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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.
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
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.
I am a MouseI am a mouse.
I am quiet, I am nothing.
I am a book that nobody has read.
I am an eclipsed sun and a cloaked moon.
I am irrelevant and unwanted, a broken toy in an attic.
I am the dust in your rear-view mirror that you leave behind.
I am the air that you breathe in and spit out as something different.
I am the palest white. I am the darkest black. I am the dullest, emptiest grey.
I am the old man with forgotten memories and the baby who has yet to make them.
I am a forgotten word, dangling on the tip of your tongue, hanging on the noose of your lips.
I am a dried up stream. I am a felled forest. I am an abandoned cornucopia of resolute nothingness.
And there is Hell burning in my eyes.
PainParalized by the suffering
A shiver down my spine
Images of my past haunt me
No one can save me from this hell
to me you are perfect
I do not know the reasons
for all those scars burning
against your bright skin
you've been soaking
a pain reminiscing from past
we both cannot recollect
yet you are so beautiful..
when night gets darker
and I am the one...
who's hungered to undress
the spirit of you
slowly revealing the layers
coming off from shadows
disguised in desires
craving to be fulfilled
I will caress every corner
of your silhouette
until I figure the true shape
of your heart
I will rub those blisters
softly until every nerve
of you gushes into a river
and you moan into a life
I had promised you
years ago when we began
to breathe into each other
for all the truths
I must swallow
and lessons I must learn
you are the one
I am destined to discover
what it means
to love in perfection
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
you talk like a travestyoh, mercury boy, you can't
write your way out of this
body or out of this mind;
you can pray like it's high-fashion,
insist you're only burning yourself out
(but tell me - do you feel like a god yet?)
if only for murky mirrors &
silver cicadas caught
in your ribcage, you've
got a knack for decaying
The PointIt’s the taste of cake mix on the spoon, that first time you ‘help’ bake a cake.
It’s seeing the bright world afresh after a dark nightmare, when you first wake.
It’s when you make them laugh and, in that moment, everyone loves a clown.
It’s when your heart stops before the roller coaster plummets down, down.
It’s when the lights go out before your favourite band plays and you scream.
It’s that moment you look around and everything’s perfect enough to be a dream.
It’s the anticipation of waiting for a new episode of your favourite television show.
It’s the first time you listen to your favourite record and you just sort of know.
It’s reading a book cover-to-cover and a million times more and still crying at the ending.
It’s the stiff, tight, real feeling of a smiling scab as you watch the wound mending.
It’s when you first meet your best friend and you hate each other (but in a good way).
poem for borderlinesif i could concentrate over
seven hundred thousand eyes
at the roof to the numbers stepping
from the nicities & rows
to go back
to the shattered surface
& the ripples beating over the hang
halfway between shallow
biting lips. maybe--
she couldn't have known
that it takes a whole three minutes
for the lungs to
well, maybe she
who, oh well
the white; the haze--
the booming over
the spume and spray
me get out of my head
just pull up the shutters
my tongue the weight to talk
but that's all we'll ever be:
a match burning itself out for
under the backspray of someone else's wheels
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
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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