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#7I can see your smiling face
Represented on a glowing screen
And I press delete,
As if it would erase the ghost of you.
Enough For YouI love the way your eyes seem way too big for your head, and that look you give when lingering on the cusp of an opinionated rant. Don't get me wrong, you're far from perfect, but you have this ability to pull my lips into a smile. And I could get lost in yours.
And we argue over stupid things like
What happens after we die
As if that somehow matters.
Then you just drop my sentences like used matchsticks into your fire of undeniable faith, and reach for the Slivovitz.
And sometimes I feel more than hard to love. Sometimes your grand adventures throw a perspective that I am not enough. And then you ask why I'm still always sad.
And when I'm reminded of him, always him, and my eyes are veiled and you lose count of the droplets clinging to my eyelashes, your voice is torturously tender; "I couldn't hurt you like he did".
It hurts to fall in love with all these little pieces of you. It hurts to feel my scars slowly fading into memories like ships in the night.
Because I know I'm not enough
And Then YouTonight I don't want to be alone. The dark, an emptiness full of unknowns, threatens my dim and wavering existence. Because I'm so small in everything and still not small enough to go unnoticed. And my head is full of so many regrets that roll like crashing waves.
Deep in my heart of hearts and soul of souls I see blue eyes- bright, painful memory and sharp lies and malcontent. Brown eyes- the things I did to start again and inadequacy and loss. Staring and soulless from the sockets of who I used to know. And my memories churn like turbulent seas, and roll like crashing waves.
All I can picture is this feeling of not being enough. I need to move on but maybe it's the past that's not letting go of me. Maybe I've tried to fight it. Maybe it's all too much.
I'm so meaningless and small and yet they won't let me slip away. I'm so lonely and they won't let me be alone.
And then there was you.
Bucolic SuffocationI'm getting kind of tired of this bucolic town, where nothing ever changes and everything is full of stale memories.
And I'm getting really sick of those arrogant people who breeze in and out, and make me feel inadequate with the life I'm living. In an indirect way, I suppose you were one of them.
At the moment, I'd do anything to be happy, even if it means leaving everything behind,just to have an excuse to never say your name again.
The night, The lighthouseThe night is so long. The night is so long and I hardly sleep without him here. It's nights like these that I had him close to where my fragile heart was beating.
The night is so long and lonely, and my life sometimes feels like an anomaly or an oblivion. Oh eternal universe, so endless and beautiful, oh time, my old friend. Please let me slip away.
On nights like this one I could touch the beauty of forever, that fleeting and perfect thing. On nights like this I was in love, for how could I not have loved him and his easy, wan smile?
The night is so long. I have spent these days in the dark. A year without the sun. A year without my love. Those with words more beautiful than my own have said it, that love is so short and oblivion so long.
The night is eternal for me. There will be no sun while he is not with me. Without him,
Without him I just try to stop the days from hurting.
I try to keep the pain away from me.
The night is so long and I am afraid of the dar
StrengthStrength is knowing that no one can hit me as hard as I've hit myself. I've pulled myself apart and become my own worst enemy. I've hurt myself more than anyone else ever could. And I'm starting to realize that I can't make myself good enough for you. I can't be everything you need or anything you want. So the days pass me by like razor blades and bruising blows. There is no comfort for me. And there's nothing to make the days stop hurting. All I get is that one moment held against you. One moment when all the voices in my head go silent. One moment when I'm not constantly refreshing the feelings of my own inadequacy. That's all there is for me.
Together in what might have beenYou're my
and I am your
Together in curses
without you it seems
to float away
and I can't find
my way back home
Last lamentYour face burns behind my eyes.
I feel myself begin to cry,
because you were everything to me.
and you and I just couldn't be.
An iron lump in my throat,
feel like I'm about to choke.
Hands go cold, knees give way.
Haven't seen you since that day.
I can still smell you in the air.
Feel my fingers running through your hair.
I can hear you say you love me so.
