comforting, embracing, loving
love, happiness, blank, emptiness
struggling, forcing, pleading
day.psychic senses, holy hour
come calling for pride's power.
Safety set in eagle's eye
maybe met by the moon's mind.
Pallid pages meet my mind,
tired tales of the sun's shine--
I left love and chased the clouds,
fearing future but not now.
as people huddle
and grasp each other lovingly
because coats do not satisfy the innate desire
to grab the one you love and give them kisses as soft as the snowflakes surrounding them.
And thick gloves hinder the hands that are desperate to take refuge alongside a beating heart that can take ice and transmute it to the steam
that holds the strength of a thousand suns to rekindle ice-bound tongues and bring snow angels to life--because they remind us of the innocence that comes with warm eskimo kisses that comfort better than any snow suit.
The Curious and Peculiar Tale of the Simonov TwinsThe Curious and Peculiarly Tragic Tale of the Simonov Twins
I have done most of my post-doctorate work alongside Dean Eroslide as he ran Harry Loaine School for Boys. It was a tiny little establishment, set up in a series of pathways and cottages that made up the dormitories and the 'holistic' and 'traditional', designed to accommodate Dean Eroslide's philosophy of natural living: 'clean and untouched life energy regulates all chakras and promotes a positive educational environment'. Needless to say, Harry Loaine School for Boys was a parent's last resort, when everything from Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to Interventions and to Involuntary Hospitalization was never enough. The Dean had no degree of any sort other than a few licenses for Chakra healing and Reiki, so the entirety of the upkeep of the facility remained on the shoulders of these desperate parents--and of course the government kickbacks the School received for keeping me as a full time Child Psychologist
edit.Ink stained fingers
tell the stories I'd love to forget.
Ink stained fingers
plague like a demon that lingers--
smearing words with the tears so wet
and showing the world those perfect
ink stained fingers.
Strangely BeautifulEven the city knows
that the leaves are changing (us);
and all it took
were endless snowflake kisses.
If I should forget
our lost memories between the sofa cushions,
then we are the real monsters
fishing for stars with our head in the clouds.
These tendencies show me your human ascension--
because we've never been experts on anything else.
addiction.It's just a shame to see your face--
the way you poison yourself, so.
You are just a corpse of disgrace,
wailing out your pitiful woes.
I've offered you my hand always,
but we ended up parting ways.
In the end you're welcome back
but you must have your life on track.
Tiffany BlueShe often gave tired sapphire sighs
with breaths filled with passion and gasps of steam,
but her eyes are the abyss and they're the mark,
stealing daylight under her watchful mean.
"The winter is too cold here," she said to me
and with eyes cast high to the sky she smiled
because today the rain turned to diamonds
where atop her umbrella they compiled.
"Summer's gone and it is not welcome back,"
as she pulled her scarf up close to her neck.
"Because the sky's the glint in Tiffany's eye
and this weather is absolutely perfect."
helpless.We found ourselves in the rivers
while we held hands and contained our shivers
because our clothes shrank two sizes too small,
and we had to let them dry under stars' glimmer.
That night you were an impenetrable wall
with your heart teetering over, ready to fall
but I myself was far too frozen
so I watched you shatter, like a porcelain doll.
Your sighs were as deep as the ocean,
and came like the waves: in dozens.
I cradled your heart like the sea's abandoned shells
but like them it was far too broken.
It's the whispers you shared about how you felt
when you gave me the pain you kept for yourself.
I kept it, reluctant but brave--
even when I knew I couldn't help.
awakening.She gave her heart to the sky
and proclaimed her love for freedom.
and for eternity she waited
with eyes cast upwards, pleading.
With no need for earthbound things
she said goodbye to it all
and with lungs filled with joy
she gave her heart to the sky.
She kissed the clouds "hello"
and told Father Sun "I'll see you soon".
With arms outstretched to the heavens she smiled,
and proclaimed her love for freedom.
She sang with the birds day after day
and kissed the butterflies that rested on her arms.
The sun accepted her loyalty
and for eternity she waited.
Her tears could move mountains
yet her body could never leave.
She died as she lived, waiting
with eyes cast upwards, pleading.
parent and child.You have carried me on your back as we trek through the world.
And while you gave me nourishment I gave you stories to tell.
It is a perfect arrangement, match made 'til eternity's end.
EpiphanyEpiphany - is an experience of sudden and striking realization. Generally the term is used to describe scientific breakthrough, religious or philosophical discoveries, but it can apply in any situation in which an enlightening realization allows a problem or situation to be understood from a new and deeper perspective.
