This Is My Fairytale Pt IIA shining gold watchand a grin so determinedhe longs to break free,and with that he's certain.A poor little pauper,a street rat of todayhe strives for successand leaving home is the only way.He has no white steedor a multitude of riches,his mother's an alcoholicand his father sleeping with the fishes.This is no children's fairytale, no bedtime lullaby,this is the story of a determined peasantstruggling to get by.That gold watch, a momento of his fathermust be sold to feed his mother's habit.So he lingers hopelesslynothing but his tears and his sadness.This is no fairytaleor a bedtime lullabythis is
Death Wears Pinstripes Chapter 1: Second Chances Darkness is an endless river, a river in which the souls of the dead swim in an eternal cycle through oblivion.She flowed quite easily in darkness, with her limbs lingering in an unfamiliar—yet accommodated—numbness. She was floating and at the same time sinking, bending and dipping like a leaf being dragged through the currents. And like a leaf, she had no awareness of her own self. Cold, damp hands ran over her body, trailing over the only source of certainty she was sure of. No sound could be heard, and no light could be seen—were her eyes closed? Did she even have eyelids? Shaky han
Death Wears Pinstripes Chapter 2: Compromise A voice is only useful if there are lips brave enough to utter the words needed to be said.Chiara was speechless. She had wrenched her body from “The Duke’s” strong grasp, fell to her knees, and sat in silence trying to comprehend the severity of his claim. How was it possible for her to even be in the Underworld? As her hands gripped her head, she exhaled a loud and labored breath—that shaky sigh slipping out of her chapped lips. After several repeated breaths, she caught the scent of smoke and looked up to see Death above her, blowing smoke from his cigarette into her direct
VII.I laid with Beatrice in my bed with our burned lunch still in the oven. Although the oven was off, I could still smell the smoke wafting in from the kitchen. I tried to shake the nude figure which laid next to me awake, but she was steadfast on sleeping."Beatrice, up, you need to return to work," I insisted once I heard her groan."Later, lover. I will go back later," she cooed, running her frozen fingers on my chest. I hissed from the sensation it caused."Kirkpatrick will be looking for you, and eventually me," I continued, pushing her hand off me.Beatrice sat up immediately when I said that, and laughed, "Are you afraid of your boss,
IntroAs I sipped the cool glass of water that rested in my hand, I sighed at the somber silence that lingered in Martin Tenderson's drab bar where once the excitable and sensual Beatrice Moreau danced and sang in her drunken stupor. Martin still kept that phone that she broke when she slipped and dragged it from the table to the floor; Beatrice had promised to replace it, so this was possibly Martin's way of believing she would return. It was a pathetic gesture, but a widower like him would always hold onto things he loved--old age never broke that resolve.And although I never said anything, I'm sure he knew how grateful I was of him keeping thi
I.If you could summarize the Butterfly Pavilion in one word, you could only say it was simply "different". It was no ordinary club, with its seductive music and overpriced drinks, but you also couldn't call it a brothel; no, the ladies here had too much pride for themselves.I do odd jobs around the place, but for the most part I'm a stagehand. I pull open the curtains, tell the girls when it is their time to perform--and if I must, I stand guard as clients have their way with the ladies. It gives me some extra money now and then. The owner of the club was Bobby Kirkpatrick, not someone you woud want looking at your daughter let alone parading
With Hands Meant For Holding.Even with our fingers wovenI watched you slip away,and in that juncture I realizedour hearts stopped beating in the tuneof the meager melody I was composing in my head.I had often found myself lurkingaround vinegar-scented memories untilI stumbled, inebriated by the bitteressence that slipped through my mucous membranes and straight to my brain.Because death passed through me,and left the remains of a child too afraid of the dark, butafraid of the light even more.So by instinct I took your hand,and looked up to you for myprotection, and those fingers--extensive and encouraging--envelopedme into a cage that only you could
A Justifiable FearIt's only due to myown selfish inclinations--and never because of theway you speak so deliberately to my soul--that I'm so easily frostbitten(as you are the onewho keeps my bloodcirculating throughthese hopeless movingjoints).Only to the beatof this metronomicmonotone can I saythat you are what'sleft of me(because deep downI know I could livewithout you, I just don't want to).Eyeblinks and sneezesare more planned thanthis, and flies haveexisted longer than my infatuation.This self-indulgencewill clearly be thedeath of me(and not starvation or dehydrationsince this is alsoa form of gluttony),so avert your ey
Chremamorphismonly thesound of your breathscan leave me quakingand buckling so muchthat I need to hold myheart to keep myself steadybecause so oftenmy knees trembleand crack to theprecise and particular wayyou take inhales after each laugh.does it even makesense to call myselfa storm-chaser whenall I do is sit andwatch from my shelter?of course not,because the way you pull me along--dragging me to your eye--is enough to keep my adrenaline racing.but all of this is simplyjust a metaphoricmonsoon of memories you leave me with.And I'm floundering...floundering...drowning.
