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To Whom it May ConcernWriting now by candle light
upon my bedside sill,
impresses thoughts blackened of blight:
Of past regards forgotten, till
reflections blindly bittersweet
of love and laughter passed;
Begotten then of innocence--
three sheets tied to a rotting mast--
impend upon me with such weight
they feel as though a leaden vest
contorting ribs into a knot--
an airlock shut within my chest.
For I am old and bitter now,
my time and words long spent.
So now I sadly take the bow
of a man left but relent.
And thus I transfer onto you
this single mock decree--
the curtain-call of my revue:
My death-bed rhapsody
Fetid RomanceWe lay motionless,
encapsulated in candied distention,
vying from warmth of breath
where reciprocation failed.
My sickness is tangible,
a pulsing serpent
beneath your fingertips.
Sepulchered in this dungeon
under blades of frozen grass,
we touch, caress out of habit—
lines and roles forgotten
or cut into marrow,
compressing your heart to arrest.
Or myself, the family dog
conditioned to the knell
of your ringtone.
At your heels, I tread
headlong in to white transience.
Your arms around my neck,
the leash is unhinged
and your tears wax torrential
on deadened Earth,
where the roses bloom silent and cold.
PhantasmShe sways like autumnal soliloquy—
trunk rooted, twisted like wrung cotton;
her limbs, splayed and frantic,
dance without purpose
with fingers that pluck at invisible strings.
With the leaping flame, she twirls in time—
both wax and wick her creators;
her dance, so replete,
a haunted projection
of lace ribbons and her porcelain smile.
As Flowers BloomMy lover clings to windowsills
Where spirits get lost in the sky—
Where the stories of old
Are just sounds manifold
And the sun sings them all as he dies.
My lover sings songs to the desert;
Her melodies rise with the sun—
Her voice harmonizes
With all that comprises
The spirits that swelter and run.
My lover is one with the forest;
Her veins tunnel through the Great Tree—
Each conflagrant feast
And brumal release
Are ingrained in Autumnal decree.
My lover springs life in the valleys—
Brings color and light to the hills
So that none may feel gloom
By the flowers that bloom
As she dances among daffodils.
My lover treads water in silence—
Her skirt waves commanding the tide
So that even the moon
Is helplessly swooned
By the luminous pull of her eyes.
My lover dreams in astral planes
Where comets dance and play—
The depth of her mind
And the soul that it binds
Are the light that give dawn to the day.
Storm LinesA black storm-cloud squadron
trudges low ‘cross the plain—
relegating my stock
to its wretched domain.
Encroaching in silence
without caution or fear—
knowing not that its prey
has his own atmosphere.
Such storm-lines die easy
when confronted with guile—
while its sanguine rain falls
I flash a wry smile.
DooloughNine months had passed since her last menstruation. Draped in rags, her red hair thin and still falling out in handfuls, she was glad he had died so early in the camp—he who had loved her, he who had caressed and lifted, he who would have broken to see the birth of their only child, dead before the third trimester.
The streets of Louisburg were impacted with the refugees of an Gorta Mór. She sat propped up against the side of a pub, watching her breath frost in front of her nose. The frigid March air seemed to pierce even deeper into her lungs than usual, but she was so exhausted it didn't seem to matter. She sat, endured, and waited. The people around her were mostly doing the same, and she wondered how many would die before morning.
A family across the street caught her eye, as a woman held her two children close to her breast and sobbed. Their father sat next to them, his head slumped forward, as motionless as the hat that lay by his side.
“Do ye hear that?&
Empty Nest (Syndrome)The mother bird protects her nest--
eggs of light glow in the dusk.
A fire erupts in her breast
that swallows the sky
and probes for Wi-Fi.
And now the clouds,
the lonely days,
after her wireframe children.
All but gray
she feeds from the crumbs
of strangers that sleep in the park.
In My Own WordsI want to speak in my own tongue
And conjure thoughts and sights unseen;
To sing a sonnet never sung
Or find epiphanies ungleaned.
So though you may not understand
My little words will have to do,
For they are all I have in hand
To say how just how I feel for you
Adjrnu id wjrrs odmr k fslkdjfl
Bythnahtk idh jsne udshha
Symnnagrath hikj authbnar
Lowytheb kem eo kafpr
U iseh rephjemptna
If Only She KnewIf only she knew
That I sit alone at night
Drinking by myself
Thinking about her
Wishing she was mine
If only she knew
That I'll never be alright
Going through this hell
Till my eyes begin to blur
And I only see her in my mind
If only she knew
That the hardest part of my day
Is when I think about her lips
Sliding through his skin
As he moves in for the kiss
Think about his hand
starting to caress her cheeks
They both gasp for air
though no one speaks
And her eyes can't seem to look away from his
If only she knew
That that's the hardest part
Knowing that she's his
Knowing that her gorgeous lips
are only his to kiss
And that her beautiful eyes
Are looking right through me
Knowing that I'm nothing to her
And that I'll never be
If only she knew
That she leaves me Paralized
When she looks me with her eyes
It feels so cold
Yet I feel so alive
If only she would realize
That without her my heart cries
It's hard to beat, though it still tries
If only she knew
The pain of getting lost within her
Actualitywhen I was young, I wanted
to be a punk rocker
metal holes lining my body like
trophies of war, hair teased
and bleached and styled for hours
on end until it looked effortless,
inked up with words and symbols
I swore were profound with
a cigarette hanging lazily
from my fingers, lonely
for a reason
(and he told me, sweetie,
you are like a fucking eclipse,
the bloody dawn
God plagued us with
I always wondered
if mistakes understood
the reason they
came to be in this world
I guess not).