Enlightened I am now in the shadow of the sun
that creeps through my window
in the corner of my room
My situation is heightened by an awareness of an utter reality
that I have come full circle in my life so far
This realization that ma
to the girl with the razors in her back pocket,stop. turn around. i understand you,
and i understand the sadness
entrenched in your bones. i understand
the late nights spent in anxious prayer
to the towels, to the creaky floorboard
just outside your parents' room, to the sink
that stains too easily. i understand
the catastrophic glances that people throw you
when you open your mouth and try
to belong. i understand the intense moments
spent in dressing rooms splicing together outfits
that will gracefully sweep past tally-marked wrists and ankles
and hopefully make sense in the dead of summer.
i understand the nights that you carve the emptiness
onto the razor and wonder if it wouldn't be better
to just die tonight instead. no one can be angry...
or disappointed...or judgmental...or sympathetic (because
sometimes forced empathy is the worst)...when you
no longer exist. it just stops. and anything
has to be better than this.
well, you're right about one thing. it does
get better. and not in that corny way
people tell you. you won't se
Versions“Jesus, how long does it take to put on a tux?”
His voice came to me muffled by the heavy curtain in front of the changing room. “I — appreciate — it,” he said as he struggled with the garment, “but — my name’s — Ethan.”
I laughed, my bangs swinging to the side of my face. Curling my legs up on the leather armchair, my eyes wandered over the dark, musty tailor shop. “That joke has been way overdone. Like, so overdone, it’s burnt to a crisp.”
“Why’d you laugh at it, then?” I could hear him grinning through the curtain. His feet were thumping on the hardwood floor, and I could imagine him almost falling over as he slipped in his socks. I giggled into my hand.
All was quiet for a minute, the only sounds coming from the cash register at the other end of the store. Drawing my eyebrows together, I asked, “Everything okay? You didn’t have a heart attack or something?”
Death's EmbraceDeath decided he loved me too much,
and called my name, reaching
out to take me with him.
My hand slipped out of yours
as I stretched for his embrace,
cool and soft to my touch.
I don’t regret my decision.
He loves me more than you ever did.
A Conglomeration of Beautyi. My father is a hurricane making love to the ocean. When I am in love I need someone who lies below the waves, ever swirling and present, who knows I am a tag along skiff - small, but still significant. I need someone who is willing to guide me along the deepest parts of life, water coiling around my bow to pull me to safety. That is you.
ii. With summer washed words I will tell you of my past and how falling in love is a terrible way to describe the feeling. You don't settle either, you make a journey, you create something. It is something entirely too complex to find a phrase that suits it and I will cry for days over this thought. Please let me embrace this short-term sadness.
iii. In many ways I am still broken. I am not where I want to be, but be patient, I am working to get there.
iv. You don't fill all the holes in your heart, I understand that now. There will be parts of you that always need to be open because they are more than just holes. They ar
metropolis.In gasoline streets,
cities without sleep:
Pretty girls so neat
it's all camp for me:
Passing face with conceit
it's all a neon treat.
The waltz on concrete,
graceful with bare feet.
ladies kiss and greet
as boys buy the suite--
It's all so discreet
in gasoline streets.
Sequins stick to seats
and girls curse the heat:
Beggars want to eat
but they look like cheats:
They are hard to beat:
cities without sleep.
Chatting with elites
who have their crime sheets.
I want my marquee
but those feelings fleet.
in gasoline streets:
cities without sleep.
dimensional.Is dreaming worthwhile?
The way they show us, mock us
with their conscious lies.
Or maybe they're true
showing us our potential:
Celestial Memoriestrust flees from the Earth, dodging the pale moon and
arcing over gaseous planets, setting out to escape this
galaxy…searching for binary stars to settle upon, twin
infernus spheres interlocked with each other’s life…
Greeks believed the Sun revolved around we[aklings],
shoddy excuses for forms of life…knowledgeable of the
world yet ignorant of themselves (and others)…forsaken
intelligence lost amidst bleeding hearts and decaying
cerebral cortices—trapped in pyramidal waves where the
sun hid between bleached stones, shifting sands framing
golden rays—beauty lost in the span of a millennium never
to recover only relapse to supposed greatness…
night and day interlocked—chains of humanity binding
their status—revolving across twelve times two clocks,
dependence choking reality…continuous cycles unbroken
dusk to dawn to dusk to dawn verging onto twilight before
the sun falls and the stars return…as does reali
My StoryI want to rip you apart
And spread your paper scraps
All over my floor
I'll piece together the letters
A cursive constellation
I'll make your story with my own flesh and blood
Then I'll tear you as I wish
I want to stain you inside
With permanent marker
Let its ink mix in
It'll seize you in its gaping gap
Never let you breathe the fumes
You will be my creation for forever
My diary locked inside
I will devour your innards
Even to the marrow
No heartbeat escapes
All your fumbling letters I hold
As it streams out of your mind
As I made your entirety, inside out
You are my story to keep
If I so choose.
