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Looking On Stars From A Dirty WorldIn some other time, in some other place,
in the vast reaches in the darkest space,
We've given it one more chance,
at undying romance.
At the melding of souls,
to coalesce like the elements,
binary stars around black holes,
Hot love that burns as coals,
along the night sky.
Subjective ObjectiveRiding on the precipice of a collapsing wave-function. In between initial frames of reference, relative to the world at stand still. Becoming all possible states until no more are left to assume. Invincible, irreplicable, pushing off the earth as the earth pushes back. Neither either but both. Micro macro, negative positive, repel attract. Riding on the precipice of a collapsing wave-function.
My Trip To The GroundI've been pushed from behind,
I don't know by who.
When I look I hope to find,
It was me and not you.
Because when push turns to shove,
I'll shove harder than you do.
When you pull hatred out of love,
Not much else is true.
Why am I being pushed anyways?
As I got close,
You should have warned me to stay away.
Now I'm upset as I contest why I feel this way:
You were my savior just yesterday.
As I trip on my feet,
I don't know what to think.
Where's your helping hand?
In black sand I've begun to sink.
You have a mighty smile,
Will you be here for awhile?
Gotta say I think not,
You look like you're lost.
Here And NowHere And Now
Here we are, in the here and now,
nowhere else we'd rather be.
Of all of time and space,
this is when I want to be.
We fly, the universe and I,
together in this place.
We'll lose each other soon enough,
though we're in no grand haste.
Death is the final moment, the clarifying breath,
every moment is that moment, only death has yet to join us.
Breath in the air, death will soon be here,
and now is all we have, for all we really care.
The World Without WordsThere is a world in which no one can say but one word. Any word. Their word. After that, they die. There is no warfare, no poverty, no suffering. Men are unable to explain away the cruelty of their actions, and so man toils under the weight of his actions. No lies spread by way of eager lips.
In this world, there is a man and a woman sitting together in a bar, having a comfortable silence between them.
He leans against the bar, an eyebrow quirked at her. She inspects him with pursed lips, taking him in without interruption. He is a tall man and a big guy. His hair is thick and invasive, and dyed green. She takes more time than he'd like her to, and so he gives her a clown face. She's beautiful. She chortles at him, and he lets his chest down and breath out; she's beautiful and he made her laugh. A wonderful start by most of society.
She tosses her long, luxurious, lengthy hair back over her shoulder and adjusts herself to face him. He straightens up and brushes a hand through his hair,
Man in Space and Time"What if I did do those big and important things?"
I thought to myself aloud.
"What if I stop being afraid of living?"
I swore then I'd instigate change in the universe.
On a tiny blue rock in nothing, I could change the world.
But when I was done, everything was in flames.
I frowned and thought long and hard about it,
sighing as the flames took all breaths away.
"I destroyed everything. I wanted to do good, not bad.
I'm not a bad person."
I stopped being selfish. In that moment I gave up the chains of consciousness
and let go of morality, the world, myself.
"This is the Universe. Flames have eaten my blue rock,
and now they dance in a new world just for them."
The fires raged to life and breathed and were powerful,
and they changed things and sometimes what they changed was beautiful
and sometimes what things became was beautiful. Ash rose in the violent winds,
embers hugged the earth.
"I did it. I lived and did big and important things, and everything I thought was
bad or ugly
An Affair on MyselfWake up early morning, it's time to be on my feet.
No time to eat something, I've got a place to be.
The sun beats on my head, I'm burnt like the sand.
The past whirls in my mind, I can hardly stand.
Time like water flows on by, currents in the sun.
Frozen feelings begin to melt, oh look how they run.
I don't feel the light burn, the peeling of my skin.
I only feel that urge to stop the loneliness within.
I could just scream! Unleash what's inside of me.
That is I would do that, if I wasn't so empty.
I can just shout! Let my heart sing.
That is I would do this, if the words weren't so heavy.
Vapid vixens vex me, fleeting like the wind.
Their faces come and go, stop before they begin.
I like to loose myself, to the bottom of the drink.
I'll think of you fondly, 'til next we meet.
Tender loving is all I really wanted.
Hard to love anyone, by the past you're still haunted.
I don't really like you all, just strangers in a mask.
But a touch is a touch, and there's peace of mind at last.
The MawThe Maw
An endless river barren black with souls,
the living wailing as they wait for Hope.
In all their minds they hear the chewing,
the bones crunching and the blood spewing.
Filled with dread they flail about,
they don't want to die, when will Hope pull them out?
Oh what a sight to see the hopeless hell of humanity,
The moaning corpses shoveled into the Maw,
Freedom to live forbade by law,
The fear of timeless prison,
bodies mulched by society's jaw,
consumed by social religion.
The young, the pure, the innocent.
They're stricken dumb, blind, and tainted.
Their youth is eaten by spirits malevolent.
They become old men with the same cruel intent.
Struggling and failing to escape the Maw,
Before death all are beaten raw.
I watch friends and loved ones sigh and ache in line.
They stumble on, deaf to my pleas for salvation.
Like a haunting their lives are stuck on a miserable repeat.
They dress like government issue live stock,
branding themselves with different lies and false freedom,
A Practice in Freeflow.Set up: A man ought to have his own private room, i.e. a study. A place where can go to work and be left alone for however long he needs it. Even his loved ones are proscribed* from entry. But an artist seeks to express the life expressed within, and how can you refuse your lover from the one place you pay her highest tribute?
