|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
we're just two kids that can't share toysremember back when me and you used
to go swim and get high and that one time
at mayhem, when i had the greatest time of my life?
you had these pale greengold irises and you were always
madder than hell about it, 'cause they weren't
real bright or bold. i always thought that was funny
about you, you know i mean how most girls
get so sad and scared about their stomach or thighs
or the sound of their laugh, not the colour of their eyes.
christ, do you remember
that time when we hung out and
smoked hookah in your backyard
and i hit my head trying to open up the hot tub
by myself, and i insisted that i was fine that i didn't need
ice and goddamn
Us and ThemI wish I could draw them--
How they talk:
Tongue and ears of flint
To spark a flame,
Ignite the fire that burns down cities
In a combustion of torment.
They fooled us into thinking that oil is water
So that we hurt ourselves.
Why do they talk?
Why are they so insistent
On destroying God's creation
From the inside out?
Who gives them the right
To say who we are?
We cry ourselves to sleep at night
Because we don't know
What else to do.
And though we try our hardest to get it right,
We get it wrong
And over again.
And we forget sometimes where's up.
We try to fly
But we keep diving into the ground
Like a flock of confused
My eyesMy eyes were filled with
Untamed waves, piercing storm
It is a dam threatening to break
A cup about to overflow
But every waves got a shore
Every storm’s got a sun
Every dam’s built well and
Every cup’s got a lid
And they aren’t planning to go away because
They are part of my mask set
A mask unable to see through
A mask filled with water so still
It reflects what people wish to see
A mirror, if you wish
My eyes consists of water
Both on the outside and on the inside
But you shall only see
And never penetrate
See the lake and not
The ocean’s depth
It is for the best
If Death Knocked On My Door Today If Death Knocked On My Door Today
If death knocked on my door today, would anyone care?
Would they go on with their lives as if i'm not there?
Or would they show their sadness through iris rain?
leaving the people who cared for me with sorrowful pain
The fact that i can't be there anymore, physically
All they have left of me is just a memory
That I couldn't give a formal goodbye to those that I love
It's time for me to go, whether i descend or rise above
Death took him upon opening the door
His life ended... there nevermore
What I Seei look into the silver mirror,
and see the abysmal grey reflected back,
a shade i have grown all to accustomed to,
staring into my eyes i see no light there,
looking at my pale skin i see no life there,
looking at my blank expression i see past the mask,
i see how the tears run bitter down my face,
the color fades from my cheeks,
and the skin beneath my eyes grows dark,
all alone in this melancholy world,
no companion to comfort me save for my shadow,
who stands there silently mocking me,
i fear this mask has become part of me,
i turn the lights off and walk away,
i keep walking for that is my strength,
through the rain and the pain,
i keep w
For a FriendI feel bad that you have all this sadness. The truth is I wish I could take all this pain and throw it away, so you can have a new day. But thats not how it works, and it makes me have a quirk. I haven't had a bad day in a year; I would be more than happy to take all the ones you have and transform them into my day, so then I could say, "Hey, take a break or a few." But that's not how the world works and that's one of its own quirks, where we can't relieve another human of pain and take away the constant rain, even if only for a day.
Yes, this poem is for you.
La legende du diable beau danseur - FRY s’donnait une fête dans l’village au mardi gras
Pis l’homme qui la t’nait c’était l’père de Nicolas
Les gens ça mangeaient, ça buvaient, mais surtout, ça dansaient
Pis comme tout bon chrétien qu’ce bonhomme-là était
À tous et chacun d’eux, y leu z’avait bein avertit
« On arrête toutes les niaiseries à minuit »
Pour le premier jour du Carême, c’est bein connu
Qu’on jeûne pour célébrer le retour du p’tit Jésus
Toutes les gens autour se faisaient du fun, sauf le fils
Qui lui, toujours assis, avait bein hâte que ça finisse
Y z’yeutait l’beau Mathis sans bouger d
my nightsI haven’t spent much time on this
Room I used to love
The memories held dear in it
Consisting of the smells of the new sheets and
The coziness the calming blue walls seemed to radiate
Now, all I see is darkness
It is all I’ve come to see lately
Now, this room feels like the
Place where my darkest thoughts gather and
Lie in wait
Until the cover of the darkness provides them enough strength to
And cripple me so much of my emotions
That if I don’t exhaust myself physically then I shall
Mentally, but my heart will still be safe because
It is no longer there
Shrouded by nothingness
Unable to feel, much less be attacked
Betoniviidakon laitMä kirjoitin tarinan matkallani betonihelvetin läpi, mutta unohdin sen kun olin sen kirjoittanut. Mun mieleeni ei oo helppo kirjoittaa mitään ylös, eikä kieleeni laittaa kahleita ehkäistäkseen, mitä se sanoo. Joskus sanat on kun vihainen villakoira joka haluaa tunkeutua läpi rintakehän vapauteen, valoon ja haureuteen. Ilmapiiri on melko tunkkainen kun kirjoitan tarinaani ylös, eikä seinällä roikkuvat ikonit tai julisteet muuta sitä mitä tää huone on ollut ja aina tulee olemaan. Se on vähänkun araknofoobikko juoksee pakoon hämähäkkejä vankilaan jonka seinät hohkaa pimeyttä ja se tietää että jossain vaiheessa se pimeys huomaa sen hajun, katkase
Crying Starving ViperI have a question
for all you
mentally-sound culinary sobrietists,
that stare at me,
how I'm up here on stage.
