|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
I _ _ _ _ MY MOM...I hate my mom for being stupidingly softhearted
I hate her blindness
I hate how she sees the "good" in people who are just evil
I hate how she forgives even if betrayed again
Only to forgive yet again
I hate how she sacrifices for someone not worth it
I hate that she cares so much
I hate how she worries about someone
who is not even worried about her in the slightness
I hate how she continues to support someone
who failed her a thousand times
I hate her warmth
and her brightness annoyingly blinds me
I hate that she is that kind of a mother.
I hate her really hate her really really hate her!
But most of all I hate myself for being hateful
For being cold hearted,
For being stubborn,
For being selfish, and self-centered
And for loving her despite of that
I **** MY MOM
me, myself, and iRENeI miss me
The lost me..
The old me
The simple me
The shallow me..
The innocent me..
The child in me..
Where are you?
Where am I?
Can you find me?
Or shall I find you?
Will I ever?
A world where I scream
The infinite words of silence
Where no one hears
Yet they understand
Where people walk
Upon their eyes fall behind
Speak this world where
Only I know
I can't comprehend
This meaning of this
An everlasting mistake
As my days become my nights
My nights become days
I realized time sleeping
In the depths of nothingness
What do I do?
What do I have to do?
To make things
Things on my mind
Be like those of numbered alphabets
Leave behind the baggage
I didn't even know what's inside
Or go on and move forward
For things that may come but hide
Seek what is time?
Or seek what is in front of me?
Find me for I am lost in the darkness
Blinded by light
Eyes on me
Stare and love me
Why don't you see?
In my eyes I want to be
I like you
But do you?
Twisted in the arms of somebody
one track mindthey ask him what about the motorbikes
they ask him what about tossing spray paint cans
to bomb grand canyon
he says fuck you i just want to roll over.
the glue of eyelids and a fistful of cheerios.
rainbow smear on your hands they say.
you would tug at sky’s ponytail why don’t you go go go.
the subterraneans, the subhuman,
solar panel fetishists
scrounging morning dazzle or free passes through the neon
intravenous voodoocrowbar oceanus
a swarm of earthquakes circle
as i'm swimming through the syrup
inch by inch this
but all the pictures come out perfect
a fourteen hour dream
that's about to get sulfuric
steam and streaming
straight into the circuit
moi, j'en sais rienLe monde est parti en avant
loin derrière l horizon embué au crépuscule des astres malades de lactose,
enfants du ciel. Le monde est parti
En avant, pelerins, peuples de mon esprit,
marcheurs de rêve
nous tâchons de rejoindre ses tours sombres,
sortis des tenèbres pour la première
fois. Le monde parti en avant,
sans que personne ne le suive
d'un nulle part à l'autre.
Drowns out the stars
Follow its path
A streetlight turning red
Reflect their vanity
Drowns out the stars
A streetlight flashes green
No mind, clear
Kill all the stars
The arrows point to the left
But the way is right
A streetlight turns to red
the pyrosome hegemonyretrobate;
there was no dust that night on the sea, awash
with quantum tongues and their spawned
gospel of platitudes
contretemps with live-wires,
but statistically shown to all be the same size
under the amplituhedron
u put the blow up U in the i luv Uafter a short all inclusive on the surf face of the sun
ghost of closed down fetus set up shop in the rubber doll's phantom pregnancy
you're gonna love it out therei can see it now:
you painting across a sky littered with fireworks and light pollution
as if to save your life
wishing that this anywhere had never become that "somewhere" that you tried so hard to run from.
sit and celebrate the sound of broken glass
on the sweet day of your champagne birth
live the fantasies of perfection passed
in silent silhouettes
and loaded Russian roulettes
now i dare you not to move
and feel the weight of an atlas born
the son of a man who gave his life to hold the world
on his back, at that,
and after all these years he won't want a dime back.
i can hear it now:
the sound of you mumbling in your sleep
like it's all a bad dream
like what you wanted never came to be
more than you could hold.
you're gonna love it out there, i know.
I am HERE...yet to be FOUNDI AM HERE, yet to be FOUND
I feel lost; I don't know what to do.
I don't know what I am doing.
Or if there's anything worth doing
I'm here in the end yet I am just beginning
I want something more
I know I'm meant for something greater.
Yet it seems that my hands won't reach it.
And every time I think about it
I feel a hole in my gut,
that's telling me there's more to life
than just being THIS an irrelevant stone
waiting, just waiting to be found
waiting to be polish
hoping, just hoping that I would come out
as a precious as I was born to be
or even more precious than a diamond
Is this enough?
Is this ALL OF IT?
I feel like I'm gasping sand in my hands
It is slowly slipping away
The more I hold on to it, the faster it slips.
But the lesser hold, the greater probability,
that the wind blows all of it
What do I do?
I lied when I said "Let it go."
Because I know I can't
Because I know I won't
But time can tell
I secretly hoped I would be not just so
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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