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Self deprevation and desecration
Awareness at a heightened level
Feeling it fall apart, in to olbivion
Knowing that you were not as strong as your mettle
Seeing the trusts and reliances fall apart
Not handling all that well inside
Watching as if your skin suffers from a deep kraut
Devestation reeked upon others, just sitting there in abide
Wrestling for self control
Begging for events to change
Pleading and groveling to be in that role
On your knees, blood running down your face, dreams out of range
Betrayal wreaking havoc
Doesn't matter, all these words might as well be in Slavic
His muscles in his face tightened
You could tell he was frightened
All he could do was watch the person
Who would take his face in submergion
Struggling just burns up his oxygen
Held by tight and firm directive hands, like a surgeon.
Legs kicking, face screaming, muffled under water.
No one could see the mans face, but his emtion did not stir.
All he wanted was to be above the water, back into the room's light.
Couldn't escape the water's deathly grip with all his might.
Forced by a unknown entity to his watery grave.
Wishing his life someone would save.
Mind and vision fading
Soon his lifeless body will be wading
The man's identity continuely being evading
Till, into your home he comes, invading.
Why do you hide in the shadows,
When all I wish, is my thirst to be quenched
With your blood and tears
Ive no intention of golden rings and lullabies
Evident from the red,
That forever stains these hands of mine
These wounds may heal
These burns may fade
But only ever to appear again
I ruthlessly punish myself
For desiring you to the point of madness
It feels complete
To watch the frustration flow
Down my fingers in rivulets of gleaming red
And drip; Drop by drop to the earth
Becoming lifeless nothings
And with them, taking your death
Your touch; And all the words you said
While I observe detached and unfeeling
Barely even breathing
This warm life force of mine
Trickles down; And Im relieved to be rid of
Self loathing as its temporarily dispersed
In this cascading flood
Of pleasant memories concerning you
Exorcised; Forever gone; Leaving me
With this salty blood exiting my wounds
Cry me a river
Bleed me a soul
This violence is a beauty Im addicted to
Garden of Her Life
A girl snips the vine from her rose head and watches it fall to the ground.
So has the death and decay of the rose started, it is greatly reflecting the surroundings.
She prunes and straightens her rose bushes so everything is symetrical and sound.
Still something about this garden has struck a weird sense, like a sick sense of meldings.
She walks back towards the house, leaving the garden as a reflection of her life.
Everything in it reflected exactly the way she leaves things if life, dead or dying.
She passes by the shrubs that seem to rapid receed, she touches a tulip, instantly withered in strife.
Everything begins to reflect her life as present and future as if breaking, unwinding, and untying.
Her garden seems to be quickly but neatly done, vast in size, scouring in quantity.
Nothing seems to exist in tranquility for long, good at the plant bad at the fruition.
Her problems are visible through the layout and schematic positioning of her flower's vanity.
Her decisions seem to lac
Inside this house is a room, shattered by blood.
Inside this room is a kid shattered and battered by abuse.
Inside this kid is a mind that has been bruised and cauterized.
Inside this mind is this kid's memories and pains.
Outside this room is two adults.
Outside this room with the two adults are two offenders.
Outside this room is the circle of abuse.
Here in this room bottles have been broken for him to walk on.
Here in this room were the hits that struck his body and esteem.
Here in this room is where all the breaking offenses have occurred.
Here in this room lies the two true forms of evil.
Back in the kid's room lays a kid with thoughts.
Back in the kid's room lays a kid with feelings.
Back in the kid's room lays a kid that has broke.
Back in the other room lies the cigarettes that burned him.
Back in the other room lies the bat that beat him.
Back in the other room lies the fire place where he was thrown.
Back in the other room lies the floor that his body has repeatably hit.
Last Will and Testament
Laid out on this dusty desk is my long life.
All would be disbanded if not for the new papers laid out.
Sad that all my accomplishments could be dissected to my wife.
Tough it will be for her, this my final attempt at comfort before my life will be snuffed out.
Wondering and mental plagues withering what health left, gone.
Inlaid worry set upon my mind that day of sun, white, and doves.
Lay in bed that night I did, falling in sheets with a moan.
Laying but shifting to view the woman of devotion and unending loves.
All thought focused on the past and deeds and words not explored.
Night has long set, shortened the day, as every day/time I lost with her.
Desperate my mind and heart is to recall that lost time, and soon.
Twenty years ago, I remember, how we celebrated our bond of fortyth.
Excellent memories I could recall of our journey, but still longing for more.
Suffering, I can recall, she went through to give our children birth.
Touching devotion and care we have shared throughout our
Loss of the Wife
She watched him cry at the side of her bed.
He had watched her fade away.
She had felt her body succumb to sickness, nothing to plead.
He had noticed her health in a unequal balance, sway.
She had made her wishes known to him.
He had told her of his promises.
She knew her time was on Death's whim.
He had refurbished everyday her room, with roses.
She had asked him of the flowers.
He replied that her life were tied to the rose's.
She knew of his daily replacements while she had her showers.
He loathed life's ways, for he would soon add her to his loses.
She stares into his swelled eyes, and grabbed his trembling hand.
He reluctantly looks back into the glacially icy eyes of death.
