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River, Stay Away From MeI am sorry Ocean
I am sorry
I know I lie
Deeper than you
Standing near the edge
My mistakes are a bit too many
My wounds a little too serious
My passions dead
Ocean I am sorry
That River has ruined me so
River why do you consume me still?
Rushing and making noise, forever onward
But I stay trapped beneath your current
River, will you let me go?
Can I let myself go?
Can I go home?
... I guess not ...
I want to return to Ocean
But you flow in the wrong direction
Pushing me towards your backwards waterfall
I want to leave
Instead I will be disembowled
And my entrails stretched
From River to Ocean
She Stares At Me, And TwitchesFeistiness and Lethality
Poured into a Bowl
Taken from Me
Silver quarters and brown Spoons
All my Treasures
And from where I Sit
I approach the girl in her Sweater
She's thinner than I
I lean in towards Her
And tell Her
"My brown quarters and silver Spoons
Were stolen from me
And poured into a Bowl
With feistiness and Lethality"
She stares at Me
To My Lover +ErrDo I take the inconceivable sensation of you
And stretch it out too thin?
Do I suck dry at your infinitesimal being
Attempting to elaborate on a dot?
How am I to actually love you (or the idea of you)
If you don't even comprehend your existence?
How are we to intermingle and conjoin eternally
When my cognition writhes under intangible supposition?
Oh, my only lover
Does my inflexible stance of anguish
Drive you from my fragile arms?
How am I to escape this aggravating spiral
The Infinite WeightWhen one cannot express any words
And nothing can aptly be spoken
The smell of suffocation begins to surface
On the shoulders of young artists
The smallest weight is placed
To test their perserverance and focus
But within a few years
Their abilities will be compounded
On the shoulders of attractive artists
Lies the sadistic ethereal weight
Where success is at the tip of fingers
And open galleries so, so near
Nothing could ever seem too small
On the shoulders of struggling artists
Rests the infinite weight
Dragging them down into a useless bog
Where all that will await them
Is weakness, apathy, and rejection
When one cannot express any words
And nothing can aptly be spoken
The smell of failure is undeniably near
Calender ManMy steps
ask me why
dead for a full week.
My arms are x's
and my elbows - checkers.
I only see tomorrow.
I only think about the microwave
when it screams
for me to stop.
My lisp is chewy,
to match the scribbles
speckling my elbows.
My steps are heavy."
Hotel California.The dusky, dusty highway
Somewhere in the heart of California
Where the desert sands are golden
And the girl's eyes are molten
I had to find a home for midnight
The hotel seemed just the oasis
My soul needed
She met me at the door
Hair like fire, skin like ice
We spoke not a word,
But I felt - something -
Moonlight night turned
To scorching days,
And instead of leaving I was trapped
Caught in the middle of a vortex
Created by lust, lost, memories
Religious fervor in a misplaced love
Candlelight would only illuminate us
For so long
In this dark and beautiful place
Time dragged it feet, she told me
That woman of fire had the muses for her friends
A broken thing, a fallen angel
A dark and terrible secret she shared
With no one
I almost lost my soul to that
The mirrors on the ceiling were telling
Of the true bloodlust here
I ran, the front cracked open
Her face was caught in my mind's eye
Darkness too terrible and sweet
Made its home in and around the rooms
Weakening my resolv
i do not write slam poetry.
i do write, but in quiet syllables
in quieter lobbies. i am quite
self-serving in the way i slide
my breaths through my bottled-up neck.
god forbid my tie slip and
reveal my charlatan wreckage.
god, forbid me from dreck
masquerading as purpose.
i have stenciled my days
in a page i subsequently
every aspect of your life
can be chosen, they drone.
and it's true
until you're unrepentantly introduced
the ink starts to delineate
in your skin, maps your nailbeds and
lets you attempt to rescind
with no hope of actual
there were ten times in my life
that i felt i should document but no,
those moments are only mine and no,
i don't do lists and no,
i am not a writer.
now the ink is caked, thick, choking
my societal obligations in a velvet
blue drawl that i have always
tell me again how
with your life coiled about
your middle finger and your wife
i do not write sla
the pros and cons of incorrect file formatsbecause sometimes
it's worth misbehaving
and sometimes your gums have to bleed
to taste truth
i'll be damned, i did it again.
launched right into the middle
of a ghastly conversation
in my head and
i am a skimmer. pages, crowds,
i pretend that all the relevant information
is readily apparent
or contextually discerned.
but when i met you, dear,
like the library at alexandria ashed
and like they are chuckling warmly
at our memoirs
and weeping briskly at our graves
i have to type everything.
my script's shortcomings aside
my mind requires the fixed-pitch order
of clacking input
or else my notepads dim
as the ink chokes them out.
cannot be skimmed; this rampage
of think and rethink and amend
does not betray its secrets lightly
like the gravity of charybdis
or the way you sway just enough
to sink our ships and your reef
is one that i would lie and cheat and riot to kiss
it's worth misbehaving
and sometimes your gums have
World Of MagicI lay in blue grass
tickle my nose
and baby unicorns
of red dandelions.
I’m curled up
my head on
his chest and
is pounding in
to grab one…
when I wake up
How ClicheMy heart is breaking
I borrowed trust
You made me pay
I payed with love
You loved my trust
I’m lonely now
With love and lust
I miss your heart
I miss its beat
You beat my heart
Into the street
And where am I
Without a sound
The tears they fall
They tear the ground
I dare not fall
Where you have tripped
Heart on heart
A heart left stripped
Oh oldest friend
Of kiss left loose
I’ve lost my grip;
Lost hand I choose
You chose me now
Oh how cliché
To pick the night
Over the day
We think ourselves
A clever sort
A life made short
So how in death
Is love so shown
Where hatred’s fed
And once was sown
Life after death
Yes aged cliché
There is no death
For those who pray
That trust so given
Gone from hand
Sand of heat
Such fills my eyes
Love oh love
Love is free
Don’t make me pay
.flame-red cars driving by in godspeed
golden chains 'round necks
murmuring kill under your breaths
strike the blade with the hammer
don't hit the anvil
blink once, not twice, you'll miss the lights
murder ain't prompted by the world, but by you
but hey, don't worry
'cause karma won't forget
EverythingWhen everything's good,
And everything's bad.
When everything's cold,
And everything's heat.
When everything's right,
And everything's not.
When you're the best,
Or you're not.
When you need me,
And when you not.
I'm gonna be there...
No matter what.
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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