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Supermassive Black HoleStrings of starless strands
lasso my sanity,
as a Lyzzard's tongue
slays unawares a fly.
Distorted snarls melt
my glaciers in the dead of night;
vibrating in the frequency
in your wells of gravity,
you set my soul alight;
spinning towards the singularity.
A blink before the light,
the brims of Space
of satin waves
smile and unweave a word:
Winged Perianths I dream
of a field
and a waveless mirror
in its midst.
Of a visage
of my resemblance
wondering with my eyes.
Of the unending void
of this universe
seeded with holes;
of the cold petals
of countless stars,
and the gravity of souls.
of their seeds of black
and their blood
birthing fruit -
with coagulated wings
and the river
of spilt darkness
upon my sight.
of a pavillon
of purple papillons;
of their embrace
The Snake A
as a snake
with a head
that I bow.
in my mind,
as a knight
in the cloudfull
a hue of
black and blue;
a trail of rave,
and broken down
pieces of sane.
With a pace
NO! NO! NO!
A Love Affair with a DemonHe breezes brazenly
through the pyre that
burned her door;
and in that fiery frame,
he is as beautiful,
but for the stillness
of her masterpiece;
of whispering embers that
that once kindled us;
then bearing the ashes to
our hearth, where
they devour her heat
in morsels. Each sleep,
I become his harlot
in a brimstone debonair
covered with rags of hugs,
but woven for dead men
by her arms;
so I lay not naked
in his coffin of despair,
but drape myself
with the moon.
The Call of the MermaidsFramed in a flowery frame is
this tunnel strewn with grain
that blooms into Styx' orifice;
it opens on shores littered
with limbs, bones and sinew
which cast shades over
boney nails like blunt claws;
they hide amidst veined stones
pulsing with neurons,
spilt from contours
that float, when leaving
their bare prints;
on their journey to harken
the sirens' vagitus song,
that grabs them in waves,
when the gleam of the scales
casts light on their smiles,
their scribbles in the rocks,
and the coins in their eyes,
sown along this seaside.
is death in a mirror,
when a cold candle
for her burning breath,
and her fiery heart
for his sacred chest.
Waxen tears bleed,
breaks the mirror,
cursing them forever.
Black, White, and in between.The Greyness surrounds me from every side. My every attempt to inject some colour in this bleak World have been in vain. The coloured threads simply get rotten with the grey sickness. The symptoms: tiredness, melancholy, futility, angst? I am not sure whether the angst is here yet.
True Lust is Lust UnrequitedIn a momentary lapse of reason
the horseman's marbled sword
crushes on the languid broad street,
breaking its walls and letting
all the lustre letters flow.
All the worn out places,
all the forlorn faces and I,
we balter in the iridiscent swamp,
dreaming away in this miasma
towards a masterpiece:
"In a remote bar of desires,
a mechanical heart is rusting
on the pillows scattered
on the floor; basking in its lust
for the ubiquitous spark.
For the halcyon-bird nested
in the flowers on the high wall,
beneath a roof of bed linens,
abreast the fireflies in cages
and above the rage of souls."
Under the DomeEyes fall around
like auburn leafs
burdened by raindrops.
And I ride their tails,
following the silage
for comfort and release.
For the bed of limbs
intertwined and sewn
with maple boughs.
For your cloak,
wrought of breaths,
where I hide and covet
for the sun; for the light
brought forth in our
colloquy of braces.
For it to fill the brim
eloquently with pristinity;
washing over the ruins,
wrying ornate walls
and marbled floors,
and a throne for our realm,
so we lay under
the sacred dome.
For our hubris to echo
through elysian halls,
where your regal scent
creeps in the mosaics,
so I bathe in its solace
and it mends me in rebirth.
SeptemberI don't know why,
I still break down and cry,
At times I find myself,
Wanting to shout out for help,
I want to tell you that I love you, but I don't know,
I just don't know if what we had before is possible,
I hope that you'll always remember me,
And the good times that came to be,
Forget the arguments and the fights,
Step out of the shadows and walk into the light,
Maybe one day we'll talk again,
Forgive each other for our sins,
Until then I'll hold it all in,
Because sometimes it takes two to begin,
Honestly, I just want this month to be over,
As days go by I can feel my heart grow colder,
This would've been two years together,
I really thought that it would go on forever,
My phone reminded me, said it would never end,
And when I read that, it dug deep under my skin,
But never is the longest 5 letter word,
Because now your voice may never be heard.
AThere is birdsong and
sun-drenched long limbs,
sprawled across India green;
wet hair haloes and
a restless route scrawled
up arms and over hands.
There are blueberry smiles,
feet upon dashboards,
and city-light fireflies...
then there is you.
Always, always you.)
Untouched BooksDirty fingerprints crust the pages
Of the books of forgotten lore
That have laid here before all ages
Untouched from before-
Unconcerned with reason or rhyme,
Longing for those finger-shaped prints,
They have waited all this time,
To be imprinted with darkened tints
But all that meets them is the chilly air,
And the quiet whispers of phantoms past;
And still they wait with silent flair,
To be marked with fingers again at last
Sticks and StonesI'm not emotionally unstable.
