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Not EnoughShe wears not her heart on her sleeve
but rather flaunts mine.
It's something about her,
more than too much,
enough to tempt time itself;
and I fear
that I'm simply
Looking For Another LifeLooks like he's back in the bar,
with a cup of hope and cheap whiskey,
drinking it to the bottom
as if there were stars hidden down there.
I wonder what he does
during the days.
Maybe he's an office worker,
or an artist,
or a scientist,
or a prime minister.
But it really doesn't matter, does it?
Now he's just another drunk,
pointlessly digging for treasure
in an endless, black chasm,
that he'll find an open doorway
leading to somewhere else
when the bottle's empty.
Just one more soul
searching for another life
at the end of the bottle;
at the end of the night.
Ashen DiaryShe wrote everything
in that old diary of hers,
always smelling of tangerines
looking torn and beaten
from all the corners and crooks
she's hidden it in.
She shoved hours of every day
between the cracking covers
of that book,
hoping to save them for the future,
when she'll no longer be able to remember,
incapable of reliving her past.
Pouring out her soul onto the pages
through the tip
of her black sharpie,
recording her life
minute by minute.
She didn't know
that putting her life on paper
would take the life
out of her.
I didn't know either.
And now I would kill
to read the her hidden behind covers.
I'd die to read the her
who opened up over the pages.
Candles in the SunThey would always be up on the hill during summer,
each one with a book to read and a cup of tea.
They didn't know each other at first,
just two strangers who enjoyed reading outdoors,
having their books lit up by the waning light of the sunset.
They would always sit at opposite ends of the hill,
her on the left, him on the right,
but they would gradually move closer together,
each curious of the other.
Then, one afternoon, she brought too many biscuits,
and he coincidentally brought too much lemonade,
and by this time they were already side-by-side.
So they sat together facing the sun, reading,
each silently enjoying the other's company.
The next day they both had the idea to bring candles,
both thinking of how nice it'd be to be able to read
beyond the sun's limits.
They sat, this time with just a few fewer inches between them.
They went on like this for weeks, closing the distance each day,
until the only space between them were the clothes on their backs,
both cherishing the time s
The BartenderHe takes another crystal cup
from the rack of containers at his side,
wiping it clean,
filling it with tonic and gin,
and all that liquid gold,
then putting it on the counter
for the newest sad sack fresh through the door,
full of sorrow
and ready to drink away his woes.
Sometimes he wishes that it was him
sitting on the chair in front of his place,
emptying his wallet
in exchange for emptying his mind
and his clouded heart
of all their demons.
He has bills to be paid
and debts to be remade.
He wishes that he was the one
talking with this understanding bartender,
who just happens to be such a good listener.
But he knows that can never be.
He has to be the one
who hears all the woes and troubles,
the one who is perpetually prepared
to offer his moral support
in times of need, disaster, and even any mild confusion.
He can't be the one to break or bawl,
can't afford to crumble or fall.
He has to stand, always, an invincible pillar,
reliable, sturdy, robust, and tall.
No matter what demons
Falling With Closed EyesWhen you're blindly in love,
you can do one of two things;
You can become comfortable in your blindness,
become blissful in your infatuated ignorance,
and hit the ground too hard
after falling too hard
with your eyes closed
when they finally decide to open.
Or, you can choose to open your eyes
and learn to love well;
learn not to fall
for what you don't know
and learn to open your eyes
when you're going somewhere
that you haven't been before.
Inside Her RoomInside this room
lies the history,
always a mystery,
of a life that I've outlived,
a life lived that's long past,
but not lost.
On that bed,
under its satin pink covers
is where a little girl used to lay,
a little girl who couldn't bear to stay,
who lived a laconic life and was much loved,
but, along with her,
that love's passed away,
but not forgotten.
Outside of that window,
left slightly ajar,
is the chirping of the bluebirds she used to love,
able to flit away so far,
able to flee all possible scars,
but not this one.
In the middle of that carpeted floor
sits a chair left alone,
a chair that hasn't been sat in for far too long,
and above that aging chair,
hangs, on the ceiling, a rope,
a noose that she herself had hung,
but hadn't the chance to take off.
