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The Rent Is DueThe rent is due and I don't have the money.
I walk through the lobby, past the doorman who gives me a scowl, out the revolving door.
My father calls. He only ever talks about the bad things.
It's cloudy and gray outside. It's always like that this time of year.
My hands are shaking and I desperately need a smoke.
I see a man and ask if I can bum one off him. He tells me to get away from him.
He calls me a 'hobo'.
Am I? I'm going to be. Soon.
The rent is due and I don't have the money.
I have a mid term that I haven't even started yet.
I should go back inside, but why?
I lost my wallet last week. Someone maxed out all of my cards.
I have a headache.
Cars pass. People speak.
The rent is due and I don't have the money.
When I go home I'm sure someone will be there.
Someone will have called.
Someone will be there.
My furniture will be gone, and my things will be packed.
I have such a headache.
I smell awful.
I look awful.
I'm a 'hobo'.
I have a headache.
I smell bad.
I need a smoke.
Permission to ExistFor her to live without me?
It would take desperate measures. Measures that I don't think others would appreciate.
I, for one, act automatically. I do not think about my actions.
The world is made up of actions. Actions, and consequences.
I don't make choices. I don't change my path. And why?
Because the world is actions and consequences.
Intentions are lost.
Thought is lost.
Blame is lost.
Only consequences have staying power.
And the consequences of me, a vital part of her personality and mind and being, leaving her?
Well, they would be devastating.
And frankly, I don't want to leave.
As much as she'd like to think I can just pull away, pretend as though nothing has ever happened...
Life does not work that way.
Avoiding the problems you have will not make them go away.
And if you try, it will all turn out for the worse.
She thinks she can escape me, but she has never been able to in the past.
And well, to be frank, I don't want her running off.
I don't need permission t
Validating Your Tears (I'm Sorry) But what you don't know is that I am frustrated that I can't write a poem about the thorns growing on my veins or icebergs rooting in my heart. I can't write about the void in me when he no longer plays me Beethoven's music or sings me out of tune songs.
Because there is none. I didn't feel anything when he left.
Truth is, I want to feel crushed and heart broken, because at least sadness could prove that I did love him and that what he said about me never loving him is wrong. And I don't want to prove him right with being happy.
I want to write something beautiful about him. I want to write a poem because that is what I know, that is the only thing that had me getting my emotions back in boxes. I want to write a poem about us smiling with dandelions on the roadsides and
Lively Colored RocksLively colored rocks
Stationed by the waterfall
Damp and moist they stay
Yet beautiful they are
Silky smooth skin from the crashing waves
Still remaining resilient after all that has happened
Oh proud and joyous soul
There is much to be admired of you
But why settle for this?
The river awaits your calling
To an everlasting bed of dreams
Where your light shines the brightest
Wash away your fears
Oh fascinaing and marvelous gem
For your valor is needed
To service the eyes which grant me vision
To view those lively colored rocks
Words on a ScreenLife has been a v i c i o u s cycle.
I’ve stuck in it for years, since senior year of high school. This was when friends turned away, turned into things I didn’t need. Depression destroyed a lot of what I held dear, leaving my life in shambles. Somehow I made it through to the end of the year. Somehow I managed to grab hold the edge of my cap, and managed to toss it up into the air, and join my Class of 2011 in celebrating the feat of graduating high school.
It wasn’t until I was out in the real world that I realized the saying, “You are only friends with people at school because you saw them five days a week.” Quickly I watched as everyone got married off, or had kids… within the simple span of months since we took pictures on the tarp covered graduation floor. The men wandered off to their missions, the women started families. Everyone I was around for the final year of high school quickly ran off to their fut
The World Is A Trigger: Social Works. It all began with a look outside the window. Perhaps they could have of told them that they had no daughter, or that she wasn't there... But where is there use in lying when all their names are in he system? Before there was a chance, they met her eyes. After adult-talk, the sheriff walked in. His words burned against the rim of her cranium, the way he directed her to clean her room... But truly, was that his worry? Or was it the way the black mold on the living room walls curled so delicately, as though purposefully designed. Perhaps he wanted her to start simple and keep her hidden in lies, despite the obvious truth that returned her glares. Then again, maybe it was due to the dog's papers, full of business, that the sheriff slipped on. Maybe, again, he wanted her to begin small. But what is so small when he questions her desire to live in this Hell? Had she known the world, had she known a true, "normal" household, perhaps the sense would have met her to beg them to sav
What Happened To Deviant art?Back when i joined i loved this place. Yeah i was a kid back then, and i do see things under a different light now that I'm older. But lately DA seemed to be...Ebbing. And i don't think its the fault of the people that runs this site either. In my opinion its the fault of the degenerates that decide to either troll, steal art, or step on others for no real reason. But now I'm hearing talk of actual pedophiles on this site...i know many people probably already knew about this but this was news to me. And i know that every site i go on may have pedophiles on it and that this is "the internet"...some place where people continue to browse their favorite sites thinking that their completely "anonymous". Your not by the way. But even before this talk it seemed like this site was slowly gaining a population of people that only wants fame. I will admit that fame would be nice for all of us. But people nowadays don't understand what i few nice comments on a picture can do to someones confidence
The World Is A Trigger: Sandwich Slices Upon her skin, almost edging the inside of her left am, shortly behind the wrist, lies two scars of three marks. It took the cumulative 12-16 years of in-home slavery to cause it. All it was, was a simple instruction - heard for the hundredth+ time - of how to make her sandwich. Freshly from the knife block, silver flashed and found the girl's arm rather than sandwich. A purposeful swing & slide, unconsciously done, but almost made things better. The second was strategically placed, beginning light before a red droplet soon broke free. Her thoughts on the third one consisted of the determination to bleed years of pin over the food. But as blood shed onto a kitchen knife, it was the memory that returned normal senses. The reflection...
