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YellowLife awaits everyone, but the only one that can make it flourish is the possessor of that life. It's up to that possessor to listen to the whispers of the helpful others while also listening to the beating ribcage that holds their heart, and walk down the path that makes them Great.
PerfIt was a surreal feeling. Leaping back into those depths after so many years of fear. Tranquility, passion, they all rushed back to me as fear and hate was pushed and scuffed against the lanes that would occasionally bore into pale knuckles. It swirled with a still dryness that the above wouldn't greet you with.
P E R F E C T I O N
E A S E
R E A L I T Y
F R E E D O M
Let's Do ThisLet's do this
Life and death are intertwined
When you are born you age, but aging is just another word for dying
Let's walk through death
Let's walk while dying
Let's grow in the world of warmth and red before age sets in
You grow alongside your friend Enemy and lie in bed with your seemingly unknown Death
The world is your mother and father; the DNA coding laced through your fingertips like fine ballet shoes
You walk across the land
And you live beside the age
A King's PuppetI was a torturer
One with no family and no peace
Like a hidden child,
Silenced and locked away
Until the day I was set free,
taken into the world of one who obeys their king.
I became somebody's puppet
to do with as he commanded,
In one of many wars I fought,
this form of mine died,
Completely impaled by a spike of pain.
After, I wandered aimlessly, obeying my king
Then, I found a form again
and I found something more,
I disobeyed my king.
The Word CreatureA being with dripping wings stands in my doorway
He rings along with a lamented song and feeble feet
Above, starlit grids twinkle down on her bitter temper but her eyes shine with an amorous wanting
His bones are lean and rise with each tender breath
Capturing my vision to stare at her, this feeling is encompassing
London EyeDrip drop
Water is running down the clock
Water is dashing across the block
Water is dancing with the flock
People are talking
Cats are stalking
Let's all marvel at this city's walking
Crisp ThoughtsR e m e m b e r i n g
R e m i n d i n g
Snowflakes pitter patter across his winter spoken features
What is my love doing now?
Stepping out of frozen lakes or maybe staring out of that window
W a n d e r i n g
W o n d e r i n g
Ocean sea shores and captivating orchestras
Pelts of brown green ruled tales
Bubbling dynasties of gold
Wide clam shell eyes, pure and stormy
Lost Have you ever been lost? And I don’t mean you're in the supermarket and you can’t find your mum. I mean really, really proper lost. You’re walking down the hallway of your school, heading on your normal route to your next normal class running your hand normally along the lockers as you normally do when you suddenly realize, you’re lost. You realize that these people all around you, while you recognize their faces, and could probably even list off some of their names, are total strangers. You notice that these halls that you’ve walked a thousand times and will very well probably walk a thousand more are completely foreign to you. You can feel the cold metal of the lockers and while you know that you’ve felt it before, it seems brand new. You know that it is your hand touching the lockers and while you know that it is there, you also know that you did not put it there. Have you ever been lost? So lost that you can stare into the fac
There was a garden.When I was young, I knew that there was an unkindness in this world. There are men who will stand and shout pleasant ideologies. There are women who will lie through the skin of their teeth to save monsters. I learned by trial, and it was taught. All kings tend to be the worst of men. And we judged the witches wrong.
I was told of a garden, and that it was the start of things. They spoke of a tree, and the serpent here be.
When I grew up, I learned by error. They taught that lying was wrong, and
Who am I to coax the snake from the tree?
I must be careful, they said. There are people painted in greed. Whatever I could give would never be enough. You can't satisfy the boogeyman after all.
A elder handed me my escape, and since I've struggled to be free.
They tried to gown me in their tales, tried to paint me into porcelain. Like a marionette with broken strings, they could try to move me.
No, they cautioned, don't reach so far. The stars will blow away like so much dust. Careful, be wary
The RavenThere’s a raven that flies past every day. It lives in the tree across the road. He knows because sometimes, late at night, when he’s lying still and awake in bed, it flies to his windowsill and raps its beak against the glass, gently. It doesn’t have a nest. It just lives in the tree across the road.
There’s a gun in his drawer. He cleans it every day. He tells himself it’s just old habits, years of military service forged into his subconscious. He doesn’t tell himself that he should no longer have it. He doesn’t tell himself that the nightmares will stop eventually, either.
His therapist says they will. She asks him questions he doesn’t want to answer, but has to. He lies to her, because there’s nothing else to do. She tells him he needs to leave the house more. She says he needs to at least try to adjust to civilian life. He tells her he is trying.
He doesn’t have a job. Not anymore. His only income is his woeful army pensi
This personThis person
Sighing over and over, this boy never had fun. This boy had wanted to be an artist and was taking a drawing class, but having been plagued by that person, the boy's hands were broken and he could not lift a pencil. And because the boy was bad with healing, he had begun to think he might never be able to draw again. The boy couldn't do much now, everything was difficult. Putting on clothes, eating, doing schoolwork. It just hurt the boy's hands even more. Luckily drawing was the last class of the day, so the boy slipped on his backpack and headed home. The boy hoped no one would chase him again. For some reason not many people liked the boy. Luckily, the boy made it safe and sound home, struggling to unlock the door with a small key, hurting his hands in the process.
Once inside, the boy put all his stuff down and flicked on the television. The boy was scared, there was someone else in the house. That person was in the house, ready to torment the boy. It would come an
The VoidI sit here with a ledge before me.
As I stare into it, my stomach lurches, but I cannot tear my eyes from it.
I feel the winds coming up from it and wonder if they are not nicer or cleaner than the air I have been breathing, forced to breath here in this desert for so long. The void loves to call, to taunt, to tease, even, to lull.
I do not like depths.
Unknown depths which must scare me for some reason, yet I am at my reason's end. The air up here is rare and thin, pulling at my lungs and harrowing my nerves for the taste of at least one more drop of what my bare existence drives me to need.
But no hope comes.
No hope nor help will ever come.
There are many, and yet there re none.
No one hears the cries.
No one can over the noise of their own.
And yet the continuation is this.
And the air becomes more and more rare.
Clawing at my sides, choking me from inside.
I feel sleepy, powerless and would like to just end it.&
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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