Inside this room,
a room rank with regret,
a room drenched with the stench of death,
a room ever-present in my nightmares,
exists the hallowed history
of a life that's been lived
long in the past,
a history th
Delusions of YouI know that you have her
smeared all over your lips,
her lipstick on parts of you
that I've not yet seen,
but I have you
etched on the surface of me,
and I pray that counts for something.
I know that you think of me
only when she's not on your mind,
that I'm just an opening act
to her main attraction,
but I think of you
whenever I'm not thinking of you,
and I pray that counts for something.
I know about it all,
but I keep ignoring it,
living in a daydream,
bound to crumble apart
I wonder why.
I guess it's because
there's nothing better
than a bit of blissful delusion
to get me through another night without dreams.
Another night without you.
Fire, FireFire, fire, in my heart,
burning bright with warmth and light,
its heat still felt when far apart,
its warmth still striking when apart.
Fire, fire, going dim!
Sparks barely alive, only flickers of light.
Why would you leave me broken for him,
forsaking my warmth and love to love him?
Fire, fire, gone away,
a blaze gone dark, an ember dead,
it's only now that I see,
only now does it dawn upon me;
It was long ago
that my fire did flee.
All They See Is ScarsI want to tell a story,
but this story isn't a fairy tale
and it wont have a happy ending,
because the real ones, well
they never really do.
In high school
I picked up my pen
and I began to write
It existed and it was pure
and it was lovely.
But my rapist rewrote me.
breathing on my neck
and tracing my back with his fingers.
He rewrote me as broken.
He wrote me as a statistic,
as another white girl who got told
that she cried rape for attention.
But that didn't matter because see,
I wanted to tell a story.
A story about family,
about picking each other up
about blood being thicker than water
about how not everyone's home
had to be broken.
But my father rewrote me.
When i picked up my pen
he spoke words to me
that I swear bruised my whole body
and I learned that nothing
was thicker than his alcohol
and my home was already shattered.
But I wanted to tell a story.
so I picked up my pen
to write about god.
A God that could save anybody
And God loved everybody,
which was the onl
Single for LifePlastic surgery can't reach into the past
A new skin will still wear the facts
You can't win chess when playing with lust
Better crash the car before you finish last
Hardcover with a title, joke of the class
All the blurbs talk about the kicks to your ass
Never touch a girl before you ask
Never try to control her with a glass
Everyone can read that history of violence
The shitstorm you caused masked by silence
Loud victims are still victims
Easy targets for the education system
Chew you up and eat the marrow of the bone
While the emperor takes another throne
You're not the type a woman would lay down with
The shit you ate is all over your teeth
It's sexual harassment if you try to kiss
Your spit is a cocktail of blood and piss
You don't need soap, just a little love
But who's the dope to take such a dirty job?
It's only one person to talk to and it's God
If he doesn't exist, turn to your own blood
Only to discover that you're so tough
Even your self hatred is not enough
To push you off
DrowningHow wonderful it feels
To fall back
Into the hands
Of the water below.
Unlike everyone else
Water envelops you,
Makes you feel light,
The only direction
You’ve ever known.
Your hair moves around you like
Seaweed on the ocean floor.
Bubbles that once
Had a home inside your lungs
Escape freely into the water.
And climb up higher
To the safety of the surface.
“This is what is left
Of my existence.
Little bubbles floating up,
Higher and higher,
While I sink,
Lower and lower”
And as you feel
The last bubble,
The last of your air,
Flow out of your lips
You couldn’t help but smile.
Even as your lungs
Screamed in pain
You ignored it
Like you’ve done for years.
Even with the water
You still managed
But not in sadness,
For now you were leaving.
Leaving the pain.
Leaving the sadness.
Leaving the hurt.
Leaving the cruel words
That others w
3.When you asked me to strip,
we both had a different understanding
of what you meant.
See, I thought
you wanted me to peel away
the layers of who I was
so you could see what
As you watched,
I shed the confidence
that clung to me like a second
skin and showed you the insecurity
that was underneath.
I cut away my determination,
leaving in its place the self-doubt
that ate away at me everyday.
I ripped off the laughter
that covered my soul
in an effort to hide the
uncertainty of who I was.
I shrugged out of my ambition,
displaying for you the meekness
that was carved inside.
I stood in front of you then,
baring my soul and shivering
in my vulnerability.