I don't cut.
I don't only sleep after I cry.
I don't self harm.
I don't want to die.
I'm not who I am because of my music.
I'm not who I am because of school.
I'm not who I am because of what I watch.
I'm not who I am because I'm trying to be cool.
I don't want to gain attention.
I don't want scars either way.
I don't want to be judged.
I don't want to mocked because I stay.
I hate when you call me emo.
I hate when you call me dyke.
I hate that you're my family.
I hate that you hurt me through spite.
Today I heard you say;
That if I changed school I wouldn't be emo.
You're like my second father.
And yet what I feel; you never know.
You have no idea who I am.
You have no idea what I feel cause I'm lying.
You have no idea that I hurt easy.
You have no idea that now, alone, I am crying.
My sisters think it's funny when I get pissed off.
My sisters think it's funny when I cry.
My sisters' jokes are cruel.
My sisters tell me they'd laugh if I were to die
Another convicted paedophile free to walk again.
Currently living by a primary school looking for some new prey to stalk again.
Masks himself as a confidant, someone that the children can call a friend.
Specialises in seducing and lulling its victims in to a false sense of security.
With an ulterior motive driven to defile and desecrate their innocence and purity.
How is this ungodly predator somehow able to evade all configurations of authority?
No one is capable of figuring out why this predator has these vile and vindictive thoughts.
No one can possibly understand how much torture and suffering his actions have brought.
To every family and carer that nurtured, loved, raised and taught
Their young to avoid and not to communicate with strangers.
Performing their duties as guardians, preparing and protecting them from any danger.
For them one day to be kidnapped, taken, leaving only their clothing as remainders.
After the investigations and DNA testing all the headlines will
Somewhere Between Creation and Beingthey built him out of sandpaper
so he could help those
a little rough around the edges
they gave him rose-colored irises
and put his heart in his throat
so he could only speak love
they wrote him a history
deep within his DNA
(lingering, and a little too clingy)
but he learned to live on promises
instead of mistakes
they gifted him off-center feet
that always leaned into his dreams;
he was tall enough to live
with his head in the clouds.
sometimes waiting gets to you.
it settles your leaden bones
and you forget why your legs won't move
you fall a little too far
into everything you're praying on,
and you don't have the strength to
pull yourself back into normal living.
but he was different
he didn't believe, he knew
time didn't slip,
he nursed it
and he never broke
even though they piled
the weight of the world
on his expectant shoulders
Sour CrayonsMy hands are tree-minded twigs
twiddling wooden thumbs; pencil-
fingers scratching pulpy paper;
pushing letters single-file into
I am revisiting recurring childhood
dreams; thoughts of stone tumbling
themselves shiny and sleek; oils of
voices, tranquil and frictionless,
reflecting rainbows when mixed with
the water of conversation; rivers of
synergy flooding behind dams.
Now I live with disconnection and
disassociation, dripping into every
relationship, dull or sharp; cutting
vocal cords to make room for audio
wires carefully wrapped in swirling
I taste memories of sour crayons,
their colors defining their savory
sting. Chew on this stubble; strewn
about, leaving a small trace of
visions of a time long before now;
living tales of ancestry, linking
steps in a spiraling ladder
defining each individual.
And now, with the exception of
purpose, and the denial of the sun,
we make our farewells.
A Step Too FarA Step Too Far.
She just couldn't take it anymore.
She threw her purse and her child's lunch box on to the floor
Of the fourth storey of the local car parking complex.
The lord only knows what will possibly happen next.
She begins tugging on her hair furiously in agitation.
Talking to herself having an in depth conversation.
Pacing up and down and aggressively talking in tongues.
Labelling herself as an unfit lover and mother to her husband and son.
Tears begin to cascade from her face violently.
She didn't tell her husband about her woes instead she chose to silently
Keep it to herself and let it eat her up inside.
But eventually she ran out of places to hide.
Her phone begins to ring but she chose to ignore it.
A picture of her husband and son appears but she wishes she never saw it.
A small crowd begins to formulate beneath her.
Familiar voices shouting and screaming trying to keep her
From edging any closer to the edge.
But her toes continued to embrace the unstable ledge.
At Any MomentAt any moment, we could get lucky;
Win the lotto, get a promotion, go on a date,
Go to a party, eat with our friends,
At any moment, misfortune could come;
It starts raining, train comes late, food is under-cooked,,
You are robbed, have a fight,
She leaves you...
At any moment, a loved one could die;
Heart attack, car accident, building collapse,
Lung cancer, murdered on the streets,
It leaves you empty...
At any moment, your life could be cut mercilessly short,
And yet, after everything else,
You don't care...
My Painting of YouI painted you today.
Rolled up the paper,
and carried you in hand.
Gave you to a girl,
with your eyes,
and chestnuts in her hair,
Made her smile,
seeing butterflies in a field,
but she gave you back,
when she saw
they are going in the sunset.
I put you on
my dreaming wall,
to be my last glimpse,
of my world
before I remember
you're only a painting.
Keep in Touch!
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