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Something tells me that
If you knew I was there
You wouldn't have done
All those amazing things
And if you knew just how
Amazing you really are
The world would cease moving
For just one second
You inspire more
Than you'd like to admit
And it scares you how
So many people are moved
By simple words than actions
Acknowldege your greatness
So the world will end
And begin anew
So I can see your words
For the first time
Rhyme yourself out of this one
It hurts, doesn't it?
"You're going to get poisoned that way." she warned half-heartedly as I chewed on the HB pencil in my hand.
"What kind of poisoning? Lead? Wood? It's all the same to me. Death is inevitable, so why not rush the trip?" I replied.
"What's your damage anyhow? You weren't like this before."
"I think you mean to say 'What's NOT my damage?', darling." I glanced over at her, standing over me. Her green sweater and plaid skirt blended well, almost camouflaging her as normal. I couldn't help but glance up at her chest and then back down to the paper in front of me.
"Skeletons." I muttered and jabbed at the sketch lightly.
"Skeletons, they're just skeletons until I make them something else."
"Sort of like us, eh?" she chuckled, and as she did, I noticed her eyes for the first time in a long while, a bright hazel. They were usually behind her glasses and I'd never cared to look at them as I always had my nose either in a book or over a picture I was drawing.
"What do you mean?"
Do You Ever Feel This Way?
He sat there in his chair, calm and in deep thought, clutching his instruments, tapping them on his teeth. The clicking echoed throughout the dankness.
"What to do with a pretty like you..." he said softly, almost mute.
She couldn't hear him, and even if she could, what good would it do her? She couldn't escape, she was his now, to do with as he pleased.
"I could cut you into little pieces." he murmured and smiled as the word 'pieces' exited, arousing him a bit, he breathed in the scent of the room, stale and a bit musty.
Her predecessors lay around, mangled, maimed, and in various states of decay. One lay in the corner, her spine bent in half and twisted out of shape. Another, drenched by the water dripping from the ceiling's pipes, most only had bits and pieces left behind, a testament to those who came after. A warning of sorts.
"I'm at a loss." he whispered, as he rubbed his temples slowly, trying to ease the pain behind his eyes. It stung and he just wanted it to go away, but he k
He woke up, blurry eyed and dry mouthed, like he was re-born. He scratched his dark brown hair, and glared blindly at the clock in front of him, it was half past seven in the evening.
"Dammit." he mumbled, his voice scratching his throat.
He reached down to the floor and pulled his cel phone from his pocket of his faded blue jeans. The antenna was caught, he furiously pulled and yanked until one of the two objects gave in. He checked his messages, and turned to look behind him. She was gone. She had either left during the early afternoon or late morning, at any rate, he didn't care. She was just another girl, another notch in his belt. The phone rang, vibrating in his hand, he took it and put it under his pillow, he felt like talking to nobody. He had spent the last of his paycheck on a bottle of rum and a pack of cigarettes, both of which, were almost empty.
"Fuck." he shouted, at the half of his lungs, as he searched for his missing sock, fumbling beneath his bed.
He heard cars pass
Harry Sanders was a quiet fellow of low regard. His socks were always mismatched. His tie always had stains of mustard and gravy on them. He made it a point to wear sneakers to office meetings, and on 'Casual Friday' he wore his pyjamas. His hair, a dull grey, was always greased back, making the creases on his forehead more noticable. His glasses were always slung around, what appeared to be, his neck. His nose, which was his most prominent feature, was always stuck behind either a handkerchief, a file, or a book. His beady, sunken, brown eyes never seemed to move from their forward position, except to catch a glimpse of the temporary secretary bending over to pick up arrant paperclips.
Harry was by no means a deviant, or by no means normal. He was just Harry.
