|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Path to FriendshipWhile I may not be ready to be friends just yet I am willing to take the first steps down a long road. Even if I trip up and fall I am willing to pick myself up and try again. I am not aware of how long this road will be however I know that it is longer than I thought it would be.
Are you willing to hold my hand as I travel along it, to hold me up as I fall, to put the daily effort into the journey? I am willing to venture on the path less traveled. The path is wide enough for two and if you wish to not travel with me you will be staying behind me watching my back as I walk proudly forward. However if you choose to stay behind my hike will be a lonely one.
I would wish for you to travel at my side, both of us guiding the other along the way. I have been waiting for your answer, and only just have you giving me any response. However your answer was vague and worrying to me.
So I ask once more will you walk the dark forest trail with me? Tripping and falling along the way. Holding and gu
EmberWhere once there was excess now there is absence
The heart that once skipped only for you
Now is filled with an unforgiving silence
Never forgetting the pain of the last injury
Where once my heart fluttered now it only beats
The beats fewer and further in-between than before our meeting
Before our kindled flame and our roaring flames
Where once the beats were strong and musical
Now are just simple and necessary to function
The embers of what was had are still burning
Different from the flames that crested high
Before yellow, red and orange now just a faint glow
This glow is all that can be seen in the dark
The dark of the unforeseen
The black of the unknown
The uncertainty of this, our new surroundings, we stare at the glow wishing for the fire and flames to crest high once again, or yet even put off heat to warm the cold of the night.
Neither reaching to rekindle the embers waiting for the other, but one must start.
One must brave the dark the black the uncertainty the unknown.
The Cycle of HopeHow complicated is it when two like each other?
~Enough to scare some off for life.
How difficult is it to choose to end it all before it takes a turn for the worst?
~Enough to weaken the strongest of men.
How brave one must be to stand in front of another to voice ones opinions that will injure the other?
~Enough to make the most courageous quiver.
How magically it starts, how majestically it escalates, how wonderfully it climaxes, how tragically it falls, and how disastrously it terminates.
~Hope to passion, Passion to romance, Romance to love, Love to fear, Fear to hope.
How does one pick up pieces after they are dropped?
~To numerous are the pieces for even the most capable to do alone.
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,
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
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,
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.
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
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 bedspread is white and so is my coffin.i can feel
the night closing
the stars are breaking
empty glass bottles
inside of my
mouth, and they taste like
ambien. bitter, then
but you still can't close your fucking eyes
little blue pills for
eyes– it was winter and i
dreams of nothing more than
nothing. the devil
tied chains around all the
vessels in my
body. laughed, and by god i
laughed too (and laughedandlaughedandlaughed).
this will all be over soon i swear i will take everything off your skin and bones and burn it up
and then january took the world
in it's grip and i
drowned in the snow that
will never hydrate the
can you hear that it's the night and it's so beautiful so come here darling and we'll watch the sun rise and set and rise and
smotherher spine was dusk
and unmade nests,
but he tried to live there
he was neither nocturnal
nor a dawn-believer,
so he suffocated
in the birdhouse of her ribs.
NorseThe sight of the two acting as if as one is enough to release the chains of fenris
Tempted to release all of the words learned by Ratatoskr onto either of the two
And just like the hand of Tyr bit off by Fenris my hands are no longer under control
Just like Frigg parading her son Baldur around, Loki is once again tempted to ask the mistletoe to help bring them back down to a mortal level
Poison forever dripping upon my body to writhe in agony until the end of days
But yet holding it all inside churning and boiling the linings of my stomach until she fulfills her promise and lets loose all of the secrets she is hiding in fear of all of this
Until that Promised day I wait with an open mind, open arms and closed hands.
With no end in sight and no mend within reach, most of the poison has already spilled
Some of it onto others, innocent bystanders seeing the struggle of two lovers whose hourglass has long been emptied
A glass of which neither touch in fear of the remaining poiso
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