I can taste the regrets of letting go.
There wasn't room in your life for me,
and all the things we could be.
Bitter symphonies of cold lament,
the words I wish you never meant.
Memories bitter on my tongue,
all our moments, every one.
The taste of you in my mouth,
I'm fading, falling, going out.
And silent secrets are all I see,
with the priceless things we won't be.
Your face burns behind my eyes.
Still can't believe it was all lies.
I'm sorry, my darling, for making you bleed.I want to tell you
all my worries inside.
cold regrets and
my dearest one,
I want it to be yours again.
And I don't think I can
looking for you in empty places
getting my hopes up
that you'll see me
and want me
Loving you hurt me.
when you couldn't be there.
But leaving you hurt more.
It was pain,
pure and unadulterated.
And I know my apologies
floating away on
But I'm still yours
I promised you I would be.
I'm yours even when
you aren't mine.
And I always will be.
I know I stuffed up.
I made a mistake.
I know I don't deserve you.
But darling I can't forget about you;
You once said I was the only one for you.
And I want you to believe that again.
Don't Fall In Love With A Writer Just because they will bruise your neck with pearls of metaphors; and splash palettes of colours onto your chest with reckless waves and boundless twilight. They will smear ink onto your lips as you kiss them because that is how they leave hickeys. They are wildest in their 2 a.m. diary, and liveliest in book racks of novels; they have butterflies in every heartbeat and they breathe living poem. They leave trails in libraries and coffee shop like Hansel leaves crumbs in forest and they have undying lovers because every love story is ever living in their abyssal oceans of analogies and similes. They know every clichés like the sunset knows the moon rise, and every wound in their heart like blood in their veins. They are terrifying because they weave you in splinters of fires rolling down their cheeks. They are weird because they don't smile much but sometimes you could catch their smiles in poems or tales. They are psychotic be
How to be a better writer!How to be a better writer, or
Even a better artist.
“Trust me”, I have experience,
I’ve been at it for years.
Let me give you a few simple guidelines,
Some that I myself go off of,
And I’ll pretend that my style,
Choice of words, will work for everyone else.
And let’s not forget to mention that
I am a premium member! A beta tester!
A senior member!
Till hell freezes over!
I must know what I’m talking about?
In all my greatness and glory!
I have the authority,
To tell others how to make their art better.
Let’s cut the bullshit here and now,
And ignore those people who tell us our style.
One person, so skilled and great,
With art that all tend to appreciate,
Does not have the right to lead ‘his’ flock,
To determine whose art is worthy or not.
You write one way I write another,
My thoughts are calm, while yours are loud as thunder.
She strokes left, but he’ll stroke right,
Her art his peaceful, but his depicts a fight.
A pencil i
Avoidant Personality DisorderI've never gotten to explain this to anyone before, since every time I try, I break into some sort of sobbing fit. If my explanation sounds a little funky, that may be why.
Yeah. So, I have APD, or Avoidant Personality Disorder.
To summarize, it's a disorder that makes people want to avoid social contact and criticism by all means.
Unfortunately, that includes me.
I didn't know about the disorder until I browsed through psychological disorders for writing purposes, and happened to find it. I matched every single symptom.
Every last one, period. And I believe, wholeheartedly, that I have it.
This isn't your WebMD diagnosis, not when you feel so badly.
It's a really difficult feeling to describe.
Whenever you so much as try to make conversation with any person, you feel like chopping your head off. In my case, you're afraid to say hello. Or goodbye, or thank you, or I love you, or things that people should be able to say without stopping to think.
You feel unworthy o
A Rapist Wears PinkA rapist can wear lipstick, make up, dresses or skirts,
Her nails can be painted brightly, her eyes can still harbor hurt.
A rapist can walk with heels, that click as she drags her feet,
A rapist can have a feminine voice, that comes pouring from her vile teeth.
A rapist can be a woman, that much should be clear,
Yet a few ignorant people, will choose not to adhere.