Moonlit RomanceI loved you while the moon was bright,but when the sky turns dark,now my affections for you fade out of sight.No longer do I have the lightthat could lead me to where it starts.I loved you while the moon was bright.I could search forever with unwavering might,but often times these actions only part.Now my affections for you fade out of sight.Ahead of me, I see a heart at flight.proving that attempting the impossible will leave me marked.I loved you while the moon was bright.I loved you just as the moon was brightbut now I'm clouded, not even a spark.Now my affections for you fade out of sight.And you, forgive the
Summer BloomAn iris smiles.Her lovely purple face glows--a face of beauty.
Sweet SerenadeShy little cuckoo,will you sing me a sweet song?Your voice is lovely.-------------------Shy little cuckoo,will you let me see your face?Your voice is lovely.
my life in boxes.I’ve penned my entire life as it stands right now from inside a box, and it is better than some try to imagine. It is safe, predictable, and leaves me with time to speak to God.While I attempted to claw my way out, I could hear Him singing.“Let me out, my Lord, I don’t belong,” I cried.“You fit so perfectly,” He sings, “You are a boy to your father, a social experiment to your mother, and you are a laborer to Me.”“But I am human, with feelings, thoughts, and a heart.”“Biochemical reactions and meat parts,” He pursed His lips. “The box defines you, my facel
Memories Transfixed In FlamesEverything loved gone, I can't be thereI traded it for an atom bombI can't make the smoke, clearEvery memory is now held with pain...Memories of laughter underthe stars (which are now cloudedby soot) can no longer be retrievedas I can only hear thering-ring ringing of gunfireand the screams of casualtiesand the blasts mingle with the forth of Julyechoing all that's leftwith blood stinging in my eyea little boy appears, aged about 5he's climbing up the rubbleI lurch forward to sound a, No, as anger encroaches, and his head takes the blowI think back to when my scoldingwas for lesser dangers approaching"No-
Eat The SunOnly to the sentiment that life is only an illusion can I scorch my eyes and oxidize my inner ear to feel how things truly are: vacillating and finite. With palms raised to the sky, and my fingers spread wide to grip the sunbeams which wash over me, I long entirely to engulf their radiance. At least once, I wish to feel their warmth. Because the world is too icebound, so much that I cannot feel my own heart pulsating and shaking the jagged icicles deep into my stomach and dousing what ever is left of the gusto which ignites my very spirit. For too long am I left shivering, yet I am no slave to the frostbitten demons that have trapped themselv
Exequywhere the streetlightsstill flicker on and off,there still resides along forgotten town.the smell of gasolineis still pungentas it creates apetroleum rainbowbeneath my feet.the howl of the windreminds me of the church-bells from home,oh how I miss them.cracks: vascular and plentiful,provide the streetsits only characteristicof life.it's constricting, as I wander the insides of thisemaciated empire--I cannot even breathe.the sky is pregnantwith the stories,abandoned conversations,and distilled memories.But where has everyone gone?The nurseries are empty,screaming for the unbornand reaching outto the skies.
Slacklining (a lesson in tightropes)I am teeteringon the thin wirebetween both loveand insanity.
Silly Day along golden rays where we once caughtcrystal waves of wind and kissed cherubs,I remember the momentwhen you said you loved me.they were delicate words as soft as the clouds we laid onand as sweetas the dew drops we shared.I remember how you wrinkled your nosein embarrassment and stuttered more than you had freckles.we took each other's hands-- your touch could soothe me more than any afternoon breeze.it was silly,the day you said you loved me.but not as silly as the day when I said I loved you too.
when you wish upon a star if you lookup to the skyyou can see ashooting starwhere dreamscan come true.twinkling, twinklingwith a light so brighti can smell them,these salty angel's tears.crystalline eyesgaze back to me,when i wishupon a star
RawEm0tion Member Profile!Name: KalliopeAge: 19Gender: FemaleI am a psychology major who has always been fascinated with writing. I have been writing as long as I can remember, and I recall always being told I have a beautiful imagination. I am an only child and I love animals. I joined deviantART from the suggestion of a past lover, and I'll never regret that decision. I love to help other writers and I love supporting the deviantART community in any way possible! Helping another will always bring a smile to my face more than anything ever imagined.Single/Dating/Married?:bulletpink: SingleWhen did you first come to DeviantART?:bulletpink: About April of
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