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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
LifeHow do I break this part
The part that yearns like blood from an open wound
bleeding, making the literature of pain visible for all to see
reflected pools staining the bathroom tiles, and the sink dirty with
makeup, and hair, and the disgusting residue of misspent consent.
The part that watches, from leagues away, in the great emptiness where
all that's said, all that can be is a lasting sigh... where the words live, and lie -
down like a beaten body, surrendered to the weight of hammers,
striking the pounding truth of nails, bolts and mirrors.
The part that examines, a lasting impression on the moon, blown away
by the wind, the ever lasting wind of gravity, and the turning of celestial bodies
where all combines, collects, erases... the evidence of reality
from ever seeing destitute hopes and dreams ending, one pin, or penny, drop at a time.
The part that cries out, slams their fist, the hurting alone is enough
to silence and restrict, restrain, oh how that sounds s
The Light that bendsthe light that bends
in the fat, and the lard, and the fat that sticks to the edge of your thumb
despite how much you try and shake it off
the fragment means more than you'd imagine
and yet it's so easily given away.
onto the greatest of fragments, small bits rolling off of a pastry dish,
a cookie crumb, a simple thumb-tac to jam into the wall
hopelessly precarious, hung like a dragon lily,
blowing across the sea, the skies, planted upon the ground
a pale white breath, watch it dissipate into the eternal cold
and gasp at the shape it makes for half a second
a horse that thunders into the night
flames from the mouth of a dragon
very seldom away,
never in silence
never shift or sway
for those steps always turn around again.. don't they?
by lw end -
SandAll that was
Far as you can see
Endless white sandy beaches stretching towards crashing walls of water
white capped waves punishing the shoreline leaving soaked remains in their wake
burning sand beneath flip flops kicking up tails behind them
and umbrellas, blots of resistance against the oppressive sunshine.
Far as you can hear
Insistent voices chattering away, voices half heard upon the wind, bright sounds almost words.
Volumes of stories lived and gone in a matter of moments, and a crackling fire, where the spark of creation began.
Winds as furtive and plaintiff as these, wrapping themselves around us like lovers, carrying with it the scent of trees.
Quiet again, almost, as nothing else is seen in the perpetual darkness of the night, and we succumb to tents, smoldering campfires, and dire promises to the future.
Far as you can walk
Footsteps mark a trail behind us of endearing catastrophes,
jokes and endless rivers of tears, of laughter and sheer disbelief
and full of sec
Plant LifePlant life
And like great vines, they start small, twisting about the wooden poles,
and with each new day, the horizon is a bit closer, or does it draw further away?
they do not take to the earth like so many plants, no, they reach for the unconquerable sky,
to challenge the sun, to caress the moon, and soar with the birds they stare at so much.
Some start slow, as the clock ticks by and by despite all human agency against it's tyranny,
that wonderful green pettles are adorable at first, and then leaves that cast shadows
over our faces, our homes, as if nothing else exists, the world itself blotted out
with just a leaf, a vine, a stalk that climb great metal walls beyond all we've built.
Others race to the finish, time is lost so quickly, as they are energized
by the sun that compells them, as they yearn to run, need to see, and
put their roots into everything, without a care, without a moments question,
and they build, are they big enough to contain it all?
bw Lw end -
Your nothing, nothing's wrong.
So much angst, and so much dreadful song
there's nothing here, just a bit of pitiful fear
contact to nowhere, stare, skin laid bare.
Stock photo's never lie,
Look upon the empty eye,
your done, your nothing's wrong,
keep singing your song.
Locked in a dozen hugs,
only a dozen, nothing more,
no kisses, no smiles, not anymore,
your ground down, down to nothin'.
Corrective vision circulates duplicity
a fuzzy life of lies,
and a clear sight of condescension,
when the mirror's stained with shit.
Worthy lives that populate
a world beyond all hope to date
inside a bubble everyone takes for granted
you can't bear to burst it.
by lw end -
.just try not to
that memory, that one
wolf that calls
for the rest
of the pack;
you'll spend all
with them inside
gossamer loveyou will love a woman
who uses the word
too often. she will
diagnose dead artists' descents
into madness and laugh
too loudly at jokes
no one understands.
she will braid crowns of
flowers, she will write poems
in constellations, she will
try to walk like a dancer so
no one can hear her
leave. she will be
an ice sculpture, and when
she cries, you'll convince yourself
she's melting, she loves you, you've
changed her, you've
changed; she will wear you
like a comma, like
an incomplete thought,
in her story, and
she will leave you wondering
they say his bark is worse than his bitethe lime green telephone
demands to be answered,
its bell-biting voice
a wolf in sheep's clothing.
she picks up, yawning,
invisible to prying payphone eyes
in her blurred lipstick
and last night's dress.
"who's there?" she asks,
and the man just laughs
because he knows she's already
caught in his fishing net,
the poor discounted mermaid
flopping in the moonlight.
she can't remember the last time
her mother called, or the last time
she rode a bike.
one day her childhood got fed up
with her wicked ways and left
without a trace.
for some reason, she keeps looking for it,
the convict joyriding down a nostalgic road
closed off by orange cones.
the phone call lasts thirty seconds
at the most.
she bites her lip and stretches,
slips into stilettos by the bed.
her joints creak as she stands,
warning her, telling her
she's too old
to be breaking her own heart like this.
she pretends she doesn't hear,
purse noisy with quarters.
outside, a mosquito
hits the bug zapper
she shakes her h
crooked kissesAn old man sits at a bus stop,
his ragged clothes soaked
through to his creaky bones.
He grips his beggars cup
tightly, but instead of coins it
overflows with rain water.
Passersby pass by without
giving a second glance, brief
cases clenched in swinging
hands, Bluetooth plugged into
their ears. A little girl dressed
in pink polka dots prances
to his side. Her mouth moves
quickly and his takes time to
form words. She giggles,
drops coins into his cup, and
gives him a kiss on the cheek.
He laughs a crooked grin.
CatatoniaShe scrawls life line tallies on her wrists in scars
to mark each year passed
and haunts bars looking for the love of strangers.
she finds malt whiskey and vermouth; strange mouths to kiss
she tips them back the way a lover might tip her chinny chin
She whispers slurs and looks into the abyss of gin.
He inhales death with the smoky kisses of cigarettes
injects life paraphrasing echoes of love with hypodermics to keep
the hypothermia of loneliness back
but it creeps and creeps
a slow paralysis
under the windowsill, rain falling bleak on the pane to drip
into her veins
soft dark over the threshold of the doorway to her soul
writing ink into her shadow, there -
melting behind the lidded stupor stare of dreamless minds
it stirs and wakes,
invisible monsters sleeping in her chest
they bare their teeth and bleed
pain naked in the light of morning
ugly and beautiful in the honesty of strangers unable to turn
from a car crash in the dusk.
walking in darkness
searching for touch.
Cigarrete Smokesometimes you want to
kill the world inside you,
but you can't
because you're too worried
because you can't see the consequences
because you don't like modifications
because you can't make up
well you're excused,
excused from giving a damn,
for the cigarette lighter
(I'm too tired to stomp out the ashes
and blow the smoke away).
To the one I forget to loveSunshine girl,
your feet are itchy for the miles
between your sighs
and hunger scratches
at your throat
but you have a smile
that swallows oceans
and your heart
into the Marinia Trench.
this heaviness in you
is a dandelion
coming home to rest
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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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More