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So watch me bend and watch me break,
And watch me melt just like a snowflake….
Once pure and white and so unique,
Now drowned in mud, too shy to speak.
I am paper held to flame,
Silently accepting blame….
Being punished for what they’ve done,
A life ended before it’s begun.
I am the outcast, the black sheep,
Silently singing myself to sleep….
Trying to forget all my past,
Being shunned and getting rest at last.
I am the rose that blooms no more,
Their thorns have made my insides sore….
I am the remains turned to dust,
The ring I wear is now all rust.
I am the castle that’s crumbled down,
Overrun by all the town….
And all my walls have now grown tired,
And fallen in the hatred hired.
Now I am nothing but a mouse,
Not welcome in my childhood house….
I have jaded my own name,
Just a pawn in life’s cruel game.
They control me as they please,
And take my body with such ease….
And I lay naked, beat, and bruised,
And sometimes at night, I think that I love you.
Why are my feelings for you so strong?
I’m sick of crying myself to sleep.
What’s the point if you’re already gone?
And sometimes at night I want to see your smile.
I want you to put your lips next to mine.
But you’re never there, so I’m left alone,
Lying and saying that I’m doing fine.
And sometimes at night when I’m lying in bed,
I hear your sweet whisper talking to me.
But it’s never real and the words are pretend.
I just wish you could see the you that I see.
And sometimes at night, I want you to hold me.
I want to be wrapped in your arms through the night.
But this bed isn’t big- it can only fit one,
And squeezing in more just wouldn’t seem right.
And sometimes at night, as I drift off to sleep,
I see those beautiful, deep hazel eyes.
But when I wake up there is no one there-
It was only passion and lust in disguise.
And sometimes at night, when my body is cold,
Her once bright eyes have faded to a grey.
The sparkle they once captured has drifted.
All the memories of the light of day,
Are now gone- her spirit can’t be lifted
Look at her there as she lays so helpless.
The light of the candle her only friend.
Where she will soon go to, I cannot guess
Motionless, knowing her life will soon end
Her skin, once so soft, is cold to the touch.
The pigments of flesh have all gone to white.
Her body is weak- the plague is its crutch.
And now I fear this is her final night.
I sit by her bedside and hold her hand,
As my wife passes on to wonderland.
wishing wells and pumpkin shells
coffee with mint cream
wedding bells and magic spells
life is but a dream
mother says it's rain today
drought's been sixteen years
pigs will fly and cats will stray
seventeen brings tears
hooting owls and leopard prowls
burn the midnight sun
men with jowls eat fattened cows
never had such fun
father says it's time to go
new year's 'round the bend
can't be late for nature's show
fish-face now the trend
dreamer's dream and lover's love
wishing time would fly
blue moonbeam on heaven's dove
hope I never die
I Fell AsleepI fell asleep
In the arms of the enemy.
My worst mistake,
As I let his words get to me.
I left my life
In the hands of a killer.
I trusted my blood
To a man who's a murderer.
I closed my eyes
As he lulled me away.
I loosened my grip
As he began to sway.
I fell asleep
In the arms of the enemy.
I lost my life,
but I lost my life willingly.
Needle of the PineYou're a needle of the pine, my dear -
a poking of the spine, a narrow rod
to gently prod my heart in waters brine.
And when I fall, you pull me tall
to bask in heaven's shrine, for what you are
'tis not sub-par, my needle of the pine.
Solitary Mind of Connected MadnessI see a sliver in the outskirts of eyes,
Tripping on madness, of madness this ride
Is, a circus of freaks. And there's no place to move,
And no place to breathe there's no room it's
My mind pressing mirrors upon mirrors and halls,
Palms touching nothing but heat-slicken claws,
And bent are the fractures of twitches of dream,
And fragmented truths of escaped tragedy.
Sobbing are soldiers not laid seige to a cheek,
Fools that are weary, held back as they're freed,
And o how the merry-go-round spins its tales,
Moving forward, neverending, on circling trails.
