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RepetitionI'm going to write about Leo again, but this time, I'm going to be truthful about it.
It happens often that I wish he'd never found me, or I him.
That we had remained strangers,
going about our lives,
Ignorant to what we were missing (good and bad).
Though physical space and mental walls separate us, I still cannot find love elsewhere
You've taken my heart and now it beats in your hands
and though I attract others with unexplained magnetism,
I am not considering them the same way
and I never will.
You make things harder, you dogged and figurative lion
you, who loses English in intensity
you, who loses time to whiskey,
you, who loses music to guitars
who writes in secret, and can't sleep at night
who hates the cold but can't stand heat either,
and leaves into the dark to fall further
into depressive abuse of your own mind.
You are not perfect and neither am I. I still wonder if you even know how to hold conversation,
or if everything is one sided and two dimensional to you.
Talk to me,
To all of you.I wish I could stop stating that I don't know what to say, but I’ve found it is the best way to start something new. Yes I continue to write the same words in different phrases, different statements, yet still just as meaningful. I have found that others look for the connections, the burning trees and drums, the references to oceans and the way I fabricate fire each time (its always changing). They search for the contradictions, find each way I illustrate inversions and start words with the same letters. Its just what happens, and thats really all I can say about it.
I’ve had many tell me that artistry is a reflection of the mind- and I can say this is true.
To you, who say otherwise, you know, its only out of fear of judgement.
I am not afraid to say that this is me, that these words, disturbing, vexing, and altogether strange (yet relatable), are my reflections. Reflections on mentality, reflections on emotions and opinions and what may seem like just-more-melodram
You cant buy my mentality.You know, for what its worth, I have to say this,
that, after everything ive been through
after the exhaustion, that tired feeling that
only few of us share
theres still enough to keep me going.
I may need the rest, and I may endure the
restlessness, but there is no difference between
life getting easier, or continuing to be difficult.
like everyone else and
I write, like many do (yet they refuse to admit)
and I paint, I burn pages with charcoal
I stain paper with ink in the form of
landscapes or trees.
and I strategize the next word to illustrate
no matter which pen I use.
Nights of drug-addicts, keeping me up
dont slow this,
they make me grateful
for what could have been (to other friends)
and I relish the fact that it was me
and not you. not her. not my sister, however metaphorical that may be
and I say
Dear lonely, violent escapist
thank you- thank you for thinking you could take me
so I may warn all the others
who might have been within your grasp.
snowfall beaconsThere isn't much for me to write about lately.
I could contemplate the cold, the mountains and snow
or I could lament the distance between us,
create a metaphorical connection between you and
the way I see my breath
every time I speak
Every time I breathe.
I could draw pictures in the frost
on car windows, begging to be washed,
wander down the main street with smoke in my hand,
again exhaling visibility. Is it you in the air I see?
You're simply farther down the monochrome asphalt,
always a sorrowful step ahead of me.
You know I could sleep at night,
and avoid the insomnia,
but we both know the impossibility behind the sun
how it blinds us in its haze and reflections
and the dark is always easier to deal with.
We are night-born creatures, you and I
We find our lifetimes in the silence of snowfall,
slave to the backdrop of three-hours-past-midnight
and the lack of noise you only find
in small towns like this one.
Still, in the soundlessness and absent light
we'll continue to find one an
Ive found a place to wait
The sun rises every morning I am here,
Over mountains and into the valley
gradually, beams through trees and buildings.
I have blues in my ears and cold hands again,
Though my coffee keeps them warm,
(one at a time)
and the flag decides if I can see,
unblinded by the light
shining over the ridge.
Some nights I'm here for hours,
through since midnight
wreathed in smoke, alone
I disregard my inability to breathe.
Oh, purple shadows and
train steam, rumbling, rambling black engines
golden cars rolling past
tell me this wooden bench will lure you forth
back to me,
what ever I may be waiting for.
I have cotton in my journal,
and a cigarette receipt
and I am sure there is a metaphor behind it
for the waterfalls and fire.
But it does not matter,
I've found a place to wait
And I've got something to wait for.
The train leaves in two hours,
Be there. (I will)
Of that, at least, I can be sure.
breathe deeper the mountain air
I find temptation everywhere
An invitation to stray
To give in
To absent desires and emotions.
I wish it was different,
That I could see you
Without falling, or flying
Through every wave of denial,
I wish you would come find me
Console my longing heart.
I feel you near and it's driving me
To the edge of Insanity.
