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solemn smilesshe's too broken to be whole anymore. she's empty, holding all of your secrets until she's no longer her but you. she knows who you love, she knows who you hate, she knows everything about you and everyone else. but she doesn't know anything about herself. she's a mystery; to you and to her and to anyone else who's bothered to look in her eyes. you can see the fear, can't you? you can see how she looks like she's being chased, like she's dying and doesn't know how to save herself.
the catch is, you don't really care. it's all too convenient to have a girl who'll hold all of your shame and give you advice and smile when you say the wrong thing, because she's invincible. or so she says. it's too easy to tell her that you've got things to do, that she'll be fine for just another day, right? of course she'll say yes. of course she'll smile that solemn smile and tell you that she's okay with anything. because she doesn't get hurt, remember?
you'll remember all too well. you'll
all there isshe would wake up and she would fight the urge to cry. she would fight the urge to scream, she would fight the urge to tell the truth. she wouldn't be like everyone else, because everyone else hurt and everyone else broke and everyone else needed somebody to hold onto. and she decided that she would be the one to hold their hands and whisper the lies that they needed to hear. she decided that she would be whoever they wanted [needed] her to be, and she decided that she would never, ever complain. or tell anyone what as really on her mind.
she decided that she would lie.
you disagreed and you argued and you presented point after point. you ignored her flat-out refusal to listen and you drummed out words into her head anyway. you cared, and that's the only thing that ever truly mattered to her. the only thing that she could smile about and mean it. and you knew that and you knew who she would become and you knew everything about her.
and you told her that in the end, the mask was all she
According To Youi.
I'm so beautiful, according to you. According to you, I've got brown-black eyes with a dash of orange, eyes that you've been addicted to since you were twelve years old and I helped you off the ground after he punched you. According to you, I've got a smile that's never quite there, that never quite reaches reality. I don't make sense; I never made sense. And that's okay, I never wanted you to figure me out.
I'm off track, according to you. According to you, I run a bit too fast for my lungs to keep up and you're worried. According to you, I've never finished something without falling, just like you did every day when you were little. Except I never fall because somebody pushed me. I never trip, I never stumble. I just go too far and lose control; it's all my fault.
I'm changing, according to you. According to you, I'm afraid of everything and my brown-black-eyes-with-orange have too much black in them, like a deer in headlights. According to you, I'm too pretty to think I'
promisedi wonder how my name tastes on your lips.
actually, I wonder about how your lips taste
but I can't get the answer to that.
not unless I wanted to wreck whatever was left of morality that lived in my life.
not unless I wanted you to be surprised.
and maybe surprise is a good thing, but not now.
because you're in love with someone else and that someone else has never been me.
and as much as I understand that,
i never will.
because she wrecked you and she might not have meant to,
to the way you look at me.
there will never be a clear-eyed smile from you,
never be a hug without a flinch,
be an assumption behind every "see you later".
really, I will see you.
if that matters.
Un-ForgettableThere's a dab of green and blue along her cheeks; she forgot. She tends to forget. It's a pretty painting of the ocean that she shows you, except there's nothing in it. "Where's the horizon?" You'd ask her.
"I forgot about endings." She'd reply.
She'd forget about lunch, too. She'd forget what time it was. She'd forget your birthday. She'd come knock on your door in the dead of winter wearing a teeshirt and flip-flops, holding a cake with out-candles and a smile. "It's not my birthday." You'd tell her.
"I forgot about happy." She'd reply.
She'd forget about safety and seat belts. She'd forget about boundaries. She'd forget a lot. She'd kiss you in the middle of a conversation just because. "Why'd you do that?" You'd inquire.
"I forgot about no." She'd reply.
In the end, all she spelled was No. Happy. Endings. And it's backwards, because she forgot about order, as well. She tends to forget, and that's why she'll never remember.
Bold.You're stealing my air, my tape, my bindings. You're stealing my innocence and stripping my mind of everything I had left to give [or have taken]. You're invincible and I'm not [and I guess you've always had that advantage]. And yes, you do use that, no matter how many times you attempt to deny the truth. [You're a monster].
Unraveling strings and pulled-taut wires describe you. You're unpredictably dangerous, way too fast for me to ever keep up [or avoid]. Tensed muscle and releasing anger snap together to spring in deadly attack-- your eyes are beyond nightmares. They're worse than that because they're too real, [they're too close]. They're too concentrated on me. [You're like a knife].