One warm and quiet Sunday afternoon, Harry took his dog, Mortimer, to the park. It had been a very busy week at the office, and Harry had, not so much avoided, but forgot, about poor, old Mortimer. Mortimer was a daschund, ten ye
Elevator by -Senor-
James stood in the corner of the elevator, chewing on one of his many unsharpened pencils. He felt rather warm in his charcoal suit, and nearly strangled by the navy blue neck tie. His hair was gelled down to keep the rooster tail from flying up, and his chocolate brown eyes were focused on nothing. The HB rolled on his tongue, the lead seeping into his system, and the paint, chipping ever so slightly, managed to make it's presence known on his tongue. He had always ridden the elevator to calm his nerves after a service, especially since this one, would be his last.
The thought had crossed his mind over the week leading up to his final eulogy. He found many similarities in the job he did and his eulogies. He constantly spoke of being in a better place, moving on, remembering fondly, and of course, that you'll never be forgotten. He always said that, and though you believed it, to him, it was just routine. The words had begun to lose meaning, like when he first said 'I love you.' But,
You Make Me
You Make Me
I wake up and think
Of all the things you've done for me
You've made the world a better place
For us to live in
And though your day
Might not have gone exactly like you planned
I'm tired of gettin' all the time
So I'll start givin'
It's time I told you
All the things you make me do
You make me
You make me feel like it's always spring
You make me
You make me wanna give up everything
Sure it may sound
Kind of cliche but honey
That's how you make me feel
And I ain't ever gonna stop
I feel like
The World's at my command
I've got you by my side and
We're standing up on top
You wanna know, just what you can do
Bring a man down, make him worship you
You make me
You make me think of you all day long
You make me write stupid love songs
Although I really can't complain
You've got my heart, my soul, my brain
You make me wanna run around the world
You make me wanna make you my girl
You make me feel like I'm on cloud nine
You make me f
for Nyssi by Senor
So I may not be there
But I am in a way
I'm there in your heart
And it's there that I'll stay
The memories of you two
Though the thought of it all
Causes you so much pain
I want to help you
Get rid of the hurt
Pick the shards up
From the love stained dirt
Glue it together,
It will feel all anew
But a piece is still missing
It was taken from you
Though it can't be put back
You can try, fill the space
You'll not feel the same
With that piece out of place
I'll help fill it,
So will others too
Your friends and family
Here, to love you
Though you heart may be broken,
And life seems like a bitch
You'll never be poor
All your friends, make you rich
They Arent The Same
I'd only known you a few days
But it's felt like an eternity
And it shocks me that someone would care
Especially you, of all people
But you said 'Hello.' You started it.
Ever since that day, that time I said it.
'I Love You.'
Well, maybe I didn't say those exact words,
But what I said was close, and that's all
It's been said, and now, I feel better.
Life is grand, I can't stop smiling
You've done this to me, and I can't complain
Because this feeling I have, I've never felt
So it must be love, or misguided lust.
At any rate, I love you, and you know.
But, you told me you don't feel the same
You hurt inside, you don't want to love
So, it's not me, but still, I feel it's my fault
I don't regret saying it, but you...
I've never said it to anyone else before.
No words so pure were uttered, so innocent
My love for you is still alive, but it's changed
I still love you, but as a friend, and I'll take that
I'd rather you a friend, than never entering my life
But now, the words don't mean the sa
She's a WriterShe sits at her desk
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
BetrayedI won't swallow your lies anymore
I can't stand your presence
You used to be my friend
But you're nothing to me now
And soon you'll be
Another bad memory
I won't be able to forget
Do you know what it feels like...To be lonely?
To be bullied?
To be called ugly?
To be unattractive?
To be compared to other women?
To be considered unnormal?
To be unloved even though you give love to others?
To face issues that you don't in reality know how to fix?
To think that your goal you're reaching for, is unattainable?
To feel like the cause of many people's problems?
To be held up on a high pedistal that you can't get down off of?
To realize that people don't like you based on your personailty?
To at no avail, keep up your happy and upbeatness for others?
To look at happy couples and wish that you had someone to be happy with?
To stop fighting for anything anymore?
You AgainOh, it's you again. I must admit,
The crooning has
The lies have been
And mine are like swords
It's just you and me
In this sick game
I can tell
You're pulling me in,
And I don't have
To pull you down
Sometimes, I've had
And all I see is
Then it became
I don't know
How to escape
Dark to see.
