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A Happy Poem?It's weird.
Weird that I found myself alone of my own choosing,
but hated every second of it,
because I knew it meant leaving you.
Weird that this dull pain in the back of my heart lingered for so long,
and that it was a longing for you,
who I deserted.
Weird that now,
When I come to you with my tail between my legs,
and those sad eyes and those lines we've all heard before,
you've forgiven me.
And my heart leaped out of my chest,
And caught in my throat.
A second chance?
A shot to prove myself?
What a relief.
Bad tasteEverywhere I go has a bad taste to it now.
I try to drink from the waters of creativity,
but am met by bitterness and the salt of freshly shed tears.
Everything I eat tastes of ash.
I try to think of things that make me happy,
and I see you everywhere.
I've left a bad taste there for the two of us.
And it hurts,
but I can force myself through it.
I feel wrong making you go through it, too, though.
I wish...I wish that I could say I'm sorry,
but I know that it will only make you hurt more.
I wish I could give you back the piece of your heart
that you were kind enough to give to me,
but I was cold enough to toss aside.
I wish that I could make things better
for the both of us.
Because even as we've gone our separate ways,
I still hurt when I see you like this.
I wish that I could do more than give you time,
but time will have to be all.
I wish I could keep from messing up,
but I can only help by keeping my hands away.
Most Interesting ManI don't always think about you anymore,
but when I do, it still stings.
I don't always lie around and moan about how awful life is,
and how my life doesn't have any meaning,
but when I do,
I make sure that I'm not publicly humiliating anyone.
I may not be the most interesting man on earth,
but I wish I'd be able to get your attention long enough to be recognized.
I may not be unhappy with where I am,
but I sure as hell can bitch about a lot.
Feedback and Activity Messages are AwesomeFeedback and Activity messages are awesome.
Why don't I get any.
It makes me sad.
I don't post any deviations...
Moment of TruthIt's the moment of truth,
Where I come to terms with myself.
Have I been lying to myself all this time?
Or have I actually gotten better?
It's the moment of truth,
Where the last stitch will finally be made,
or where everything I've worked for will be torn up again.
It's the moment of truth,
Where I can learn to be a person again,
And we can learn to be people together.
It's the moment of truth,
Where we meet as entities other than each others' lovers.
And I'm scared.
But I'm ready for this.
It's the moment of truth,
Let's make the most of it.
EngeDiese Enge bringt mich um.
Das Blut pocht mir in den Ohren. Schwere Körper drücken sich an mich, pressen mir die Luft aus dem Brustkorb. Ich kann mich nicht bewegen, hänge fest in einem Meer aus fremden Fleisch. Ein kläglicher Versuch, um Hilfe zu schreien, ist alles was mir bleibt. Doch der zarte Laut meiner kaum vorhandenen Stimme bricht im Gewirr der Geräusche um mich herum in sich zusammen. Meine Stimme. Niemand nimmt Notiz davon. Jeder ist in seiner eigenen Welt vertieft.
Bin ich es denn nicht wert, wenigstens mit einem genervten Blick gegrüßt zu werden ? Ist meine Anwesenheit nicht wenigstens störend oder unangenehm ?
Probeweise stemme ich mich gegen die Personen vor mir und drücke, drücke mit aller Kraft.
HALLO ?! ICH HABE ETWAS ZU SAGEN !
Sie bemerken es nicht, fühlen keinerlei Berührung, bleiben stumm und regungslos. Es ist so als wäre ich nicht vorhanden, als wäre ich nur ein kühler Windhauch, der zagh
A Day in the LifeThe sun was unusually bright that Monday morning in the DPRK. But what good is a sunny day when life is endured under such misery? At 25 years old he had finally decided that he'd had enough. To live with the gnawing pain of hunger day in and day out, to know nothing of the rest of world (save the rumors that occasionally circulated quietly through his small village that a better life was to be had on the outside). He often wondered if such talk of plentiful food, space to breathe, and the happy pursuit of dreams was just fantasy. He had come to the conclusion that there was only one way to find out, he had to attempt escape, even if it meant death. Dying, after all, was no big deal. An end to misery, to pain, to despair.
He would wait until the sun went down. A friend had told him of a breach in the border fence that separated the two Koreas. He had no way of knowing whether this was true, or if he was being set up. No
Your Hollow ChestSometimes it hits you right in the chest, and your entire body just feels hollow. Every heartbeat, every breath, hurts. Your chest is going to implode any minute now, and it hurts to do even the simplest things. And yet somehow, you can hide all this emotion and pretend it doesn’t exist for weeks, sometimes even months on end. It sweeps over you like a wave, with no warning. It can hit at any time, and it destroys your self confidence. Sometimes it has no reason. It makes you feel worthless, like you don't matter and never will. Like you need to die. Like nobody loves you or would even miss you if you disappeared. You lose all form of inspiration, try to make yourself as small as possible. You realize this is only a mood, but it's hard to shake the feeling that it's real. You have no energy, and you want to go home and cry in the corner or in your bed. Your parents won't want you when you get home, you've failed them as a child. They always knew you'd fail. After all, you were an
In this life...Two bartenders were talking about some issues in life, and one seemed much more relaxed than the other. When he asked how he rested so easy with all of life's worries, the bartender replied:
"In this life, you've only got two things to worry about: are you healthy, or are you sick? If you're healthy, you've got nothing to worry about. If you're sick, you've only got two things to worry about: are you going to live, or are you going to die? If you're gonna live, you've got nothing to worry about. If you're gonna die, you've only got two things to worry about: are you going to go to heaven or are you going to go to hell? If you go to heaven, you've got nothing to worry about. If you go to hell..."
"You've got two things to worry about?" groaned the other bartender.
"NO! If you go to hell, you'll be too busy shaking hands with all your goddamn friends to worry about anything! So let's drink and not worry!"
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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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