You remind me a lot of the inhuman part of us that we always hold back. But then, you've never held back much of anything [except your secrets]. And your traps. You're good at pulling me into dead-ended wordplay and encircling my unwilling mind with lies twisted too sharply for me to twi
Read Hershe's looking at you.
she's looking at you, and sometimes she wonders if you can read the words imprinted in the brown.
maybe then you'd know the aching emptiness, know the light reflecting off the spikes of wire that twist
around the most vulnerable pieces of who she is, know the darkness that's slowly been bleeding through
every cell in her.
maybe you'd remember that some people pull away from what they need most-- maybe then you'd hold
her and never, ever let her go because she's so undone that she's forgotten how to hold the shards
in limp fingers that haven't played a song in years. and yet blue-tinted lips still attempt to smile as she
refuses honesty and gives you a neverending list of hopelessness. because you won't fill her. you can't,
because you never knew how to love without expectations.
she's looking away from you.
she's looking away, and sometimes she wonders if you'll
Day Eight: 3 Turn-Onsi. Live
When you're happy and free and vulnerable [but okay with that], that's when you'll slowly become part of my heart. With childlike wonder at life's beauty and irrational hope in the future; that's what'll make me wonder about you. Because not many can be like that, not many are able to let go.
When you prove you're not like everybody else, that'll be the day I'll fall for you
Talk about yourself, about the world, about the sky. Talk about everything and anything, put your own spin on opinions and rules and lines. Talk to me; but especially, talk about you. Describe the room you lived in as a little kid, tell me stories about your mishaps and successes. What do you like? Tell me why. Tell me why until I'll become wrapped up in it too, until I'll start to see the world from your eyes.
I want to know you
It's okay to not be one hundred percent confident all the time. Share your fears and your pain and your heartbreak wit
UnsureCan I ask you
ten thousand questions
with just a few words
and hope for an answer
that'll make some sense?
I don't know where I'm going,
[It always was, wasn't it?
It never mattered
to you (me)
where I went].
Does that matter anymore?
I've forgotten the need
I've forgotten how
to breathe and how
to swim and how
I only know how
to die and
to sink and
But when has that ever been enough?
I'm still alive;
how to contradict.
It's kind of laughable,
it's kind of sad.
living equates to being alive.Imagine a world without anger, a world without hate.
She rolled over again, hot covers smothering her making it hard oh so incredibly hard to b r e a t h e . Moaned. Soft and low and desperate.
Feet sticking out, eyes screwed tightly shut. Knees almost level with Mona-Lisa chin, scrawny arms wrapped around too-thick legs.
Seconds passing by, tick-tock-tick-tock.
H o u r s .
No more raging storms tonight, little girl. [The moon hasn't fallen yet, after all.] The stars are shining brightly. Relax. Breathe.
That's it. Slow but steady does the trick. In and out. Let all your thoughts drift away like smoke from a fire. Give into sleep. In and out. Slow down.
Imagine a world which isn't governed by bigotry and greed. Imagine a world in which love is more important than lies, in which people think before they speak.
Silence. Golden, lovely silence, like a thread on which she can tip-toe with unscathed ballerina feet and no fear of fa
Forever."I'm going to break your heart." he tells me again.
"You already did." I laugh, "I'm not going to let you do it again."
But as he smiles,
you punch your fist into a window,
letting the glass fall down into your skin.
You're already numb to the pain.
You spent a long time last night gazing at your body in the mirror, wondering if you'll ever be able to see the cracks in my skin when my heart breaks again.
I never was the type of girl
who was a hopeless romantic.
I was too much of a dreamer
to ever believe that love fully existed.
I never was the type of girl who believed in ''Forever''
because forever in your book always meant a lie.
Passing FriendsAnother one came in today. Wheeled by some young nurse with dull eyes and a stolid expression on her usually smiling face. Not that he's used to smiles in his profession. The living shrink away from him like plague; a man infected by death and weighed down by a bad choice. They seem to forget that he'll be their only friend, sooner or later.
Roses are a favorite for funerals. They twist and strangle the oak coffin with their stems, catching relative's tears in their blood red folds. Lilies are common, sitting flaccidly across the body and offering false sympathy in their touch. He'd prefer a funeral without a grand gesture of flowers and wood stained caskets, but he has no one to remember that but the corpses he whispers his soft hopes into.
He can't think of the ridged, gaunt bodies as patients. They are passing friends, for while their fingers grasp for heaven and their toes graze hell, their bodies stop awhile for him. He combs back their hair and blushes their cheeks, like a mother
a love letter from erici am writing a letter to-day. i want to put jenny on paper, a girl with a heart like a lion and eyes like an elephant, big and brown and sad. i want to put the way i loved her into words, big and bold and sad. i want to write about the way she caught her hair between two fingers in the wind, the way she tilted her head to the right when she was thinking, the way she smiled with only half of her mouth. i wanted to write all of that, i want to write all of this:
the way her hair smelled of lilacs and strawberry. the way her shoes shined like diamonds in the black of night. the way her skin yielded to my hands with the gentlest of pressures. the way she looked at me with soft eyes when she told me she loved me.
it feels like my spine is dissipating, been pulled straight out of my back, with every second she leaves me behind.
jenny told me she doesn't love me anymore to-day. i am writing a letter for the express purpose of lighting it on fire, hoping that the ash will catch wind and she wi
i'm contradictory at best.i wonder what it's like to look into your face and not want to spill every secret i've ever had. i want to be startlingly indifferent. i want to say i don't care and mean it. i want to be reckless in more than that jaywalking every morning on my way to work sort of way. i want to say something that will completely change the course of everything forever. i want to be the sort of thing people need to invent a new word for, because "cataclysmic" won't cover what a disaster i am.