Your withdrawal from myself is
Pulling the tension farther
Pulling the tension harder
Making this harder to
-Through rivers of salt, and oceans of mud,
vinegar wine poured in frost glasses
from mountain winds and shale and frozen breath
for fire and burning lavendar, and heated clay
passing levels for each step, higher, frigid altitude
beating drums in your direction,
beating lungs in your reflection.
[you make it harder to breathe]
there is a godI look at this blank page and see the infinite possibilities.
I am underwater.
Drowning in white,
fingers wrapped around the pen,
knowing its the only object that can lift me out.
the only source of lungs,
writing with whatever is left
from my faltering mind.
I wait for my deity,
golden eyes behind dark windows
and heels clicking on pavement,
smoke prevelant. fire in his hands.
cigarettes on the cold ground,
cherry still glowing, alone.
I can tell you he does exist as
another god in a lawless reality.
He is in the somber countenance
of every sinner,
in the shuffled walk of veterans
limping, broken, and alive,
a change behind their eyes.
There was a chain around my neck,
symbolic of his presence- gone,
where his own marks used to be.
It left scars. Like him.
Marking my belief, that soon
He will come back to me.
He is near.
I struggle with the feeling,
of tension spread between us
years waiting, longing
amplified, with every hour passing
and every mile descending
i promise i wont forget, the chain around my neckTell me how you wish to be forgiven
spill your lamentations to the floor
grovel at the feet of every sin youve ever spoken
and drill what prayers are left upon the door.
I know you feel so helpless,
kneeling for the smoke, for the burning trees
hanging another masochistic bullet
for the blood on your black sleeves,
in silver chains around your neck.
You carry a cross, I know
chrome, heavy, leaving bruises and
scars with every step, and every second
crucified to your chest in the irony
of your godless world
held only as a memory
for the irony of your godless years,
your endless years.
oh, my love, your endless fears.
I know you feel so helpless,
how you wish to be forgiven,
I know you carry your chains to feel bound
back to the earth, and to me,
I know your fears, and your lamentations
for I have heard them whispered in your sleep.
You walk through flames and come out unscathed,
dont think I have forgotten
what you come from,
in what fires of hell you were so mercilessly bathed.
Maybe This Is My Last GoodbyeI just have something to say and that is that I can not but
I have tried to get ahead for myself
But I can not
Every time I feel most miserable
Whenever I feel like not worth it to go ahead
I've tried everything
But they just look at me as a useless, stupid good for nothing like a monster
So to go ahead if, just they tell me my faults in the face
They say I have to open my wings and fly towards my destination where I belong
I try to fly, but my wings are broken
And without wings I can not fly to my destination, and if I not go to my destination I have nothing
And if I have nothing to go ahead
Maybe my destiny is in heaven, where there is no evil, sadness or mental illness
the weight of living pt. cdlxxit's a tangle of voices in the midst of rainy 1.53am breakdown
right now i want to cut myself
it feels like an ideal solution
i know it is not
maybe i should throw out my blades
i don't know
i don't know
i do know
i don't want to
the key phrase is just in case
you don't understand
you don't care
i wish .he cared
i also wish he wasn't fucking a fourteen year old harry potter freak with nicer eyes than me
i also wish he didn't spend his lunch times locked away in the drama room with a 52 year old paedophile with marriage problems
i wish i'd never cut myself because it's all these scars that will never fade and they remind me every day of how much i fucked everything up and how much i will never be okay what am i even saying
he reminds me of a sadness i never truly covered up and never truly understood
he reminds me of the gir
Today My Hands Reek of Doctor Office SoapBecause I frantically washed my hands in the back room
Because I’m one anxious little fuck when it comes to needles and
Crying children in the hallways and rooms where the walls are paper thin
Because I nearly pass out when needles are stuck into my arm several times
Because no one can ever find a goddamned vein the first time
Trying to calm myself as the doctor comes back in and the first words out of my mouth are
“So what are some good anxiety medications these days?”
Leave Her AloneThere is a girl.
About twelve or thirteen.
She has depression.
And people bully her!
She may say no one can understand her.
But I can.
I can feel my heart slowly crumbling.
I can feel her pain.
Whenever she tries to stand up for herself, people get mad.
Because I know how it feels.
But all I ask...
Don't bully her.
If your bullying her, your bullying me.
Don't get mad at her if she stands up for herself.
Don't hurt her.
Don't insult her.
You don't know it feels.
But I do.
Don't say you hurt worse.
Because you really don't.
And most of all, if your bullying her.
LEAVE HER ALONE
a letter to her My darling sunshine,
I know that we're about 1000 miles apart, but my heart feels tied to yours and I can't seem to let you go. My heart tells me that you're my soul mate, that you're my other half, that you're supposed to be loved by me and I by you. Age is just a number. I know that. In your Valentine's Day card, you told me to believe in us, to believe that one day we'll be together forever. I can't wait until that day!
