Glorious ShitAnother Dream-You can make it;Pass through shitTo welcome the divine.********************What kind of mind is this?What kind of perversion?You don't make much sense to me,You don't make much sense to them-You don't make much sense.Return to painting flowers,Name flowers flowers,Name darkness strangeness,Name genius a vile trait.We cannot decipher you...Bend down a little.Everyone needs their audience-Who are you to dispute?Who is it you're talking to?It can't be to yourself!Alright. Now...Everything is illuminated!(I can write my glossaryOf horror and neglect.)Do I love you?Of course I love you,Nobody else still caresAbout the little things,Such as your senseless self.(Yes, I'll make everything clear,The way you want me to.)Let's speak a new language,Let's call man the Head,The alphabet into the globe-The stud of universe.(Of course we are the center,Can't you see?)NowStrip.Stop laughing,Stop writing-Stop mocking me!You are a brilliant little b
MotherA knot deep in my stomach-An unbearable growing painContaining breaths and scars,Momentary intervals of our life's game.A knot in my throat,Choking me before the rise,Depriving us of understanding,Taking away left time.A tidal wave devours my skin,Casting me bare, without a kin-Without the courage this blast to bare,Stolen from time,Convicted to just stareAt every day that passes by,At my lack of bravery,My egoistic past wounds driveSafekeeping me against the onesI should be the least afraid to love.A knot is tied around my heart,Bred inside it for years-For too damn long for me to claimDespite the drain I still have one.
The WriterI am not my stories-Not all of them at least...There is truthAnd then there's fiction.Spare me just this.
HardDo not flirt with Death.He will fuck you anyway.
ReturnIf Time existed,I would not.The face is erased,My eyelids reversedTo form a danceOf dissonant notes.The unbeliever in me,The lioness in me,The crimes perpetratedUpon my life;All these exist-While I could not,Even if I wanted to;Within this hellNo man could breathe,Expand, or love.Take this sigh,This glimpse into my underworld.Step in,Or forever Goodbye.
LoversYou define me.You hold me imprisonedin the snaresof magic unprecedented,under the reign of love.My eyes are wet-and in thisthey're not alone...I want you.I must devourevery inch of you-Before it is too late,before the passion disappearsas unexpectedly as it came.
The Serpent's RevengeFlames protrude through my eyes.The pain is sharp,clear inside my mind.As the smoke escapesfrom my future corpse away,everything is possible.The epitaph stands cold,alone within my life,in memory of fear.I grow into a lionessroaring through my spirit.My soul is for saleto anybody interested.The flesh grows old,denouncing my history.Hanging from a thought,this world I leave behind.I denounce my possessions.From the imposed egoI recognize but fearaugmenting with each loss.Our prisons we buildwith our faked tears.In full denial we screamtowards the unattainable.With hatred-filled fiststhose secluded we attack-Like amoral beastsdemanding vindicationin the name of victims sodomizedin their reign of broken human pacts.
BitterIt starts with a feeling,a flashing memory,a suggestion of movement
It all comes back to me:Faces, dates, facts.It all comes back to me-But I am not there
A teardrop, your handinterchanging genders
Our lives could bethe finest, most delicate,most intricate scenarios.My thighs spread apart,waiting for you.My mind gets rid ofits burdens most unbearable.The music is familiar-And so is your smile
Always promising,never truthful.While I gnaw away the timelost in contemplation,you start another life.As lovers we first met.As foes we diefrom our histories apart-Creators of riddles,friends to no one.
Turning into GhostsWho's that face on the wall?Who's that mirrored mask of horrorother than my own?Leaving the years flowwithout the time to lookinside or outside,we let our livesmove on their own.So drag this carcass on the mud-Smear its facewith these horrid colorsof solitude and alcohol.For of this selfwho used to be my own,I recognize the traitsbut not the whole.