She can feel the chill of death in her hand envelope his in reprimand.
He tries to pass a little warmth and comfort from his lips to hers, a final gift.
She knows she will soon pass and leave him.
He notices a rare shift from her body.
She whispers into his ear, "I love you, and now I must give into his whim."
Pain in my head from all the commotion, confusion, and the people combusting.
Pain is inflicted by being strapped into a chair of life unable to escape.
Pain surges through passageways, like blood through veins, into the chamber of outbursts.
Pain which dulls the senses, like alchahol with drunks, till the "hang over" wears and it hurts again.
Pain side effects to others collaterally and we must watch it with our eyes, burn our kindred.
Hurt is felt through out, feelings, heart, and mentality.
Hurt is a thrice vice that's as plain as a bowl of rice.
Hurt is the flame that burns our skin, however cruely leaves our nerves intact.
Recession sets in, decending into a inner darkening of the mind.
Recession back into dark pits of long, lost, forgotten hells...revisited.
Recession into a self shaking, damning, and confronting spell of splintering guilt.
Torment of demons and vices setting in upon an unsuspecting person...
Torment lashing out, succubuses scouring, hounds tearing...
These Verses Hidden
The pain that is felt, the overshadowing stress and reluctantcy...
How it bares, wears, and tears at your body...
Enslave it into your heart, hide it beneath flesh, blood, and muscle...
Serenity and perserverance is all that awaits...
Easier it is to hide, then to charge fear...
Valiantly you comtemplate your options...
Every second destroying you little by little...
Restoring yourself is all that you want...
Stupended as to how...
Easily it is enough to lie to yourself...
Showing only the subliminal when it is to late...
How you realize your mistake...
Incredibile how it has caught up to you...
Destroying, desecrating, and manipulating you've become to yourself...
Denying yourself the serenity you once felt...
Eradicating all self pride and honor...
Never to go into the light of men again...
An extension of How not to Write Love Interests“Faith, in the sense in which I am here using the word, is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.” - C.S Lewis
This quote is about faith not love, but you can see how the same logic applies. If faith is not merely to "feel" as if you believe something, why should love be merely to "feel" that you like something?
In the end, faith is remembering you have reason to believe, and love is a choice about how you treat someone. Feelings are irrelevant. They are passing. They are constantly changing, and that's natural. They can indeed play a role in our decisions about relationships, but are a fickle factor to base an entire decision off of. It's like building a house on the sand. We're human beings with intelligence, and there is no such thing as a feeling so powerful we HAVE to act on it-that is fantasy.
What about circumstances? What about age? Can it ever be simply a waste of time?
On my last deviation, people arg
Writing Tips, Finding A MuseI've read a lot of tutorials on how to write and about one or two on overcoming writers block but none have really helped me in the past. I'm not the best writer in the world, but I'm going to give you some tips on approaching writing and some cures for those bloody annoying writers blocks!
1. Beating Writers Block And Finding (New) Inspiration:
1a. Bouncing Idea's/Chat To A Friend
1d. Extreme Emotional States
1g. Prompts/Time Limits
1h. Real Life
1i. Take A Shower Or Bath
1j. What Ifs
2. Approaches To Writing:
2a. The "Wing It" Approach
2b. The "Thought out" Approach
3b. Character sheets
4. Other tips:
4d. Spell checker
1. Beating Writers Block And Finding (New) Inspiration:
It happens to everyone and they are a bitch to get rid of. I've come up with ten ways to try and get the creative juices flowing, they have all worked for me but they may not for you.
Rogue (WinterSoldierxChild!Reader) One-ShotViolin music along with the gentle sound of a piano’s melody was heard over the video of the girl that was on the large, plasma screen before them. The Winter Soldier looked at the child with a quizzical expression on his face. His eyes squinted down on your closed ones, that hid the blank (e/c) eyes that he had seen once before they dragged you in here.
“What’s with the music?” Alexander asked baffled as he strolled into the room.
“She asked for classical music to played, sir,” one of the agents responded. “It apparently calms her.”
“Well that makes sense. We do want her calm,” he said.
You were supposedly an experiment gone wrong. Created by mad Russian scientists, you eventually rose up against them and went rogue. Judging by the many scars and needle marks along your arms, the Winter Soldier could see that they had tried their best to keep you under control. That didn’t stop you however.
The powers they had given you
hey newton, gravity's flawedi.
starting anew from the flutter
and the sputter of lungs.
a vacant sea filled with feathers
and tumultuous clatter,
ribs in a treacherous pattern
resembling exiting rungs.
i want to wrestle the angels,
your tendency is the ladder.
involved with full indiscretion,
trading lazy for lace.
unspool the curse of the long-
limbs in a languorous flexion
i like the stab of the ankles,
you need the curves intersected.
opting to cull my extents
with trans-dimensional vigor.
spent my dysphoric corrections
on reconnecting lax ends.
lips in a spurious accent
feign a passionate rigor.
i tie myself to the anchor,
you extricate and ascend.
5:20i went to the forest
to purify my lungs
then i saw the thick
three letter scar
i left in a slender
birch, and wondered how
i could let you poison
another living thing.
moths aren't afraid of pins
till they're stuck to a piece of styrofoam.
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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