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I am the seaInside I am blue and violent,
Just like your eyes, which saved me
From drowning - I was calm yet crashing,
Waves of apologies and sad smiles.
You hooked me through the heart,
You and your crystal clear blue
Keep me floundering, not sinking
To the quiet places in the deep.
The dark ocean of empty gestures
And bad decisions drags and pulls,
But I fight to the uncertain surface
For one breath, to call your name.
PorcelainLike porcelain, your skin was
Pure white and flawless.
You were perfection, and
I was mesmerised
As Glosoli sang
And I cupped your face
Into my imperfect hands.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
And your collarbones,
And the ambient lighting
That highlights you with shadows.
My hands flit across your chest,
Down to your hips,
Smooth and porcelain.
But hard too,
An unyielding shell under your skin,
Stopping anyone getting in.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I run my fingers through your fingers
And your smile stays cold,
Porcelain and far away.
Ambient lighting highlights the shadows,
Under your eyes but it hides
That blotchy after-crying skin.
Mesmerised I want to reach out
But I see the cracks around your smile,
So I don't.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
QuakeThey call it heartbreak,
But really it was more of a quake.
Cracks spread out from the epicenter,
to my neck and to my thighs,
And widened until
As little flakes I fell away.
A damaged ornament, slowly
I collapse in on myself, and
In vain I try to hold the shards.
And after the aftershocks
There are too many pieces.
I feel myself fall from my hands
Jagged onto the cold floor,
And as you walk towards me
You cut your feet.
OpenIn the night I still hear the sound of her voice,
Gentle, like the quiet rainfall.
My eyes threaten to join in.
I remember your face and your hidden hands,
And every beat of my heart
Smashing my chest like it was trying to get out.
My ribs still echo with it,
Like my chest is cracking open.
Three years and still my chest is cracking open.
The dawn is darker than when I played Apple.
Outside it sounds just the same,
I can taste the tears still.
Three years old, when I screamed out in the kitchen,
While you made another kind of scream,
That I could not hear but I feel it now.
I feel the echoes swirling around,
Like my head is breaking open.
Three years and still my head is breaking open.
Petrichor and PeaceI find comfort in the quiet after rain.
Drops on the tarmac, chaos
And then silence.
The absence of sound is a sound
And the smell is new beginnings.
Petrichor and peace.
In fall after the leaves drop,
Crispy, ochre noises, til
Rainpour makes a mess of them.
No noise now, their colours blend
Into the ground and they regrow,
In the petrichor and peace
I find comfort that after our storm,
of industrial debris and man-made leaves
Fall rain will hammer down until
We are only echoes, and then
Silence and fresh grass,
Petrichor, and peace.
CountdownOn these long nights I am scared of death.
The changed moon reminds me that I am closer
To the time when my love gets grey hairs,
To the widow one of my parents will become,
To the empty rooms of children gone.
I fear the slip and fall,
And the look on your face on January 14th.
Both the inevitable, slow decline
And the unexpected screech
Of metal hitting metal.
To stand once more in a resting place,
Life once loved, now lost, and knowing
There are more lines on your face this year,
More things that you have forgotten,
And more cells awaiting rebellion.
Spring blossoms are a countdown
To a time without your eyes,
And more black suits and wilting flowers.
On these long nights I am scared
That I will be the last one left.
Do You Know What It Is Like To Be Unmade?It is that four o'clock curse,
Hypa Professional Stainless Steel,
Years past and bathroom floors,
"Now to know it in my memory".
Forgotten comforts and a lullaby,
Now your careless utterance.
Three years empty,
"Burnt Away" romance and consequences.
Scratch the night quiet.
"Jagged vacance thick with ice."
The skin will sing and sting,
Hypochondriac burns, twice.
And every drop of soul,
Poured out with the maelstrom,
Of cigarette stale lungs
And Holocene erases memory,
Internal parades eternally.
No mind enough to fill this mould,
"Someway, baby, it's part of me, apart from me"
That kind of loveI want a storybook kind of love,
Witches curses and poisoned apples,
Something to struggle for,
Against the odds,
Saved just in the nick of time.
I want a fable to envelop me,
And your eyes deep blue as the sea.
I sink down into their abyss,
And then your kiss,
A true kind of love on my lips.
I want a forbidden secret.
Insecurity and unsurity,
A crescendo kind of love.
As we are in the moonlight.
I want a snowstorm kind of love.
A blizzard to end all things,
Hurricane winds ripping apart,
Like tape and glue.
I want a nuclear reaction.
Irradiate my heart and soul.
A sickness kind of love,
With skin and pain and screams,
And aloe vera you.
I want a wartime kind of love.
Worries and kisses and tears.
Romeo and Juliet,
On no mans land,
We will embrace and die in love.
I want a fairytale.
Doomed and meant to be,
Unlike these faces I see,
The endlesss searching,
Trying to find some kind of love.
Next to BestLike the window pane race.
As mercury in the chill,
Lower the racers fall,
Victory puddles on the sil.
And the frozen teardrops,
Still and second best,
They are not winners, yet
They shine just the same.
Let's glow as next to best,
Not too special, but
A shining medals worth
Close to ideal.