Succumb to the effervescence of thrilling deceit,
Believe when you don't, acceptance is key,
Be lost with the timeless, unwavering charm,
In circles, not touching skin, all arm in arm.
I see a world on a sliver of fire,
Tripping on madness, on madness on wire,
Is it I'm slipping at the edge of a hope?
It's time to accept we're together
The real meaning of friendshipFriendship
Kidding around turns into
Remembering painful times
Ignoring the painful truth that lies ahead
Ending all hope
Never finding any good in it
Demanding they be there for you but they never
Seem to keep their promise of staying
Heartache and loneliness always comes at the end
Insightful friends are nothing but a myth
Promises broken and pitying oneself
In MorningThrough a wintry window laced with ice, lie
petrified panes of frosted grass beckoning,
languorously outstretched. A shivering bird’s cry
reaches horizon’s edge—that razor reckoning,
those impossible dimensions—hung like a kite
on a cloud, precipitously balanced between a dull
existence with poking pinpricks the only light,
and the embers of potential, slowly stoking. A lull
unfurls, a quiet eternity uncurling in that predawn
chill, everything faded to silent sepia, frozen
as though this instant is more important, torn
from time and left right where it was chosen
to be. Light spills over and creeps through
fractured, flinty sky turned a clear, unbroken blue.
SanityThe walls of this place were white,
Sanitation and cleanliness were no doubt at play.
Walking through them I search for the light,
Lost forever in this building, searching for the day,
The one where I would no longer be lost.
The rooms were empty,
Not a soul but for the ones at rest.
I wouldn’t say I felt guilty,
But what I had done, I would address,
And realize my action’s cost.
Continuing through these halls,
I can’t help but look at the paint.
I remember the red smears on the walls,
The copper scent lingering still and faint,
Yet luckily those memories I tossed.
I pass on, leaving behind this phenomenon.
I see a shred of the sun’s rays,
And quickly I leave my role of false surgeon.
Behind me the blood of my past lays,
Leaving it to the cold and frost.
Tick TockTick tock goes the clock
It's all a little hazy,
Tick tock she's in shock
The girl that we call Lacey
Little lines cut her neck
But no one wants to see them
All her friends wish she were dead
But no one wants to be them
One or two can make it through
The Hell that she lives in
But nothing that they say is true
So no one can believe it
Her life is just a bunch of rags
There's nothing that can save her
Her breathing comes in heavy drags
Each saying "You Deciever"
Tick tock goes the clock
It's all a little hazy
Tick tock she's a rock
The body we call Lacey
SuicideThe drawback of suicide is
there was a time I did exist.
If only there was a way
to erase all that away.
No-one left to remember me.
I would never want that.
No-one left to miss me.
I wouldn't deserve it anyway.
No-one to wonder why I couldn't stay.
You wouldn't understand the answer.
No-one left to hate me.
To think I was selfish.
No pressure to remain here
just to keep you happy.
If only there was a way.
To erase everything away...
Red begins to breathe in the darkness of night.
Red is who’s left at the end of a fight.
Red is present when lust enters the mind.
Red is there, he is all you will find.
Red’s heavy breathing, his panting, his screams,
Flow through your mind, ripping its seams.
Red’s sharp claws, like razors or daggers,
Come out among those who show off their staggers.
The bottle is best known as Red’s best friend,
They have led men to their marriage, and also their end.
Red has a wrath that is unlike any other-
In you and your sister, brother, father, and mother.
We are all Red, and Red is everyone.
Red enjoys playing games that involve a loaded gun.
Red seeps from your wrists, from your chest, from your mouth.
He is all you can see as your life tumbles south.
Red is a puppet master, toying with you.
Sometimes making you say things that aren’t even true.
Red controls you, making you his slave.
Red is you master until you’re in the grave.
Red makes you his mistre
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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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