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TalkTalk talk talk
That's what people do
Talk talk talk
So why can't I?
Talk talk talk
I wish I could
Talk talk talk
But who would talk to me anyways?
Halloween Twas Halloween morning, the air filled with the scent of rising evil, the atmosphere preparing itself for what was to come. The trees started to lose their leaves in fear and the plants withered. The wind blew stronger naively believing that it could simply blow away it away. The temperature dropped like an anvil from a cliff. The once long happy long summer days transitioned into the short, cold miserable days. As the evil continued to terrorize nature, it decided to start the real battle; against nature’s inhabitants. Some slept, deciding to have it just be a bad dream.
”Halloween,” The woman murmured, “The night when things happen, strange things. Tis the night of my birth, the night of my death, and the night of my rise,” She continued to look down upon the world as she slowly woke from her slumber. She commanded her army with an iron fist. Moth
A MonsterA monster
You turn away
You look back
You're forever lost
Haven't decided a nameI used to dream.
I used to dream my prince would come,
he would save me from myself, my twisted, depressed, ugly self
But he never came
I used to dream
I used to dream I'd grow up,
I'd become a doctor
I'd help people, make them better
But now I won't
I used to dream that
I used to dream that I'd be able to dance
I'd dance & dance flawlessly across the floor
But that'll never happen
But now those dreams are gone
Contest entryI'm deleting entries from my journal. So I decided to put this as a deviation instead
For :iconpurple-pony-of-choas:'s contest
A heart of a pig
I loved her
She tossed them
Saying I was a fool to think she would ever even consider a single step with me.
Why must a heart of a pig be what she have?
of being portrayed as a fool
of her rudeness
So I cut her heart out, to make it mine.
And replaced it
Something...Journals / Personal
I remember it all.
Laying in the meadow, thinking of what fate had in store.
in summer's golden sun.
When a princess became 16,
Happily ever after in other words.
And there I lay thinking that would happen to me
But I was wrong.
When you lose a best friendWhen we said friends forever and
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
She's an artistShe's an artist.
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
At peace within this tranquil garden,
I picture the moments where I've made you smile.
Those times are endlessly precious to me,
I think they're worth the while.
They're worth the time I've spent with you,
Even if it wasn't long.
I only wish I'd spent a little more,
Before our love was gone.
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
Still HereSuicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness
Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
Ideationlocked in a room
with only one escape,
or so it seems.
your hands shake and you drop the key.
Suddenly you're unsure.
Do I want to pick it up?
Do I want to find it?
Do I want to leave?
you think to yourself
there's no other choice.
find the key or corrode, or rust
wear down the hinge
use sadness as the key.
You have the answer now.
Just open the door.
Just walk outside and don't look back.
Let yourself leave with no regrets.
And yet you can't.
You're afraid, you think,
but you are actually strong.
Don't run away.
Don't take that leap.
My Name and StoryYou might know my name
For it is occasionally said
But you don't know my story
You might have heard someone else's version
But what do they know about me?
I feel like a mystery,
Waiting to be solved
A closed book
Waiting for someone to open me
Because I'm sitting on the shelf collecting dust
With nothing to do but wait
My story is mine and mine alone
It is both tragic and joyous
But with a twist
I could tell it to you
But would you understand?
Keep in Touch!
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