KaterleYou are what taught me how to love, your breathing my dictionary. I sleep best when you're snoring next to me, as you're doing it right now...
We met when I was about ten, and I wasn't doing well. You came with sky-blue eyes and the old lady you just wouldn't stand to be separated from. The beauty of winter, but your heart was a camp fire in the deep dark woods, a comfort to the lost wanderers like me. When my head ached from crying too much, I had a soft place to lay it down on you. Your fur dried all my tears. Your gentle purring drowned all thoughts of sad and grey.
That house was never my home; but they say home is where the heart is, and you were there, and I stayed with you.
Would I still be alive if I had run away back then?
Would it even be life without you?
And whenever my heart hurts, I have you. Your sweet, gloved paws to touch my face, your calm heartbeat to talk to me. The only thing it ever says is 'I love you.'
It's an echo of my own, it's the voice of all my thoughts. T
fin.and before I knew it
I fell into a pit of utter darkness
falling and falling
as I kept crumbling apart
times like these
will not occur forever
and I can assure you
that is the truth
before you start to believe
it is indeed the end of the road
look above of you
shines down upon you
and you had never noticed it
and before you realize the truth
you already have found the end of
the tunnel filled with utter darkness
just to find yourself
in the broad daylight again
The World Is A Trigger: Concrete Floors How lovely were the days when Daddy shared a pillow, sleeping against his arm so that his daughter needn't awake with tears from the pain of her bed. Each night she lay, strewn across cold concrete. Her thoughts never knew better. The sun would set, and the living room's bare-carpeted floors would allow the moon's light to behold a mass that was a child cocooned within a blanket. For years it was this way, but for winter nights - annually, she received pajamas and a small blanket for the next year. Today, though, she resides in the warmth of her first bed. A gift she received as she entered the teens, at the age of thirteen. For months she suffered nightmares as she adjusted to this form of sleep. It took the completion of another year before she stopped asking her parents to rip up her carpet so that she may have a proper sleeping space.
AwakeShe must be so peaceful when she sleeps.
The way she must look - so complacent and calm, no frown or grimace. Her eyes would be shut, her breathing so even and soft...not the harsh and ragged breath of anger that I am so used to hearing, even now. What a nice change it would be...curls fluttering down over her face, wavering back and forth in the wake of her breath...
Her chest would rise and fall, smoothly and sweetly, her clothes wrinkling a little with every inhalation. She would barely move, as well - a small twitch or shift here and there, maybe scratching her arm once or twice. It would be...almost cute, perhaps, to watch her. Perhaps her nose might wrinkle up upon the feelings of discomfort, as well...my favorite part would be to see the smile she holds in her sleep, to hear the things she mumbles softly.
But in this moment, she is awake. I see the beautiful brown eyes that sparkle with joy when I am not around. For, when I am, they glare at me. I dislike that. When she glares a
hey newton, gravity's flawedi.
starting anew from the flutter
and the sputter of lungs.
a vacant sea filled with feathers
and tumultuous clatter,
ribs in a treacherous pattern
resembling exiting rungs.
i want to wrestle the angels,
your tendency is the ladder.
involved with full indiscretion,
trading lazy for lace.
unspool the curse of the long-
limbs in a languorous flexion
i like the stab of the ankles,
you need the curves intersected.
opting to cull my extents
with trans-dimensional vigor.
spent my dysphoric corrections
on reconnecting lax ends.
lips in a spurious accent
feign a passionate rigor.
i tie myself to the anchor,
you extricate and ascend.
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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