When we were younger,
You were thicker than molasses
was like a pork bone
to a hound.
When we grew up from then,
Lost your weight and
I seemed to have my middle expand
did not understand why;
And you mocked me for it.
Because I apparently "look like a giant thumb"
I see stares, but thing is
Like a snake
once a week
and wonder why it doesn't work.
People tell me to eat less and
they don't comprehend that
what I'm doing to myself
probably doesn't help, but
Rancor Running Down My Tusks Rancor Running Down My Tusks
I'm eager to fight and eager to fuck.
It's mating season, and I've got rancor running down my tusks.
I'm enraged, in pain, in heat, and in lust, so get out the way punier creatures,
Or I'll stomp you all to dust.
That's right, you better run - tails between your legs -
When I start tusking the ground and ripping down trees like blades of grass.
Because I smell females ready to mate - vibrations reaching bulls across forests and plains -
And I'll die befor
The Tear Drop....Bubble? ~ Death Awaits ~ #2
I sat in the corner of the tear drop cage,
I seemed to be in a different room,
There were 2 villagers in there,
But they were yet to be removed,
I was in a different cage then the rest,
The others had death traps, I was in a sorta of safe...bubble,
I couldn't even think of how much I failed,
But I wondered why the man didn't kill me,
But just as that thought hit my head the doors swung open,
There stood the man who pointed to the other villagers who were brought over,
He asked questions, I couldn't tell what they were but he pointed to me,
They were speaking, and speaking, and yet...speaking,
They were sent out to where the rest had g
Maybe, Probably NotWill I see him?
Maybe, probably not
away from his friends?
Maybe, probably not
Will he say hello?
How are you?
Maybe, probably not
Will he smile?
Lose his ever-present mask?
Maybe, probably not
Will he cry?
Maybe, probably not
Will he tell me what I did wrong?
What I did
to lose his friendship?
Maybe, probably not
Will I ever truly fit with him?
Maybe, probably not.
1989The wall has fallen
the missiles are dead
but we haven’t yet snacked in the land of the Red.
They scorned me
“There’s no market there;
our fair eagle doesn't trade with their bear.”
I said to the cynics
“I really don’t care, now pass me my bag, don’t forget the ‘pork’ or my old flag.”
I rode upon a chariot not quite gold
to what seemed to be the center of the world’s cold.
Once I’d set up shop
and the harassment would stop
I was shadowed by a man
a man with a grand plan.
His stance was as rigid
as my fingers were frigid.
He looked very Russian
but he wasn't
Days of the Week Personified (Writing Prompt Chal)Sunday- A tan, wrinkled old man in a Hawaiian shirt and white board shorts. His bare feet are propped up in a hammock as he gently turns in his sleep. Kind lines cross every which way on his weathered face, and gentle hands rest upon his protruding stomach.
Monday- Red hair, half in curlers and half sticking about, protrudes in every direction as her plump hands chase after the three small children running about her legs. A half burnt cigarette hangs from her drooping and scowling mouth, but her hands already reach for another in the pack (only to find none left, of course!). Her massive stomach and chest jiggly about beneath the loose fitt
The tunnels are loud with
Track rumbling and squeaky
Passengers, quick to fill seats
With tense plaids and warm wallets
We bustle and sway, zeroes and ones
On a centipede highway to Du College St.
And St. Louis Avenue
Frozen in subway time
Oblivious to the backward evolution above
Strangers with a common purpose
Bodies in linear motion, minds
Blistered with high speed thought
A static ad for travel whizzes by
And I wonder what would happen
If the world we remembered grew
Too old to recall our faces
And we disembarked to find
A faded landscape
And a new civilization
At the next stop
Do you know the taste of the universe?One day, when you’re five years old and made out of fractured sunlight and mirror shards, you sit down on the bench of the MAX train. You’re dressed in your winter coat and boots that are too big and one of your parents has pulled your hat too close over your ears.
You’re sitting next to your mother, and on the other side is a man that smells like loneliness, something that you’ll later know as cigarettes and alcohol and homelessness. He’s crying quietly into the top of his jacket and you’re scared to look because you’ve never seen an adult cry.
The train ride goes on for five minutes, which is a lo
Keep in Touch!
`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More