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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
The Insomniac ArtistMy mind is numb from lack of sleep, but my soul is a burning fire of determination.
I cannot go to bed. Not yet.
I must go on. I must finish the painting, the drawing, the vessel, the writing.
Anything but sleep.
Because if I succumb to the dark arms of sleep, I will be in dreams and in darkness.
My art is like life to me; like light. Without it, I can't breathe. I lose who I am.
So I won't sleep.
Finish the work. When it is done, I will not wash the stains from my aching hands. I leave them there because they are a part of me.
And now I've finished this painting. My eyelids are heavy, and a yawn escapes my mouth.
A fleeting panic rushes through me.
The painting is done!
But no, it is never done.
I am the insomniac artist, and my work is never done.
a crack in the phobia- SYM path ewords to eat
while I'm gone
for goodness all
9 missing pieces
from ur last
ALONG THE SILVER TIME SAVE LINE
a spider spies
in a AN EYE-tear
from UR FIRST depression
a weird insect sympathy
came abseiling down
onto YOUR VERY nose
Like A Candle in the Snuff Windyour deserted corneas crumbling neath the sun shrinks my heart to nothing with you......
the sound of the boiled sweet turning in your smug mouth makes me want to throttle u thru
it sends your mummy reeling to the hospital- with more red tape than bandages
spastic meattrapped in the superluminal
mongrel flesh engine
our pyrrhic tongues tied to our knees
we walked half the night looking
for a clusterfuck cushion
or an awkward place amongst the trees
where optics stain and substance changes
every other day
and the conciliatory come to
air out their guts
with the ghosts of irony
Here I Will StandHere I will stand,
Like a statue of uncertainty,
I will not waiver when started upon,
But to be honest,
There is so much that is locked inside.
Like a deep dark book no one wants to read,
Because the ending is just too gruesome to bear witness too,
I keep myself sealed within myself,
The child that is still there.
I can hear him cry out from time to time,
I try to ignore it,
But the darkness still frightens me,
It holds everything I love hostage,
And it’s all my fault that I can’t save them.
When I am alone,
All my faults stare me in the eyes,
And I feel the floor beneath me crumble into millions of pieces.
But in the presence of those whose lives I wield in my delicate hands,
I do not waiver.
Here I stand.
-she came from the north
and tales were born behind her back
standing beneath the ocean of you
for none could follow
we will rise in the east
on the last day of summer and head to your limbs
where she awaits
the scarecrowthe crow's feet sit on my backyard fence
waiting for the moment
the moment when the garden will be full of life
the garden is helpless to stop them
as they tare apart every piece of life within
they block out the sun
not that there was much of it left when they came
the scarecrow comes and there is peace agian
but for how long
nothing last forever
even the scarecrow
human boomerangsscattering enriched guts
are we scientists or just
some kids who wanted to get laid
conceiving maps to non-existent places
and limitless paper for a paperless world
MAN made Frankenstein complex.Whenever suits you
Whatever you want to do
I have nothing better than you
The edges of your image are nostalgic
You are technicolour in my heart
A montage set to tear stained nights
I watched what was
What might have been
Spirits came to me at midnight
Demons and Angels
Came to clamour at my mourning
My grief to them
As sweet and pure as the virgin birth
Many had names like Mephisto and The Undying Compassionate.
Over horizons that disappeared from now till the end
When your eyes met mine
Her chair is empty but the coffee is still warm
The silence faces me from the corners of the room
In its eyes I can see where she went
Along the wind
To fly high
Where no one of consequence can see her downfall
She was legendary in battle
Like delicate shrouds
Crafted by widows
Feeble hands and worn eyes
Her eyes are reminiscent of the fire of disease
Madness like grapes, and cocaine, and Divine XTZ
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
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More