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2. LoveI had been here before, twice actually.
I had seen her beautiful warm brown eyes almost seem to glow in contrast to the cream-white dress, the fabric folding over the smooth curves of her calves. I had felt myself smiling as her eyebrows pulled together slightly, showing the determination on her face, and I could almost imagine her thoughts while having to focus on putting just the right amount of weight to balance herself in that favorite pair of silver stelleto heels she found. I swear I could.
I also remember feeling the butterflies being set from the pit of my stomach as she quickly swept that loose piece of glossy brown hair from the side of her face to the back of her ear before she said, 'I do.' And that little nervous laugh she made a second before she spoke, my heart almost stopped dead between beats from the sound of it. I remember feeling that ultimate feeling of happiness, real happiness, as her soft pink lips touched mine, and all I could think was that she w
1. IntroductionThe man's eyes sparkled in the spotlight, his thin lips curling upwards as the audience's eyes peered with curiosity at the shadow behind him. He parted those sickening, skinny lips to speak.
"Let me introduce you to the star of our show," he paused, allowing the battered drum to roll. As the thundering sound of it grew louder, so did the anticipation of the crowd before him. "Ladies and gentleman, the freak!" He waved one hand to show off the girl, who was once the mysterious figure, emerge from the hidden part of the stage.
"I'm, I'm, n-not a freak," she said quietly, her blue eyes turned down towards the floor. He long blond hair was tucked behind her ears, and she twiddled her fingers nervously in front of her.
The crowd roared with laughter and her gaze suddenly focused on them, boring a hole through their souls. Her expression changed from embarrassment to sheer terror. "He's real, I swear! I've seen him, I've heard him!"
A little boy in the audience pointed and laughed.
ChildhoodThe thought ticked away in the back of my head. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. It was a bomb, playing with my mind until it found mercy within itself and got its job done.
I heard myself mumble incoherently. I didn't know what I was really saying at the time, but now that I look back at it my only guess would be that I was praying that each second wouldn't pass so quickly, stupidly wishing time would freeze in his speedy tracks. I was trying to avoid the inevitable.
It was like trying to cheat death itself, and my mortality was sticking out like, as some might say, a sore thumb.
How quickly does that defenseless world collapse? How much must it ache in the chest as the magic seems to slip away?
Do the rivers with their crisp and keen reflection of the world flood the mind, filling it with confusion and clouding one's judgment in it's murky array of mystery?
Does every bright red fruit decay or ripen with color and juice as the sun shifts from its original position in the
Thump. Pulse. Thump.Thump. Pulse. Thump.
Those were the sounds that filled my ears.
In those few short seconds, as I took those shallow breaths,
That was the conversation I had with myself.
I've walked this path so many times,
And I've heard my mouth form many lies.
It's amazing how much I've told myself
Thump. Pulse. Thump.
I'm sitting on a spinning world.
I'm dizzy, this is true.
I never thought much of it
Until I couldn't be with you.
It's sad I know, I sat there.
I even thought I'd cry.
I felt my own world crash and burn
Thump. Pulse. Thump.
I can't even get my thoughts straight.
It's chaos in the mind.
I've never felt to strong and proud
I'm just the loner kind.
My breathes are shallow.
I'm giving up.
There's nothing left inside.
I tell myself that I'm in love.
Thump. Pulse. Thump.
Ophelia the FairThe Tragedy of
Ophelia the Fair
A Shakespearean play by
Eudora (Orphelia's mother)
Chorus (Made of three women)
Methinks the word of the hero's arrival,
Like the fire in a well kept hearth,
Has spread and sailed from rocky land
Across an earth-shaker's ocean
And to our own little polis upon a plateau of earth in Thebes.
Marry! Methinks the tidings of a new man,
Who doth turn his head to the word Cleobis,
Shall excite many a young maiden's heart
And those who fail in their voyage of love
Shall bid adieu withal heavy heart, indeed.
(Enter Ophilea stage left)
O! Woe or bliss?
What is this tempest within my bosom's core?
What archer has struck with a decree of no death?
Where is the arrow thee, skilled archer thou art,
struck me with so violently, so quickly.
A plague upon my well-being, but spared the pain of death?
The only plague Apollo does not bring must be the source of such!
Nay! I only sta
Restless SoulHear the calling, chilling the blood
Hear the calling, chilling of the sea
I am the ocean, calling, swaying.
I am a restless soul.
Look about into the sea of green, of blue
See the glassy shards of light reflecting off my waves.
Watch my body, moving, swaying;
Feel the moving tide.
Smell the air, feel it's breeze;
Taste the salt in the crisp, smooth air.
Feel the seduction of the ocean;
Know it's really there.
Watch me tumble, mighty waves!
Is it spite, or dance?
Can you fathom the thoughts, a restless sea?
What does it feel? Does this ocean breathe?
Do sandy beaches only mask the storm,
Covering the barren sea with warmth?
The sand is warm, the ocean cold.
It is a restless soul, indeed.
I am a restless soul, indeed.
To M____.Yet, here we stand, distraught;
Our minds razed with chaos and confusion.
How could you know?
How could you know that the time was ticking away,
And yet you walked farther and farther away from me as my own prophecy fulfilled itself?
Even I cannot escape my fate, and I'm scared you wont walk beside me
To the end.
