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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
The tough gets growingI'm knee-deep in mud,
grumbling and mumbling
about what I did
to deserve this mess
And my mother glares,
"When I planted you,
I put you deep in the dirt,
not to bury you alive,
but to teach you that
when the growing gets tough,
the tough gets growing."
pick up the slack and
pick up that slack-jawed shadow of yours
dragging on wet pavement under your soles
and hurry it along, we ain't got all day here
flex your white-boned fingers and
taut knuckles and pluck the soul from
its coffin in your slick throat
the sun has better places to be than in your sky.
Falling Back into Placei wait for wisdom
the sludge tells me
to come in
awaits, just beneath the tack
of its sticky skin
and i know
that what waits there
is more patient
eternal and hungry
but the peace
is only a skin
the gardenersMy father is a good man.
His hands, dry and
callused, carry a case
of Corona Lite
to the gardeners in
Big-brimmed hats cast
shadows down their faces,
and a pile of thick,
gray gloves lies
on the glass table.
The beer looks like liquid
gold in those clear bottles,
and condensation clings
to the glass like the sweat
beading at their brows.
My father and the gardeners
drink, laughing like they’ve
known one another for years.
There is nothing
that brings men together
better than beer
on a hot day.
grow upyou say
i am weak
i have never
worked for anything
i am not sorry
i should take
the pills the doctor
i will never
know what it is to
hurt the way that you hurt,
plant me in the ground
listen to the way my nature sounds
when i turn from something black
to something luminous, proud
you turned me into a shadow, you prick
remember that? remember this?
yeah, the condom broke, you
piece of shit, at least i tried
to be careful, at least when
you cried, i kissed your
say what you want
about my judgment.
my immaturity, my general
lack of readiness for
anything. but i was good
to you, and i tried,
and i am sorry that
you hurt so much
that you can't
do it as elegantly
as i can.
you have never
learned to love
the grit: the place
where my spirit sags,
where my love
as if biology could have been any clearer,
cleaning your spit from my bedroom mirror-
i can smell your genes and
they smell fucking good to me,
but i keep telling myself,
Our destiny is determined
Reliving the past
Enduring the suffering
Visions of the future
Endeavours to come
Representing life as a whole
9 Countenances for the Curious1.
My limbs have become instruments,
but, unlike the piano of your memories,
I am still not anyone's to play.
I think I am finite,
that the limits of me are dictated
by flesh and numbers
on an inverted scale
but the dog on my lap
doesn't care what I weigh;
she wants only
to love me and be loved.
the pain that anchors you
strains your back,
the ship of your life
is hamstrung upon a reef
and you think you are watching
a dolphin at play
but siren songs deceive you.
my ship sank beneath the waters
years ago, this bubble of life
sustains me even as i drown:
there are storms in the depths
of me, and you see only
the ocean's calm.
At 7, I swallowed stories
like candy; didn't understand
that too much leaves you bloated.
At 17, I breakfasted on books
like pancakes; too caught up
to tell (some things should be special).
At 27, I feasted on fiction
like home-cooked meals; didn't know
some of it could poison you.
At 37, I hope I will be picking
at poetry; letting the flavours
of the words
The Washed MindI have let the difficulties flood my body
From head, the worries slip to my heart
like children falling through the cracks
of some broken floor
under which is nothing besides me
My mind is melting from the inside
Swarmed by maggots and the meaningless questions:
Would my mind work better
without all these walls
stopping it from evolving?
Where did these obscene problems come from?
Surely my mind was born free
Surely my opinions exist somewhere...
Or is freedom nothing but a joke
to the true me?
So, I ate nails and needles to clear my mind
The bleeding and the pain
were both evil and refreshing
I have learned the lesson
fairy tales are the shadows on my eyes
Now my mind is clear as melting glass
running down my cold spine
washing away the sins,
violent thoughts and sorrowful memories
from the edge of my past
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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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More