A Rant“Cheer up. You have a lot of things to be thankful for that others don’t have. You’re pretty, you’re smart, and your parents are together.”If someone says those words again, I think I might snap.Just about everyone has a metaphoric anchor—typically a discomforting circumstance or memory—that brings him or her down. Mine is my familial situation.A lot of people are misled to believe that I’ve had a supportive, loving upbringing. Nothing is farther from the truth. Yes, my biological parents are married. Marriage is not synonymous to happiness though, and in this case, is quite the opposite. My mom says she would’ve left my dad a long time ago if it weren’t for this—my brother is disabled. It’s a struggle caring for him, and I can’t imagine one person doing it. Thus, I can’t really blame my mom for staying with my father. However, the situation we’re in due to the fact that we’re all still i
How I Found Love Through SonichuAuthor's Note: Incredible though it may sound, the following is a true story. I've wanted to tell this for quite a while now, and since it's a rather special day for a rather special someone, it seemed like just the right moment. I hope you enjoy this account of true love and horrible webcomics, and please feel free to wish :icontatsunokoori: a very happy birthday!-How I Found Love Through Sonichuby Manajerkop"Keep going! This is looking to be one hell of a story!" - TatsuNoKoori, May 5, 2012That comment was the first one I'd received since starting my deviantART account and posting the first tentative chapter of the story that would soon become CWCollateral: A Tale of the Resistance. I'd been intrigued by the infamous webcomic Sonichu and its creator, one Christian Weston Chandler, for about a month at that point. Somewhere along the line, I decided to try my hand at re-imagining the story from a different perspective...that o
My List1. I have loved, and I have lost, neither in the way that you would expect. This isn't a typical autobiography, so you'll just have to bear with me.2. I've tried to write down my life many times, but can never seem to get to the end. Previously, I've written poems, essays, and unintelligible gibberish on the subject. Thus, my current format, as you see before you, is a list.3. Most of these sentences are going to begin with "I". That is the nature of humans, myself, and autobiographies.4. I shall warn you right now, if you are expecting a story of a little misfit that has a horrible beginning but somehow scrapes together a happy ending, this list isn't for you. In fact, I suppose you could say that my life is reversed: it began sweet and happy, and has gotten progressively worse throughout the years. Again, I am unsure of how this story will end. Right now, I'm just giving you a heads up that the ending isn't looking so great, at the moment.5. That was just a brief introduction. Th
Hilda (2,986w) “At my age, there’s only so much you can do.” You say that every time I visit, hands pressed unconsciously against the backs of your hips. They’re purpled and thin, those hands; the skin stretching over your knuckle bones is thinner than college grade paper, and when you greet me with a hug, I feel as though I’m holding a history book. Still, as you lead me through the wall-less line between living room and dining room, your steps are steady and unaided by any walker. You are a little woman living in a little house, and the town we share isn’t that large either. As the kettle whines and you rustle around in the kitchen for tea fixings, I can’t help but wonder how cramped life must seem to you. Do these double-packed bookshelves cut too far into wh
Note to My Past SelfThis is an important message from the future.You’re still broken, and I know it hurts, but it’s time to move on. Just forgive yourself. It’s over now. That was all a year ago.When you wrote that poem, you had no idea that your friend was going to snatch it from you and give it to him. (Don’t worry, I won’t mention his name.) Everyone saw that you had done it, and they respected you for your bravery.But you saw it differently. You didn’t hear respect. You thought you heard laughing, and it killed you. You were so embarrassed. You ended up going to bed every night wishing you could just disappear or make him disappear.After that, you decided that you were no longer going to make the first move. You gave up pushing to get your way and went to the back of the line voluntarily. You became someone different.And you made it worse by trying to text him and apologize for everything that had happened. He may not have responded, but you dwelt on that mista
quince.Eine bleibende Kindheitserinnerung von mir ist, als unser Fernseher kaputt ging. Unser Vater verfrachtete seine Söhne ins Auto, fuhr ins Fachgeschäft und kaufte einen neuen Fernseher. Einfach so, ohne lang herumzufackeln. Das hatte mich tief beeindruckt. Irgendwie hatte ich erwartet, er würde die Sache auf seine übliche Art und Weise angehen: mehrere Geschäfte aufsuchen, Tagelang Angebote vergleichen, das beste Preis-Leistungs-Verhältnis finden, den Verkäufer zu einem Rabatt überreden und noch einmal darüber schlafen – solche Dinge. Aber ein Fernseher war für meinen Vater ein Artikel des täglichen Bedarfs, wie eine Rolle WC-Papier. Ist die alte leer, muss sofort eine neue her.Ähnlich machte es meine Zimmernachbarin in der WG, als sie von ihrem Freund verlassen wurde. Sie schminkte sich, ging hinaus und kam mit einem neuen zurück. Ich war ziemlich verblüfft.Für andere Leute gehört ein erfülltes
AliveI am a black canvasSmeared with gold and red.