Crossing in our time,
Not gaudy guilded gold.
Pretty good is second best,
I should know.
She's a WriterShe sits at her desk
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
Evil or kind?Negativity makes me smile
My poses and laughter
Suit the best villains
But I care so much about my friends
About their emotions and well being
And I always cheer them up
Am I evil?
Am I kind?
Maybe a little bit of both...
Do you know what it feels like...To be lonely?
To be bullied?
To be called ugly?
To be unattractive?
To be compared to other women?
To be considered unnormal?
To be unloved even though you give love to others?
To face issues that you don't in reality know how to fix?
To think that your goal you're reaching for, is unattainable?
To feel like the cause of many people's problems?
To be held up on a high pedistal that you can't get down off of?
To realize that people don't like you based on your personailty?
To at no avail, keep up your happy and upbeatness for others?
To look at happy couples and wish that you had someone to be happy with?
To stop fighting for anything anymore?
death of a sweet sixteeni found my house on
the market the
other day -
- it was 2011 again,
but the sun had set
on my nights of terror
nose to the barstool and
two black eyes, a dish
towel caught in my throat.
i keep trying to find
pieces of myself that
no longer exist - a dead dog,
baby blue walls, whispered
it sold for six figures,
and i can only wish
that i could sell my pain
for that much, but no
one would be willing to buy
it, as i am it's sole host,
the only one who
one of these days i will
drive by that sad eyed
grey house before we are
gone for good, and i will set
up with my camera, snapping
photos of my whitewashed hurt.
and if i linger too long,
so be it, as i've spent so
many nights ruined,
scraped away like the stars
once stuck on my
the bank may own my house,
but it will never own my heart.
A Cup of TeaCome on in and
Take a seat,
Sit with me a while
What you are and
Where you're from
Have a cup of tea,
Stay a while
To learn about you,
To know you
Your pain and
I will listen
Reveal to me
Your origin and
I will accept you
For you are me
You are my demon,
A part of myself,
I will never reject you
Care for a second cup?
By the LakeSat beneath a Christmas tree in late-March.
The ground is damp but pliant, it pretends to accept me
and then sneaks its cold fingers through my clothes
to dampen my spirits further with its chilly undertones.
I stare at the river, plump with soon-to-be April showers.
It does roly-polys over the smallest of obstacles and goes on.
It reminds me of what I should be able to do.
It runs as I grind to a full stop, and consider my life sentence.
The sky is blue; not like me, but bright and crisped;
Its been blurred by an amateur around the edges with cloud
But they don’t threaten me with rain just yet so, for now, we are friends.
The sun is missing. No one knows where she is.
She could be dead, by now. At the bottom of the lake.
Could have slunk there in a midday sunset.
She could of drowned her sorrows in the ricocheting tides
of a man made dam and its loosened throat. She could be.
She is not, she is hiding.
The sun hides from the world but leaves a blue sheen behind
to let everyone k
ConfrontationI shed a tear
The damage will be severe
Run away in fear?
I'll fight until the coast is clear!
Reasons We Love Homestuck“Reasons we love H O M E S T U C K.”
Why do this love this web comic, you ask?
Maybe it’s just the way the fandom rolls,
or how mean Andrew Hussie trolls.
It could possibly be Eridan’s accent (WWyeh?)
or even Feferi’s keyboard trident. (---E)
Some people say it’s Equius’ broken bows and arrows, ( D →)
but what about Nepeta’s meows and roleplays? (:33 <)
We really do love Sollux’s lisp,
and also when Karkat’s pissed. (FUCKASS!)
Including Kanaya's fabulous lipstick,
it's also Rose's amazing magic.
How about when Dave starts rapping
and Jade Harley begins napping?
We love Vriska’s eight-pupiled eye,
and how John is such an adorable guy.
Or maybe it’s with all the sprites
or how prospit glows bright.
Can’t forget about Derse’s darkness
or Gamzee and all his soberness. (WHOOPS.)
There’s also this thing with Tav and stairs
which he t
How To Not Break Your HeartHow to
not break your heart
Make sure to quickly
let go of hands
that refuse to hold you
and pretend it was
just a simple accident
(And, oh god, please,
please don't open
Admit that things
can't be perfect
when you can't convince
yourself to believe
that it was worth
the days you stayed
up until 5 AM
play your cards right and
don't love anything with a pulse-
They'll make you crumble
like a house of cards
Fall for the ones who fell
like shooting stars and
left imprints in the concrete
when their times were up
Fall for the ones you
can never touch whether
they are black-and-white,
colored, or just in another
Sculpt them to suit your needs
Fall for figments of your imagination, too
because they'll move their pieces
according to you and only you
and always you
always make sure to
love things that aren't alive
They'll never betray you
MarksIt was the marks that reminded me,
Making it only six days
Til you had to be put back.
On the edge of my bed,
In your shirt and someone else's socks,
And cold hands.
There were too many hours,
And too many marks,
Like the marks on my skin.
No clean getaway, just
Dirty failed distance, marked
By blood and salt and six years.
Six years of blue tack,
Five pence per photograph deals,
Nights like this on the edge of my bed,
When you would hold my hand.
Keep in Touch!
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