And so she enters...
Her presence was first an annoyance. I'm not annoyed with her, per se, but with a foreign presence in my most private of areas. In this small room, cramped with books and papers and drawings and music, lay the spirit of I. The mind's soul, which doesn't seek to know all things, but to experience all things. It is my time and place alone from the human race.
Here she is. I'm not speaking to her. I'm pretending to be slightly agitated and highly invested by my work. In truth, I can't put any productive words down to text. I try to look at her when she doesn't see me. I like to see her. Not in quick glances; those are saddening. I like to take h
I locked my heart in a mahogany box and threw away the key.
There was no one to care for - there was nothing left for me.
My heart had ceased beating long ago
after years of misery and pain.
Through countless highs and lecherous lows
I became immune to pounding rain.
I walked without even my shadow as a friend.
Numb to all emotions that surfaced to my skin.
Knowing I would be alone to the bitter end
suffering the consequences of sin.
I was shunned and shamed -
bruised and maimed.
No one cared - no one knew.
No one bothered to change my view.
My life was a silent movie
of a language no one spoke.
With plenty of plot holes for all to see
and an ending of mirrors and smoke.
It was getting hard to catch my breath.
Surely death would be oh so sweet.
Addicted to the thought like Crystal Meth,
it skipped through my head like an erratic beat.
She stumbled upon a key that washed up on the shore.
Wondering what it could unlock.
Determined to solve the riddle and explor
RoseThe greatest romance
Lies in your deep crimson color
Your many petals
Softer than skin
Your sharp thorns
Cause me to bleed
My love for you is infinite
The pain you cause me
Is a pleasure
You may be just a flower
But your beauty
Knows no rival
You AreI am the moon,
And you are the sun,
I pale in comparison to you.
I am a student,
And you are a professor.
I cant keep up with you.
I am a snowflake,
And you are a blizzard,
I will never be like you.
I am a tree,
And you are a fire,
You can destroy me easily.
I am a star,
And you are the universe.
You are simply my everything.
I shrug into Harry's shirt
underneath my autumn scarf--
cologne on the cuffs bringing
color as I close my eyes,
the brown of his hair,
laughter, pine green.
Fingers on marbled buttons
smooth as the cream
he puts in his chai.
I think of him like rain on a Sunday,
a slow breath uttered in calm,
eyes shut to listen,
he is peace,
stability in grayer moments.
He is the space in my empty bed
I ache for him the way
I crave prayer and
the feel of a rosary.
Locks of LoveI haven't cut my hair
Since just before
I walked across the stage
Sixteen months ago.
I grew it out
Because, last summer, you loved
To run your fingers
Through its coppery threads.
That always made me feel
When you left for school again in August,
I couldn't bring myself
To get a haircut.
What if you came back,
And this time, my heart was ready for you?
Mid-semester, you told me that,
While you and your friends
Built your school's bonfire,
It was customary
That no one cut his hair
Or even shaved
Until the structure was finished.
I don't think I told you
That I let mine continue to grow
In your honor, except
I didn't cut it on Burn Day.
When we kissed on Christmas Eve,
You weaved your fingers
Through my silken locks
And made me feel beautiful once more.
I still didn't cut my hair,
Even after you left in March,
Save for the split ends
I trimmed in May,
Hoping to eradicate negative energy
But not wanting to let go of you.
Now it's September.
Epiphanyhearken when healing
from the hurt of love hamstrung
the hander of the handkerchief
may be your heart’s hope
If I Were A Love PoetFor my Laban. For my love.
Sometimes, often enough
when my thoughts are consumed
with you- I find myself wishing
that I was a love poet.
Wouldn’t it be beautiful
to piece words together so artistically
that I could make people understand
what it’s like to miss hands
that have never held me?
Wouldn’t it be the damnedest thing,
if I could make a stranger
know how it feels to kiss you?
Sweetly, passionately, softly
Hesitantly- and yet all at once?
Even though their lips have never met yours,
Even though our lips have never met.
How lovely would it be
to sanely, yet romantically
explain to my parents what it’s like
to fall asleep with you?
We could tell them how you giggle when I beg you
to be the big spoon- because I feel like it’s to much responsibility.
We could tell them about the sleepy kisses you give me
at 3 a.m when you find me searching for
thuggish loverno more on love. tell me
instead of the hearts you've
beaten, and the way
they kept on
lukedon't leave me again;
the seasons flutter by with
the blink of spider web eyelashes
twirled around the pieces of
my decaying heart, molded
and renewed with the dawn
of your spring palms.
my senses spark in a
drunken flood of desire;
i refuse to wash away
our finger-painted memories
into the grasping swallow of
an atlantic undertow, but
the stale taste of vodka
sleeps under my palette.
you don't arc your silver
tongue to sip my salted
gums or latch your fists
into bird's nest tangled curls
--anymore, and the shivers
of shadows spin down my
splintered spine, the snap
of a twig between your
i'm alone; your cosmic dreams
and galactic eroticism treads
underneath another damsel's
breast, an arrow to her heart.
I wallow, naked and discarded,
drinking and drowning in the
alcoholic buzz of your sweat
on my tongue, all along knowing
you and i will never love again.
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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