I wasn't expecting you to love me--
no, I never wanted you to do that;
Instead, I only wanted you to hold me
and then show me who you really were inside.
But what did you do?
You turned around and walked away without
a second thought--or a glance back.
And here is where I still stand,
mounted on the asph
Take It BackEmotions are overrated
while the ache is dull.
They play and tear and
dance and squeeze and pull.
The soul is such an
It never allows for
very much detachment.
I say to take it back,
return to the source.
The truth is simply
I don't want it anymore.
I'd rather be a robot,
more machine now than man.
I'd rather be something inhuman,
something more on demand.
No one wants to be hindered
by such base feelings and thoughts.
Every time the heart swells,
each sensation is dearly bought.
It pulls and all this,
leaving rips and tears.
If there was no soul in the way,
it would be so much easier to bear.
I don't need this anymore.
I wish to feel no love.
I would finally have some peace.
I would finally rise above.
It can't stand to reason
why I must feel these things.
If my soul was non-existent,
I would soar with new wings.
But I wouldn't know such release.
I wouldn't know such peace.
I would be left in numbing black.
I would only be simply deceased.
It's probably better
Cupid's curseSometimes I wonder if I imagined you
because you disappeared almost without a trace,
only leaving an illegible phone number,
two 'x's trapped in the creases,
two 'x's hovering on my lips,
and every time I breathe
I remember -
Your summer breath,
I get lost in you
while you are lost in the crowd,
out of sight,
never out of mind.
It is a curse
when the rest of the world has forgotten,
a curse I keep lodged in my heart
like a bullet.
Being without you is a wound,
gaping maw in my side
and while I choke back tears and
try to stop myself splitting at the seams,
a haze of smoke on the periphery.
Sometimes I wonder if I inhaled you,
vapour in my lungs,
dust in my bloodstream,
(two 'x's lost in the creases,
separated by folds of paper mountains
so close and yet –
Neurotically Shy 16 Year Old BoysThe moment I told you I know your favorite band
You embraced me and I thought we might be friends
I wonder if you felt my accelerating heart
I wondered if you sensed my brain creating art
Of words out of the emotions you cause
We sink into a conversation and I'm more buzzed
By you than the beer and potato water
Not enough to ask for a daughter
But we both write and like the same sounds
So maybe you're different, maybe you'll stay around
You thought among the bass and the shouts
Nobody will see you walking out
Well, nobody but this little insecure dipshit
Catch up, ask what's up and you tell me to leave it
How can I see you like this and ignore?
Your mask is stained from the blood that pours
So talk about your problems and then talk some more
I won't leave you, even if they call me for war
You tell me about your home and your suicide attempt
You started crying and I told you the party can wait
I reached out and held you for a bit of warmth
Cry as much as you can, for what it's worth
*Love of Life*Addicted to life
Emotional, heartfelt moments
As Far As You Can Throw MeThey told me
I'm still growing up
I held a gun, had rockets flying over my head, and guarded the middle of nowhere
And I'm still growing up
I've been far away from home, carried my drunk friend back, stopped hating the girls who broke my head and worked without much sleep
And I still hate myself
And I still want out
And they tell me
I'm still growing up
A friend asked me if I wanted to start my life already
So I told him
So long as I can stay up to six in the morning with my friends
Yes, I'm ugly
No, I don't know a lot of cool places to go
Yes, I'm still a virgin after 19 years
No, I'm not funny
If you feel like shoving this stuff in my face, girl
My friends and my music and my girls and my books will still be here
Long after your cookie cutter sitcom character of a boyfriend is gone
If you feel like shoving this stuff in my face, girl
Maybe you need something to do
Or someone to do
Maybe you need to reject someone
Just to feel attractive
I made a DJ set and I f
Wings Of LeadShe's a condor
trying to dive
off of a mountain of quicksand,
trying to soar
on wings of lead,
chained to the ground.
She's a hawk
that I so want to set free,
lest I disappoint
and become chained
to this godforsaken desert
She's an eagle
and her wish to fly free
reverberates through me
and whether I want to or not
I will break those chains.
I will become the air beneath her wings,
the cliff off which she'll leap,
the feathers to lift her leaden arms,
the blade to break her chains.
And with my fall,
she will fly.
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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