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Master.My mind, my master.
My heart, a disaster.
Life's not going anywhere,
but it's definitely getting faster.
JigsawI am a puzzle
Each piece is a part of my life
Its one that takes decades to finish
It doesnt happen over night.
Each piece of the puzzle contributes to who i am
But its more than an image, you see
Alone its just a simple aspect
But put it all together, and you have me
Some are small, but so dear to my heart
Others are jagged and feel like they dont fit
Some might be tough to place, but never quit
Heres to all the pieces, no matter where they are
The good times,
The bad times,
The stories for every scar.
They might seem disastrous when they fall into our lives,
But its what make me, me
One piece at a time
The pieces for passion
The ones for never giving up
The ones for falling in love with music
The ones for finding happiness in pain
For the times laughing until you cry,
Playing guitar until your fingers bleed,
For loving what you do and what it does for you,
For never questioning your beliefs
For the times you learnt the hard way,
The hardships youve came by,
The times you thought you
Denial (shadows the blackest parts of me)I am fearful to find the meaning
Of why I’ve become what I’ve become
Of what it means to be me
Still I peel off my skin
My eyes fill up with guilt
Of what I know I fear
I know what change is coming
As I tear away the layers
I surrender to the pain again
Whilst deconstructing my constructive self
My former repressed suppression
And as the memories come rushing in
I'm vulnerable and bare again
I see now why I hurt myself
Time and time again
I curse at a past I could not control
My ego laughs at me from afar
I am aware of my one true story
Wounded closure in my soul
I reach out towards the lucid lights
The ones I see outside
I now know myself enough to know
I am no longer a prisoner inside
Reverting BackFalling again from the cliffs of victory,
Reverting back to the old ways,
In such a fast pace
From our last place…
Why did it take so long for us
To realize our loneliness for good?
Maybe it is how we should
Live our lives.
No one expects a miracle to come true,
No one expects everyone to find me and you,
No one understands all that we've been through,
And no one believes in what we are going to do.
To feel for us there is no reason,
Or at least we do not know,
These winds are foreign,
Towards us they never blow.
To say goodbye to love we’re ready,
To enjoy our hearts beat slow and steady,
Away from pain, away from theft
And there are still so many colors left.
Vaya!Oh, dulzura, ¿realmente he estado equivocado?
Con aquella ruptura con mi lado más humano,
¿he errado? Mi alma estaba segura, mas,
¿a dónde me llevará mi interior desolado?
Quizás llamase y me fuese con poca fortuna,
poca es poco: mínima, a mala suerte condenado.
Quizás haya sido cruel, puede que de hambruna,
puede que obligase y puede que ahora sufra.
Pues, ¿qué soy ahora más que un cascarón?
Siento, mas solo siento a mi razón,
mi corazón está loco y yo, cuerdo. Aterrador.
Atiéndeme, demonios, ¿a qué me veo avocado yo?
¿Realmente he probado el estar a solas?
¿O he estado en ilusión? Alienado en mi rosas
sin saber qué sucede por mi ambición: loca.
Espero saber ahora dónde estoy en mi prisión.
UntitledI feel my lungs collapsing
I can't stop my head from spinning.
It hurts to breathe. I'm gasping.
I can't keep it down I find myself thinning.
I can't feel my hand.
It's numbing as I no longer feel my blood circulating.
I'm so dizzy, I can't stand.
"What's wrong with me?" I ask myself as I sit there waiting.
A room so cold on a bench too high.
My legs dangle from the stool with my hands on my thigh.
A tall man enters with too white of a coat.
Asks me questions and writes them as notes.
It's a mess.
I have no strength to get out of bed.
I have to focus to be able to breathe.
I feel pressure pounding on my head.
I'm scared. I don't understand what's happening to me.
Writing at OxfordBetween the dusty pages of
drunken novellas and tragic plays,
a small ferret creeps and a young girl strays.
Enticed by a fantasy mirror and
lightly cut by a subtle blade,
the fabrics between worlds gently part
and literature is new and made.
A delicate array of alternate ideas
welded together within the parchment of a book.
Be careful how far you peer between
the never-ending lines of flowing ink.
Beware of your ever changing daemons and
ensure you don’t fall for their trick.
For they would have you think that
there is nothing more behind these shelves.
The truths they do hastily conceal as
there is more than you could ever believe.
Keep your friends closer, your enemies closer still.
You’ll never know where you may meet as
you hide behind your wandering quill.
On Wax WingsSpeak not softly
of your troubled fate
Huddled late, cross at the
Loss of doubled rates
Prostitute your sorrows
til the morrow can't come
Mind: scant and numb,
You borrowed some horrors
For you to Tell, See, Believe
Starve her beastly cheap when she's deceived,
Upheaved and ruptured,
As you yet corrupt her,
Leave her upstirred in life's broken structures
Who ever said you can see beyond the sun?
Beyond the moon, the sword, and beyond the gun?
Who ever claimed you could walk the seven seas
Through heaven's fire and through its dreaded breeze?
And thread with ease a Gordian knot at whim, known,
While playing your accordion hot with prim tones,
and prone to the thoughts of the world before you
Kneel, adore you to the core you deplore through?
Prostitute your every degradation
Blame it all off with prevarication
Declare with patience that you just can't face it
Deny your dishonesty, then embrace it
You harmed me,
Lied, defied, denied
And tried to get by
on wax wings to fly too high
DragonIn my lair that you have found,
Shattered swords lie upon the ground.
Priceless treasures, centuries old.
Dwell amongst crushed bones and glittering gold.
Ancient secrets thought to be lost,
Are yours to keep but at what cost?
Countless knights and heroes have tried in vain,
But they are the ones who have ended up slain.
You face me now, your sword held high,
Little do you know your end is nigh.
Your bones shall become part of my horde,
Where they will remain for evermore.
Oh foolish boy did you truly believe,
That you of all people could defeat me?
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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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