i want to be someone new.
i worry about why the air always tastes several degrees colder than your skin. i know there's a correlation that i haven't figured out yet, but my mind doesn't work fast enough to make the connections anymore. i worry that all the synapses are breaking apart and my brain is shutting down. i worry that i'm dying in slow motion from the inside out so no one can even tell. not that anyone would care, but i worry about the most absurd of things. and then i worry that i don't worry enough abo
shimmer from afari think what you were really in love with was the idea of me.
but that's okay. i was never much more than a scattered mess of ideas anyway.
people wonder how it is that i can turn pain into such wonderful things (words; jokes; smiles; love). the answer is there was a time when i didn't have all that many options. it was pain or death, and either way it had to be as good as i could make it.
death didn't work because the balcony fence was too high. or because i was too short. probably because i was too short. it must have been my fault.
so i had to go for pain, and i had to learn to make it beautiful.
i always wanted to escape.
that's why i loved books so much.
that's why i wanted to die so young.
that's why i developed such a complex delusion.
that's why i was so musically talented.
that's why i write so goddamn well.
because all i know how to do is get away.
the skinny ones are the graceful ones. all of nabokov's nymphlets are thin and beautiful. why can't i be a nymphlet too?
just another empty promise.She's the type of girl who sleeps next to her guitar
because she lingers to feel the guitar strings as she falls into a deep slumber.
She's the type of girl who smiles over necklaces and promise rings
because she holds them dear to her heart
in a second heartbeat.
She's the type of girl who enjoys wearing ripped jeans
and oversized t-shirts,
because she's too afraid to expose herself
to the world
that broke her heart.
She's the type of girl who sings in the shower,
as she daydreams about seeing your face,
how dare you even see a smile.
sanctify?hello, let's glorify.
fishnets and lace draped
deathly pale skin be
-cause that's just so
don't show the tears, don't
show her crying. (it has to be a her;
girls are fragile. gorgeously so.) just
let us see how her thick black
scalding her hollow cheeks in
li[n]es perpendicular to her
don't make us feel
her pain. we don't want to
for her. but do, oh by all
means do show
it to us. we want to see her,
hello, let's beautify.
picture this baby. snap
those delicate wrists, thin
as fuck, green-blue veins peeking
layers of skin. grass-green, sky-green,
[scars all around.]
her [through the] chest, bony
breasts. ((ignore the sag. mal
-nutrition would do that to
too.)) she's bent over the toilet
bowl (extra points for ambiguity),
sure it's somewhat repulsive if you consider
the taste of vomit in her lipstick-lined
mouth. but that's the trick,
to jenny, from ericshe cut me out of her life,
sharp blades never
slowing the hurt
never slowing the bleeding
never slowing my thoughts,
always asking why,
why why why.
the letter is being stabbed out
with passive aggression
as i type a letter to her,
y y y y y y.
this is probably the biggest
i've ever been slapped with.
bigger than my mother
walking out on my family,
leaving me with a dead father
five months of suicide
left in the drain,
bigger than my brother
following in his footsteps.
i sneeze, say,
god bless me.
from the sky i hear,
RiskyYou forgot how much she used to care. It's been too long-- too long to remember her secrets or remember the way her eyes lit up when she told them. It's true-- the truth really does set you free, and it's been too long for her to remember what freedom tastes like. She's too afraid to remember that. She's too afraid to remember anything, and that's the problem.
She's got empty glass-green eyes and an empty heart and an empty smile, and you haven't known what to make of it.
So you didn't even try.
You didn't try and you won't try and it's just too bad because she really does need saving. And no matter how many times you lie to yourself, you really do care. You care too much to fail her-- but you've failed at saving yourself. So how are you supposed to pretend you'll succeed at helping her?
Because you won't. And you're afraid to care.
She's too important to risk losing.
How It Began"God, your two o'clock is here."
"I have a two o'clock?"
"He's been here since 7:45. I figured it's only polite to... sir."
God sighed. "Fine, send him in."
While He waited God cleared His desk of papers and blueprints; no need for outsiders to see His plans. Soon enough the door to His office opened and God stood, smiled, held out a hand towards one of the two visitor's chairs.
"God! Great stuff you're doing in sector 2-7-0! Great stuff!"
The man's hands were clammy, his handshake limp. Rumpled suit, porkpie hat, briefcase... oh Jes-- oh dear, a salesman. God's smile slipped a little but He soldiered on gamely. With luck He could shoo the poor guy away in a few minutes.
"So, what can I do for you?"
The man sat, briefcase across his knees. "Sector 2-7-0! Everyone's talking about it! What do you call it? Man and merman?"
"Man and woman, actually. And thanks. But we're pretty busy around here, and..."
"Oh! Right! No time for the wicked, eh?" The salesman winked and popped his briefcase,
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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