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Somethings are like a naked city sidewalk
exposed and punished without a soul stepping on it
forlorn and left to crack under the strain of the elements
A slow defeat by neglect
Somethings are like flowers in a run down lot
they grow despite what happens around them
how they puzzle me so
for they cannot do otherwise
Somethings are like dust
brushed off, and disposed of to simply exist elsewhere
to make things cleaner for another few hours
and then... does it create a commune somewhere?
Somethings are like the rain
falling when everyone, almost, wants it to stop
and giving the earth much needed nutrients
only to vanish as the skies clear.
somethings are like garbage
with no capitalization and no remorse
to have once served a purpose,
and given the ending result, left to smolder and languish
by lw end -
I remember you, the night's I felt the yearning denied,
the way I shouted, the way I cried, the intensity it wanted to beat inside,
so long, so often, an empty house, an empty soul,
a way to breathe, a way to grow old, a way to seethe, a way to grow.
I dreampt of the flower, I couldn't hold, I cherished every tear,
that I could feel drip through my fingers,
Sadness meant I felt something, so much, so far, so strong,
I couldn't, I can't, how can you explain?
The kind of irradiation of the heart,
thousands of degrees,
and the sun is no equal,
nor is the mystery of the moon.
I wonder now, as the entirety comes to bear,
through me, clutching at my hair,
this cage around my heart beckons,
with rusted bars, and thick steel locks.
I wish there were a way to breathe,
out from thousands of misdirections, and lost causes,
the greatest yearning I've ever felt,
holding a bleeding heart in my hand.
I caress this thought, try and remember that sound,
hold the barest, smallest, f
Every lie I've ever wantedEvery lie I've ever wanted
Has come from deep inside
every hope ever encountered, ever smile ever countered, rebounding glares off the walls are offered, pacifying words are pilfered, our language is smothered in kerosene and cyanide gathered in cigarette burns, we walk witless and injured.
Nothing quite so hideous as a lie unfiltered, debauched jagged reality, defying leaps of integrity into that grand unknown, the truth not shown, dice shaken, tossed and thrown.
Our brains scattered, debased, defunct and strewn about the floor, the remains of a half-assed score without hesitation, a life half lived unworthy of recitation, recounting nothing and blinding empty light unshaken, a life like sizzling twitching twisting bacon.
Life is not an invariable constant remaining unchanged, unrestrained. There's more to the story than what's broken, busted and banged. The greatest entropy is a mind deranged, hopeless perspective in a cage, caught in a maze. There's better ways t
...Tension, is building between
our bones; cracking
these boundaries that bind
[lets not get lost in the moment
Path of lifeLife is a dangerous path
Full of twists and traps
A path we're forced to walk
Without turning back
We may regret the past
We may regret the mistakes
But we must learn from them
And keep moving on
We may predict the future
And even fear it
But we never know
What happens next
The only thing we have
Is the present, here and now
So let's live it
And forget about the rest
The mistakes of the past
The mysteries of the future
All part of life
This path we all walk
We Have No TimeAll we have
Is a sliver
Everything we will
Do in life
We all die before we know it
Its a fact of life
And I am already dying
A slow painful death
One year at a time
One month at a time
One week at a time
One day at a time
Then we flatline
On a metal sheet
Buried in the dirt
To think we were born yesterday
Only to die tomorrow
Winter's GirlI was winter's girl,
frozen under a thick layer of ice.
People tried to break it with their ice picks, but to no avail.
They eventually left me cold and in pieces in my frozen abyss.
You're thawing me out, slowly but surely.
"Summer girls aren't for me, "you say.
"Too full of sick strawberry sweetness."
That was just said to comfort me, but it oddly worked.
Maybe time with you will make me a summer girl,
no more need for thawing,skating with you above my ice.
The Denial Of Truth?Why they
Don't listen to you,
Until it's too late?
Don't believe in you,
Until it's too late?
Start to listen
When it's too late?
Start to believe
When it's too late?
Couldn't listen to you,
When they should have?
Couldn't believe in you,
When they should have?
wordless they succumbAnd they fell -
just like that.
Just like the act of breathing;
soundless and inevitable.
Like an eager girl slipping
straps from her shoulders,
the soft crush of silk at her feet.
WonderlandWhen I was little, I knew Wonderland.
Logic was faulty and rules were no more.
Up was down; down was up.
That was how it constantly was.
Fish swam in the air and drowned in water.
Worries were small and dreams were big.
One fell up until they reached the clouds,
Which were then used for soft beds and pillows.
Gender was an unnoticed trait.
Everyone was blind.
Everyone could see.
There were no expectations to uphold.
I was happy.
Then I woke up-or fell asleep-
Into a world with war and prejudice and plague.
I wondered then, and I do now…
Was Wonderland not the real world?
A cure for hateA cure for hate
Is ascension, contaminate the sickness with the light of archons
and angels gleaming from the inside of our throats.
Twisting our lies, into the flies spewing forth
with rainbow lice burrowing deep into the black ice.
Is a moment of disbelief, stricken on our faces,
as the immutable stone turns to ivory mirrors,
we see the conditions collapsing around us
decay, and the brutal decisions to coerce doves into vultures.
Is realization, collecting in our dustpans,
sweeping up the cooking oil splashed on the floor,
left over from a bubble bursting like a pinata,
blinking and open mouths swallow entire rabbits.
Is a well spring, yearning forth from the divide,
the connection that fills with butterflies fluttering
ignoring the swarms only to rise above the mess,
and weaving a tapestry of shining threads in the sky.
A cure for hate is only to turn around and look
gaze and see the ruin of crushed flowers,
putrescant smell, and have the unnatural urge
by the grace of gre
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