly through
the air and land
Straighten up— don’t
UntitledA bloody mess in the room
Oops I'm sorry
I killed the groom
Sobs and cries everywhere
I smile happily
And loves the despair
Somber faces on the field
Smirk upon my victory
Broken hearts won't be healed
Stroke the frills of her dress
The white now turned crimson with my work
One more life made less...
The place where they were to be married
The caskets were laid
Soon to be buried...
CasketSkin that splinters by day and burns by night,
Shaking in the corner where wailing voices echo,
Itching the skin until blood spills,
Will it ever ease the tension?
Skin that trembles by day and shudders by night,
Vomiting in the corner where crows shrieking echoes,
Coughing until blood reaches the throat,
Will it ever ease the agony?
You can hear the sky ringing, ringing with the sounds of war
The ground has turned to ash, cinders left behind by these fucking monkeys
Monkeys and their petty quarrels
You can feel, you hear the sound of burning
A world destroyed by a race who was left behind to care for it
Humans and their ridiculous fighting, the never ending fighting
The ghosts take you into the space betwixt spaces, and you can see all
You begin to live vicariously, watching through the eyes of another
And when one pair of eyes goes dark, you find another
And like this, you witness the fall of empires
The destruction of nations
The end of all
You watch as society collapses and rots
You watch as worms devour all
And the snakes start to sing
Bloodlust.This world is merciless,
Cruel, unforgiving, and worthless.
But at the same time the world is amazing,
Wonderful, forgiving, and breath taking.
The cruel is what I see almost all the time,
The breath taking side is so rare its almost a crime,
People bully and hurt others for fun,
When you're in the corner and covered in their tall shadows its hard to see the sun.
What doesn't make sense is the innocents are always afraid of these people,
What makes even less sense is they believe the things that turn out to be so evil,
I hope the people who call them names and push them down know that they might be alone,
I hope they know that those mean bullies make them feel like they have no one to turn too, that they're on their own,
I think that the people who get hurt don't stand up for themselves because they're afraid,
Its weird how someone can be afraid of a peer yet not be afraid of a blade,
Sometimes I wonder why other people bully the innocents why the make them go through so much pain,
Colours of DepressionWhite as blinded,
Red like hellfire,
Crimson like blood,
Orange like fire,
Grey as clouded,
Yellow as faded...
Green like conspire,
Blue as flooded,
Purple as haunted,
Black has shrouded...
Murder is FUN.Lets watch them burn,
Lets watch them die,
Lets throw them in a ditch.
Lets cut their eyes,
Lets watch them cry,
Lets get away with it.
Murder is mesmerizing,
Murder is fun,
Murder is what I have done.
Murder is here,
Murder is pure,
Murder brings out fear,
I love blood,
I love death,
I love killing them and meth,
Today is a good day,
Today they shall die,
Today no one shall ask why.
Lets watch them burn,
Lets watch them die,
Lets throw them in a ditch.
Lets cut their eyes,
Lets watch them cry,
Because murder is fun,
... and I love it.
Whispers in the DarknessWhispers in the Dark*
This night has stirred
It is not as quiet as I thought
In the distance ahead
There came a voice
A whisper in the darkness
It said, "The Old Ones were.
The Old Ones are.
The Old Ones shall be."
Whose voice it is I know not
Nor do I care to know.
Some things are best
When left unknown.
*The Whisperer in the Darkness, Nyarlathotep, by H P Lovecraft
The little ones stay in their beds and say good night to their day. They snuggle into the sheets and hope to dream sweet dreams. The moon shone through the window and the pillows are fluffed just right. Sleep would take them very soon this night. A creak in the house, the wind through the chimes. Taking their turns with rhythm and rhymes. The child’s smile fades as he drifts even deeper. Not thinking quite clearly of creaks creaking closer.
When the Night comes close don’t open your eyes. When the Night comes close to sing sweet lullabies; to whisper the sleep into your ears. Don’t whip open your eyes because then you will see. To fear the Night is to fear me
horrorhis tongue spits venom into my trembling bird bones-
whittles away from the inside out, progressing
intangibility to insomnia, hush dear and-
sleep, a hesitant rung above unconsciousness,
a land that none wish to dwell for
too long, fairytale monsters and twisted
whispers intertwine with synapses, leaving me
writhing and shaking and finished:
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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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