And all I can
Wonder at every
Turn I make
When can it be
By the LakeSat beneath a Christmas tree in late-March.
The ground is damp but pliant, it pretends to accept me
and then sneaks its cold fingers through my clothes
to dampen my spirits further with its chilly undertones.
I stare at the river, plump with soon-to-be April showers.
It does roly-polys over the smallest of obstacles and goes on.
It reminds me of what I should be able to do.
It runs as I grind to a full stop, and consider my life sentence.
The sky is blue; not like me, but bright and crisped;
Its been blurred by an amateur around the edges with cloud
But they don’t threaten me with rain just yet so, for now, we are friends.
The sun is missing. No one knows where she is.
She could be dead, by now. At the bottom of the lake.
Could have slunk there in a midday sunset.
She could of drowned her sorrows in the ricocheting tides
of a man made dam and its loosened throat. She could be.
She is not, she is hiding.
The sun hides from the world but leaves a blue sheen behind
to let everyone k
flower petalsi know that when we touch
that my energy is yours
that we are like flowers
because at our roots
we need water and love,
we reach tall as we can
to get to the sun
and stretch our leaves
to welcome it all;
and when we touch
i know that our skin isn’t skin
too soft for this world
when it grows rough with gravel
so i invite you back to our bed,
soft with the earth
where we can lie gently
and sleep until it is time
Reasons We Love Homestuck“Reasons we love H O M E S T U C K.”
Why do this love this web comic, you ask?
Maybe it’s just the way the fandom rolls,
or how mean Andrew Hussie trolls.
It could possibly be Eridan’s accent (WWyeh?)
or even Feferi’s keyboard trident. (---E)
Some people say it’s Equius’ broken bows and arrows, ( D →)
but what about Nepeta’s meows and roleplays? (:33 <)
We really do love Sollux’s lisp,
and also when Karkat’s pissed. (FUCKASS!)
Including Kanaya's fabulous lipstick,
it's also Rose's amazing magic.
How about when Dave starts rapping
and Jade Harley begins napping?
We love Vriska’s eight-pupiled eye,
and how John is such an adorable guy.
Or maybe it’s with all the sprites
or how prospit glows bright.
Can’t forget about Derse’s darkness
or Gamzee and all his soberness. (WHOOPS.)
There’s also this thing with Tav and stairs
which he t
ConfrontationI shed a tear
The damage will be severe
Run away in fear?
I'll fight until the coast is clear!
I Don't Come with the Edgesi.
It cries the way dragonflies leave ripples
in the rain. On days I swallow
whirlpools for breakfast and
drown with libraries for fun,
I can almost allow myself to forget
And it doesn’t want to make
me kneel on my shoulders
or pluck the weeds
from my scars;
I can see it try so hard
to be my friend.
But if I could choose
polka dots over tail lights
and sun screen over
I wouldn’t think thrice
or even once
not to blow the candles
on my grave.
That’s why I keep
the colons of analog clocks
under my tongue;
so I could keep the
figures eight of cliché’s
as keepsakes for old age.
I like to think infinities
have loopholes; tree rings
that dissolve into each other
with exhales for a caress.
And just when the tones
of lyrics would enter the
eutony of names, only then
would I drift into love.
When I wouldn’t be holding
my blood in my temples-
when all I am is a thought.
The running footsteps
we’ve come to cla
I am a Dante in a world of Shannen Hamiltons
And though I'm not supposed to be here today
I'm trying to see a sailboat, blinded by chocolate pretzels
And I'm a tracer
I trace the past to make myself a future prophet
I am an ungifted muse
And the angels and demons play hockey with my heart on the roof
While the stench of shoe polish lingers like a dense fog
And I search
I search for a stolen monkey that's neither mine or hers
What to do? Where to go?
When did my Alyssa become a Caitlin Bree?
The topless psychic didn't tell me this would happen
What do you think Silent Bob?
And I thought "callow" was a good thing...
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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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