A rapist can pick her victim, as easily as the next,
She can claim she’s just lost or stranded, then force you into sex.
A rapist can cry wolf, as long as she cries feminist first,
A rapist can ruin your life style, make day to day living worse.
A rapist can put you in jail, with one tear of her eye.
A rapist will claim that you’ve hit her, that you wanted her to die.
A rapist is a liar, she hides behind her make up.
A rapist will be in your dreams, even when you wake up.
A rapist has the ability to avoid the clutches of the law,
A rapist can claim you’ve hit her, if you didn’t stand for her at
My alter-egosYou see, I have these beings in my head I call alter-egos. They're parts of me that appear whenever I need them. They represent me, they come from the deepest side of my soul. It might seem crazy, but that's the best way I can describe them. They're very different from my other OCs (Vince, Renka, Alice, ete); they're very special to me. Sorry, I'm not good at explaining things myself...
Keiko: can I? Can I explain it? Pleeeeaseee?
Okay, go ahead.
Keiko: okay, we are special beings that live inside Sandra's mind. We were formed of her subconscious, so that makes us different of her other OCs she created herself. We're here to protect her, to make her feel better when she has her episodes of depression. Recently, she decided to make us public because we told her it was a good idea.
Now we will show a list of all the alter-egos Sandra has:
-Abyss (Gloomy Apocalypse): Demon
-Angel (Pulsar Majoris): Male version of Sandra
-Astrid (Star Lollipop): Birdwing
-Dana (Harmonic Holic): Human with
anyway.there are things i know too well about you, and most of them break my heart just remembering them. i knew the look in your eyes right before you would cry, or how it would snap and change from a look of swelling tides to unfiltered rage, aimed directly at me. cause i was the closest thing that you could bruise or throw your words at that wasn't a wall, or yourself. it wasn't damaging you, and as far i was concerned, that was worth a few flourishes or a swollen eye.
the alternative just wasn't worth mentioning or comparing.
there was something not right in your head, maybe the vodka or whatever you drink dissolved a synapses or two, because the notion of cause and effect didn't seem to make any sense, and empathy was just completely lost on you. i did love you, the best i knew how to, the best i could with the cards you gave me. i don't know if you returned those feelings when you were sober and weren't forced to be honest. drunken words are apparently the truths we can't admit when we'
Magic HourMagic Hour
by Kit the Wolfy
I always keep a cool and sunny place in my heart.
A place where the sky glows with the rich blue and pink and yellow of dusk and dawn, and everything is in picture-perfect clarity.
It's my own private magic hour.
And in this magic hour where everything is clear and bright, I take some time every day to reflect.
Reflect on the people I love.
Even if it's hard to continue, and even if I have scars,
My magic hour always heals the pain.
So, every day, I take a little time to retreat into my heart, into my magic hour.
And in that magic hour, I sit down in the grass, lie back, stare up at the shining sky...
And I think about how grateful I am that I have the people I love.
EmotionalA lot of people say that emotions is what makes us human because it's healthy for us to stay happy, joyful, and to always smile. But, what if the table was turn? In fact, is it turned already? Because some people can't feel that way.
What if instead they felt the opposite? What if they felt sad, pessimistic, and always cried tears every day in their lives? Some of them can't help, but feel like that. They feel like they're hopeless, mistakes, imperfect, or not good enough, anxious, depressed, bipolar, tearful, broken, and never going to be the person they dream of being.
So the real question is: Is being any other emotion besides happiness make us human?
RunningI've never wanted to run away so much. Just keep running, until I can taste blood in my mouth and breathing hurts and you are so very far away. You stare blankly, and make my heart howl like a wild animal as it attacks my chest and fights against the bonds holding it in. Your gaze is steady, you know how much pain it's causing me. Your lips in a half smile as you bask in my pain. My vision blurs as A fresh batch of tears collects in my eyes, glazing them with my sadness. And you're still smiling, so proud of yourself. So gleeful at the fact that you inflicted this.
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