Recently, you suggested we take a break because our distance is too big for you... I told you that'd be okay, I told you that I could wait for 4 more years (seeing as that's how many years of school I have left). You still call me your lovely pet names for me: Babe, darling, deary, and my favorite - your shooting star. You still tell me that you love me, and I tell you that I love you more. I do believe in us, I do believe that some day soon, we'll be together forever.
You, my dear, are my best friend... And I'm yours, you told me so yourself. I won't let you g
I'll never be your daughterDad, oh why... Why can't you...
Why can't you accept who I am?
Why can't you accept how I am?
I have never seen this world,
I don't know the things you do.
I know that, and I know youre much wiser.
Wiser than me.
But is that a reason?
A reason for that expression?
The one on your face,
telling me that you think Im dumb.
Dumb and idiotic and worth nothing.
Are you really like that?
Is success the only thing that matters?
Intelligence and smart thinking?
Does someone not perfect not fit into your world?
Do you really think this...
Do you really think I'm not perfect enough?
But why do you do it then?
Why do you say you love me?
The way I am.
You said you loved me,
but to be honest, dad, I can't believe you.
Do you really?
How can you love me?
Why do you look so disappointed?
I can't understand your point.
When we argue you say it's me.
It's all my fault.
Is it really?
Do you really think it's me?
Do you mean it when you say things...
Things like "You should get a psychatrist!"
How can yo
Teenage Girls“I don’t know what asshole invented the idea that teenage girls are the cause for all evil, but I really hope that person never has to raise one. I don’t want him to see her dissolve in his fingers as society tells her to eat less, be thinner, be the damsel in distress, be something for a man to fix, be different but not too different, be special but never ever a special snowflake - I don’t want him to watch as she realizes that no matter what she loves, she’ll be made fun of for it. She can simply like her coffee from Starbucks and suddenly she’s vapid and thinks herself poetic. She’ll want to play video games but be called a fake nerd, particularly if she poses in any remotely flirtatious way because for some reason despite the entire community playing games with poorly dressed women they still hate it when a real girl wears less clothing, she will be seen as trespassing in a specifically male space - but when she falls in love with a female-
La Voce Toaif there is a hardness in the heart
it must be broken
if there are words inside untold
they must be spoken
if there is a candle burning at the shrine
it must burn down,
until the very last drop of wax is spent
this hope will have no ground
wherever i turn
wherever i spin
these are the words
of the dance we're in
if there is sadness welling at the throat
the tears must run
as raindrops fill the ocean
it must be released and sung
if there are voices silenced in the darkness
louder they'll shout
the crowds will take the streets
their anger must be let out
wherever i turn
wherever i spin
and these are the words
of the times we're in
la voce toa nu l'hai timire
la voca toa falla sentire
la voce toa nu l'hai timire
la voca toa famme sentire
Depression?People have asked me to describe depression. And don’t seem to understand the inability to put it into words. People don’t understand the thought process and the dysfunction inside someone depressed isn’t easily described. So when people ask me to describe it, I can’t quite say what I mean.
Perhaps it is like being in a pit. A dark hole with no light and no comfort. And you try everyday to climb out of it and you can never quite reach the top so you eventually give up. But that’s not entirely true. I don’t always fail at getting out but I don’t stop myself from falling in. And it isn’t a dark sad place all the time. I can be surrounded by people I love and things I love and still not be truly happy.
So then, maybe it’s like a rollercoaster. It’s a ride of ups and downs and ongoing loop-de-loops. Yet this doesn’t justify it either. I can for days without ups or downs. Days without insanity or days without relief. So how i
There is so much cynicism in regret
And so much sadness in azure clouds
and plum washed horizons.
Sweeping skies and
cherried burns beyond the atmosphere leave me blinded
I spiral every time I remember the sun,
branded in the walls lining my eyes.
[More charcoal on the fire-
run faster, my iron horse.]
I don't wait for trains-
screaming through timid valleys and fearlessly over centuried bridges.
Cast the mountains in their slurry,
(They live forever too)
so do you.
I keep your hurricanes hidden and
covet them until I can hold no more
And I too will scream over cast-iron bridges,
seeking sunlight over the next ridge
seeking solace over the next bridge
dropping ash and polluting trees with more...
and salt water.
With every stone I have ever skipped
I have hoped for a new outcome,
a longer trail of success,
carving valleys there too, in waterlogged earthquakes
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