Celestial MemoriesCelestial Memories:
When we saw stars as
Small bright dots
Not giant balls of fire.
When we saw the moon
And thought to ourselves
"Who is that man on it?"
And now we no longer care.
When we wonder why
The Sun leaves at night
But now we know
Its always there.
Celestial MemoriesThis is a story
I'm sure you all know,
About a lovely little woman
And her Mr. Scarecrow.
It all began
In a small town like any other.
Where our main characters lived:
A little girl, her father, and her mother.
The family lived
In a small farmhouse,
In a tiny little town
[Yes, fit for a mouse].
The children who lived there
Were very close-knit,
But when Tabby wanted to join
Her father threw a fit.
He would sit her down
And tell her ever so nicely,
"You don't need friends,
All you need is family."
Then, little Tabitha
Would walk to her shelf
And play with her toys...
All by herself.
Her mother was the only one
Who noticed Tabby's loneliness.
She was the only one
Who understood her stress.
She tried her best
To distract Tabby's mind.
They played games
Like pretend and search and find.
Sometimes Tabby's mother
Would teach her new things:
Like sewing, and farming, and working with hay,
[The basics for living a pretty nice life]
So that maybe, just maybe, on one fateful day,
Tabby just migh
Birth of A DreamLove and romance are prominent in the media, literally dripping off the screens and into their viewer's heads. You can find some sort of reference of it in almost every song or movie that is popular among the people. So naturally, when I was a child, I was overloaded with thousands of images of how a real love should be like. Not that I understood it completely though.
Growing up, before I even thought about going after boys in real life, I began to wander in my imagination. I would create stories in my head where I, the grown up, mature, super me, would always be saving the day in some sort of predictable storyline. Of course, with my superness, I had many friends who were true, everyone loved me, and the most predictable of all, I always got the guy. I'd labor in my fantasies for hours, meticulously plotting every detail of how I would succeed and win a man's heart. The life in my head was so perfect, it was so fun to make. Eventually, it led to me wanting to become just like my supe
Prom 2014 Part IWelcome to Rising-Artists' 2014 Prom! We had over 100 RSVP's sent to the group, so this feature has been split into two parts (Part II here). Please note that in several cases, only one of two partners sent in their RSVP's, so we were only able to feature one of the partners.
Special thanks to our matchmaker Penis-Jam as well as all the admins at Rising-Artists who helped organize and put together this feature. This prom certainly would not have happened without you guys.
:iconmyriadwhitedarkness: and :iconBackShelfSouvenir:
I'm always so wonderfully delighted with your work. Every piece is different, and not at all like anything I've read before. Not to mention I am incredibly delighted to be here at DA prom with you Keep writing and never stop believing in your work! When you least expect it, your pen might save you. Your support has been i
Sky Fire - Fairy Tail, Romeo and WendyRomeo smirked to himself as he walked home. Maybe showing Natsu all of his colored flames was a bit bragging but... well, that was allowed, right? After all, the dragon slayer had wanted to know just how strong he was. It's not really bragging if the person asks for you to show him.
His father was staying in the guild hall longer to drink and chat with old friends, but Romeo had school in the morning. He could hardly wait to tell Totomaru-sensei that Natsu was back. As he walked through the streets of Magnolia on the way back to the Conbolt house, he balanced along the low wall that separated the street from the river, just as he had seen Lucy do many times.
"Romeo-kun, be careful," a passing boatman called.
He waved that they cared enough to shout, yet he was a grown boy now, thirteen years old, practically a man, and a mage of Fairy Tail. There was no way he would be stupid enough to fall into the river.
"You really should be careful, Romeo-kun."
The girl's voice startled him, and he
Out of TuneStrum to the rhythm of hearts
Sing to its insistent drum
Pluck that dwindling fragile string
Until it tears
And never let it leave
Scream to the tone of bells
Drown in its mellow sounding
Wretch out that song that's stuck there
In the drum's core
And never let it hear
A contrasting clang to my tune
Its startling difference
Sounds like music
To my open ears
,the thing they forgot to mention
about being a writer
is that we all live the longest
and die the fastest.
we feast on metaphors
with numb fingers and hearts
until we crawl under a half moon to sleep
and just don't wake up,
because everything we are
is arranged in our work
and we start to become
everything we've written about,
slowly but surely.
and now i'm not so sure
if i want to be a poet.
i just know
that i want to be a writer.