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cover your eyes.i remember i came over to your house
and we watched them fall.
we crouched in front of the dimly glowing box
and tried to figure out what we should be feeling while we watched it all unfold in front of us.
we knew we were watching people, mothers, brothers, sisters, wives, husbands leave this world.
but we just saw smoke and we heard reporters screaching over one another trying to comprehend
it while maintaining a professional appearence.
but we knew that all humans watching this were trying not to break from the completely overwhelming
flood we were all feeling.
i noticed you were crying.
you didnt know anyone personally, but your heart was always the biggest and i'm sure you were trying
to make peace with someone up there and wondering why them, and why not someone else.
and i know you were never a religious person, despite your upbringing, and in that moment when people
were emerging, exhausted, confused and thankful, i knew you never would again. how could any god possibly
at best.i tired to sum it up in a way that i knew your addled brain could grasp.
i'd gotten used to simplifying things for you when you were like this.
but from my perspective, this give and take of ours left me feeling like i was
chasing that bus that turned up earlier than my brain or the timetable was
ready for, and i try and run across the street to reach it. sometimes i do,
and i get to rest and breathe. other times i almost reach it, but as my foot
hits the other side of the road it pulls away and i have to sit there and hope
it comes back around before it gets dark.
it was a clumsy way of describing it at best.
but i felt right with how much of it was up to some
higher unseen power that most of the time seemed against me.
against this cold.maybe if i had drunken more milk my bones would have been stronger,
maybe if i had not read so many magazines i wouldn't have spent
all of my senior year tearing myself apart and trying to puke my insecurities out.
maybe if i hadnt had spend so many nights out with him,
maybe if i had have gone to colorado with you that summer.
maybe if i had have picked those fucking secrets out from beneath your teeth,
and peeled them from under your tongue.
maybe then i would have been able to stop you.
maybe then i wouldn't be here.
maybe you would.
theres got to be another way.you made me so damn sure if i ever had the chance to burn something more substantial than just some metaphorical bridges.
like maybe i could set myself of fire and be reborn or just have a complete re do and try my luck at the draw of life again and hope i get an existence that doesn't make me want to just go extinct or curl up in a ball.
or at least one that had some better timing cause i'm sick of finding my way back into your life on days when all you smell
like is death or him (which to me is the same thing) and i always smell failure and utter rejection on myself when i finally make it back to my apartment after shuffling around the city like a lovesick zombie or just a lesser version of whoever i think i would be if you would stop choosing him over me.
like last night when he left, you came around and it was like once he leaves your field of vision you forget about him, like hes a god damn doctor who villian. and we talked about pocket relics and how you found the movie stub from
your parents dont need a ghost.i couldn't sleep last night
cause i kept picturing you
and then my memory tripped
and i remembered the summer we spent
cramped in your tour bus
and how before i opened my eyes completely
you and him
looked them same.
and i felt my heart stop
imagining how your parents must feel.
and then i stopped again
thinking how he must feel
every time he looks in a mirror.
When you lose a best friendWhen we said friends forever and
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
She's an artistShe's an artist.
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
At peace within this tranquil garden,
I picture the moments where I've made you smile.
Those times are endlessly precious to me,
I think they're worth the while.
They're worth the time I've spent with you,
Even if it wasn't long.
I only wish I'd spent a little more,
Before our love was gone.
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
Still HereSuicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness
Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
Ideationlocked in a room
with only one escape,
or so it seems.
your hands shake and you drop the key.
Suddenly you're unsure.
Do I want to pick it up?
Do I want to find it?
Do I want to leave?
you think to yourself
there's no other choice.
find the key or corrode, or rust
wear down the hinge
use sadness as the key.
You have the answer now.
Just open the door.
Just walk outside and don't look back.
Let yourself leave with no regrets.
And yet you can't.
You're afraid, you think,
but you are actually strong.
Don't run away.
Don't take that leap.
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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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