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Heroes Are Forever"It will feel natural eventually, just practice, every day if you have to. You will succeed eventually, that much is a guarantee".
But the way had never felt so hard before...
The ceiling above was toned a shadowy gray as Eva stared at it. Her hair, dyed a dark blue, and highlighted with lighter blue streaks, flowed behind her.
Her memories echoed within her brain, ebbing away before picking back up again, and good mingled with the bad, producing powerful mixed emotions.
"What do you mean?"
"Well... It's fairly sell explanatory kid, heh, I'm..."
Eva blinked, she shifted position in her bed, it had been three days, and time seemed to stand still. Somehow, night and day came and went, despite the deadness that surrounded her.
All she wanted was sleep, but her mind was not at ease.
"When will you....?"
"There is no date yet, but the doctors estimate a few months at best..."
A smile swims to the front of Eva's mind.
The VentingIt was not supposed to work like this. She was the strong one, she stood like a tree, tall and firm, but unlike a tree, soft and gentle to the touch. Supportive, giving, loving, caring....
But there she was, tears running down her face, sitting on the floor. Feeling lost, alone, and worst of all....
She felt so small.
So... Fucked up on the inside.
She'd had her moments like this before, but she was young, dumb, emotional. Not like now, now she was mature, now she should have control.
But there she was, knife in hand, blade pressed against her arm, shaking from head to toe. She was scared, scared of the future, scared for her sanity, what will she do? Was this cry for attention even worth it?
Her weakness sickened her more than anything.
Who could she turn to? She tried to think clearly, she thought of her friends, all the good times they shared. They laughed and smiled in the soft lights of her memories....
But as quick as she could recall those memories, they star
Experiment 626-Part One-I do not remember when I started running. I do not even remember why, or who I was running from. My memories limit themselves to sunny days, blue skies, and vague images of those I once considered beloved.
I am filthy, covered in sweat, and have been living in ally ways. I dared not to show myself on the streets, for after awhile, those clean faces that surround me began to look strange and warped. They frightened me, and as deeply as I wished to return to my once happy existence, I began to doubt if it were even possible.
I eat garbage, like a sewer rat, alone.... But not alone. For I am constantly being hunted, shadows stirring in the night, threatening to end my existence at every turn. So I ran, and I still run, and will continue to run.
It is all that I can do for myself.
My life, if I could even refer to it as such, was under constant threat. Yet I fight for it, even when I believe I should let it go, my body gets up, and runs. Running and running through the city in which I live
DenialThy dark state commands me,
"Shut thine eyes,
Gaze no more,
And speak no more,
Of thine wretched state".
But feel I shall,
For emotion can not be quelled so easy.
The pain shut inside of me,
Closed in thine binding grip.
As I pretend not to shudder at its searing presence,
Not to quake in agony.
Such invented thoughts hold as threads,
And eventually, as I hold onto thy comforting deception,
And the things I should have done,
That I could have done...
The failures, the false hopes of the past,
Reminders of fake lovers,
Desires for tastes beyond my reach.
Rush to greet my weakened mind,
And I internally collapse in pain.
All in the name of
TasteI reach out,
I breathe in the rich scents
Of white, red, and brown.
I lean in, desiring just one small sample,
The moment is gone.
Your image vanishes into the depths of my mind,
And my body aches,
The Vanishing WorldI woke up in a daze,
For normally where I'd gaze,
I saw naught one face,
I traveled far and wide,
From the flattest farm,
To the biggest city.
I thought that perhaps everyone,
Was just being witty.
Avoiding my eyes so cleverly,
From Union Square to Beverly.
But at last the truth descended,
I could seen no one,
Not even those I befriended.
For they were all gone,
I could hardly believe it.
I sat down on my lawn,
and cried big tears of sorrow.
I fell back asleep,
Hoping all will be well tomorrow.
When you lose a best friendWhen we said friends forever and
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
At peace within this tranquil garden,
I picture the moments where I've made you smile.
Those times are endlessly precious to me,
I think they're worth the while.
They're worth the time I've spent with you,
Even if it wasn't long.
I only wish I'd spent a little more,
Before our love was gone.
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
She's an artistShe's an artist.
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
Still HereSuicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness
Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
smotherher spine was dusk
and unmade nests,
but he tried to live there
he was neither nocturnal
nor a dawn-believer,
so he suffocated
in the birdhouse of her ribs.
between my vertebrae, you are (cemeterial)oh, these writers never speak; they
claw words out of bird carcasses,
poets pecking viscera like necropolitans.
they count their ribs to remind you
of a corpse or of a matchstick. dry bones
between fissured wrists & funeral pyres,
these have been dying days &
they're all mortuaries.
It is still and unmoving.
Tension set forth by the fear of the unknown.
The loudest sound a soul can bear.
Pounding, shrieking, agony.
The mind begs for an end,
but the golden plague is unrelenting.
It's grip as tight as a python's on it's prey.
Squeezing it's victim until the mind surrenders,
and the silence engulfs the world with it's white noise.
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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