Sunseti saw Darkness chasing Light
hoping to devour her
To dye her sun-tipped feathers
into the dark abyss that was his own
Light was not to go down
not without a fight
Unleashing fire into the sky
painting it orange, red, and pink
But Darkness jumped
And swallowed her whole
then he spat out her glittering bones
that got caught inside his throat
on growing upit will happen like this;
one day you will be so tired of yourself and the rolling days and the sleepless nights, and you've never liked coffee before but you'll take it and you'll mix in four sugars and you'll wince with every sip but you'll drink it all. then each step is a little lighter, and the mornings a little less cold and suddenly you'll realise you've forgotten what it felt like to just be awake all by yourself.
and one day you'll cry at school and all the people walking past won't stop and your friends won't have the right words like they used to. you'll sit and you'll shake until your tears have bled you of everything that you've got, and suddenly you'll realise you don't even have the energy to be sad anymore. and you'll go home with tear streaked cheeks and your mother won't ask you what's wrong and you'll go to bed and you'll realise that maybe there's more comfort in darkness and silence than you've ever known before.
it will be the weekend and you'll come home alone an
beliefshumming a tune that rattled her bones as though she were a bottle of pills, she counted all the times she'd been a burden in her life. she figured it equaled nothing less than her number of breaths. laying in bed and surrounded by pillows, she tried to quiet the sound; but her body betrayed her. "you can't hide behind a closed mouth," her guts moaned, and she huddled into herself to silence them.
when she walked, it was with a careful precision she'd developed from balancing on ledges in her dreams. night after night, she withstood the trembling of her aching frame. like a ship being tossed, her bones creaked under the strain of the storm inside her. she wondered how long she could keep it restrained.
the only calm she'd ever tasted was the center of the storm; and now she felt her own hurricane twisting the wilderness within. she found her beliefs, the redwoods of her being, uprooted with the abruptness of a fitful toddler tossing her head to the floor. it would hurt. it did hurt. but
stains you left behindThe ring of tea from the bottom of your mug
Is all that I have left,
Memories of you have gone.
Stains are all that are left.
Permanent reminders to me that,
Every waking hour of my day,
I should have loved you,
Maybe then these stains would have washed away.
I killed something beautiful,
Stripped it naked and left it
In the cold to slowly freeze
Nightmares creep in the day light
And stab me in the back at night,
My screams echo in the moonlight,
All I can do is cry.
Your tea stain on the table,
I sit beside it and weep
With my new best buddy Smirnoff,
He helps me get to sleep.
I finally lost my job,
Now I’m living on the streets.
They said something about alcoholism,
I don’t know what they mean.
I’ve taken up the needle,
Helps me pass the time.
Got some new friends now
But every night I cry until I’m blind.
Just got out of prison,
People say I have no hope left.
I still scream at night, thinking about yo
phantoms from a sleepless mindmost nights,
it takes a war to close
my eyes, & even then i
still see monsters.
my mind is a cemetery
full of whispers
best not mentioned
(because you'd never
believe me if i told you).
i just want to be free.
to wake up with a
craving for sunshine &
supernovas nestled in my
rib cage, instead of thorns
beneath my skin & bones
between my teeth.
They wanted a no hoper.
Someone they could fold and mould to their liking
And with him being a self perpetuating loner.
The situation seemed too compellingly inviting.
They took advantage of his good nature.
They kept adding to his already overflowing plate
And they were not the type to ever return the favour.
He saw this transaction as a contraction of them becoming mates.
They would lie to his face and talk behind his back.
Setting him tedious tasks that were initially refused by others.
This then artfully allowed them to dart off track and slack.
Why is it that the insecure and pure are the ones that suffer?
And when he was no longer able to endure.
He was ripped out and shipped out immediately.
By a surplus of others who are willing to take up his chores.
This is a practice that is predestined to be replayed repeatedly.
Is this really the way this ruptured world is structured?
Do the absolutes prey and on the vulnerable and feeble?
Who is the person responsible for thi
infinite/opposite.being an adult means knowing
that there are things much scarier
than spiders, or snakes, or clowns.
the ocean, for one.
losing your parents.
empty tequila bottles.
waking up, still reaching
for someone who left you
a long time ago.
i live like there’s an end for me
because there is.
plants will wilt.
forests will burn down.
eventually, even the stars will burn out.
people will come to us.
they will touch us. they will hurt us.
they may keep us. they may not.
but i never hold on too tight
because when it’s time, my time,
i’ll only be letting go.
the heart has valves
that constantly open and close
giving love, taking love.
and my best advice
is to be selfish.
know when you’ve had enough.
know when you deserve better.
close the valves and
keep some love for yourself.
know that you are perfect
even if you eat that second cheeseburger
because there’s magic in this world.
we’re proof of it.
is fear o
She is the RainHer eyes are droplets
that at will wax torrential
shredding scar tissue
revealing new flesh—
receding the Lake of Fire
where Archangel died
laying at the summit
of self-sacrificial vice.
Her hair is the daybreak:
cascading in waves
or ribbons of gold
lighter than ash
that razes the sky,
and we hold our breath
for the cloudburst
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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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