I AmI am the keeper
As the golden sun sets
I am a seeker
Of your personal debts
I am the reaper
Of many a gold dream
What a heart-thwarting scheme
Falling deeper, deeper
I am the calling
Of total surrender
I am the falling
Of a virgin's splendor
I am the mauling
(As a heart bleeds in two)
Of the fortunate few
The heart stalling, stalling
I am the tolling
As truth rings a loud
I am the killer
Of hope that you've found
Unread Letters: Letter TwoTo C,
There was some blackness in the words you sent me. I don't think you intended it, but it turned my emotions bitter, and my mouth tasted sour for a moment. I don't think you saw the hint of red glow on my irises. Not everyone saw the world for what it is. The truth is, I think I would have killed myself if I couldn't escape to a foreign world. A world of stone columns filled with warriors with horse plume helmets and painted shields. A world of goddesses and quests for mystical fleeces at the end of the flat, geocentric world. I am the only one who can truly confirm a consciousness. I will only see what I see. Why shouldn't the world belong to me?
Diana Marie Hernandez
P.S. I wont love in vain anymore.
Someone asked me what is love
is it good, is it bad
is it awesome, is it terrible
I honestly didnt know how to answer them.
I finally desided love is the most complicated of all emotions
Love is kind
love is harsh
love is wonderful
love is terrible
love is a cure
love is a sickness
love is LOVE
love is hate
love is meaningful
love is pointless
love shows the best in people
love shows the worse in people
love makes us speak truth
love makes us lie
love understands everything
love confuses everyone
love builds your life
love tears your heart down
love makes you smile
love makes you cry
love makes us cuddle
love makes us hit
love makes the world go round
love makes the world go crashing down
love makes things simple
love makes things impossible
love is always worth it
love is never worth it
love makes us smarter
love makes us stupid
love is enlightening!
love is BLIND
make love not war
make war out of love
love is peaceful
love creates fights
love is sooth
SuicideSuicide... they call it sin
They say it is a death in which no-one wins...
They encourage you not to do it, they say it is wrong...
But who is there to encourage you when you can't be strong.
You feel like you have no-one, not even a friend.
No shoulder to cry on, just one last letter to send.
tragedies - collab.you deserve all the cobweb dreams,
fairytale hopes, and explosive love
in the world, but i know that i
will never be the one
to give them to you.
you need notes that end with
'ps - you're brighter than
twenty-seven silver stars'.
i can't bring myself
to write them, though.
it's not like you'd read them,
i cut out paper hearts and
dreams and gave them to you, but
you only ripped them up and said
'these aren't good enough.'
when i painted you a picture
of golden skies and sunshine smiles,
you handed it back and told me
'next time, paint realistically.'
so i wrote you a story
filled of starless nights and
hopeless dreams. you said 'no,
i don't need this. you're
tragedy enough for me.'
by the time i was humming you
melancholy lullabies through the receiver,
you had already surrendered
to the sweet grasps of sleep.
'i'd rather nightmares than you,'
you said, hanging up the phone.
i kept singing anyway, hoping
that you would stop running
long enough for me to catch up.
but i forgot -
the speed addictthe speed addict knows if he stops moving,
he will die. so when inertia takes hold
his heart falters and his head slams against
a future, lit by the dashboard. he hears
his veins stuttering like gears grinding out
a staccato refrain, while the wheel spins and
goes numb. as his breath twists away from his grip,
rasps a hol
heart song.this is the song
to your heart.
why are you locked inside
a bathroom stall? no one
to hold you, tell you sweet
lies and say you are
beautiful, say you are
perfect? it's not the end of
the world, not yet. if it was,
wouldn't there be
your heart is not yet
dead; please do not
say it is. if it was dead,
it wouldn't hurt this
your heart is only sleeping.
when the only melody in your head
is a break up song, and the only thing
your heart seems capable of doing
is twisting itself into knots, and the only
thing you want to do is hide and escape
we are talking about finding
eternity in the things people
throw away. we are talking about
listening to the moments of silence
in between heart beats. we are talking
about distances shortening and
people realizing they can
we are talking about
one of the greatest tragedies
in life is that
DementiaThe old man sits with stooped back.
The room is cold, just like his hands.
Thoughts have wandered like small children.
He wonders if he will see home again.
Thoughts have wandered home again,
with stooped backs and cold hands.
The room sits with the old man.
Like small children, he wonders if he will see cold.
Back stooped with thoughts, he wanders.
Like a child the small room sits, wondering.
Home again is cold.
The old man will see with his hands.
Thoughts have wandered with stooped backs.
The cold hands sit with the old man.
He wonders if he will see like small children.
The room is home again.
This PainTears roll down my face,
As I cut myself,
To release the pain.
It hurts so much,
But feels so good.
The pain is draining from me,
In drops of blood.
As I watch my pain leave from me,
"How can this be,
That I have so much pain
When I'm only merely 16?".
Then I remember the past that I've had,
Memories of yelling,
all the awful scars.
I've cried too much,
I've hated so many,
That I don't think people will ever get me.
I come back from my world of thoughts
And realize that I've bled too much,
It's all over the counter,
It's becoming messy,
But I don't care.
I just want this pain out of me.
I'm starting to think that I can't go on,
That maybe I should cut deeper
Till there is no more pain or blood,
But then I remember,
That I may have a future.
I'll just have to wait out this pain
And let the blood dry up.
you can't feel through fabrictonight the rain becomes the earth
falling from hidden spaces in the sky and swollen clouds
i hear it make mud of dirt, and lovers of friends
and ask, quiet, where are you going but down?
im not all there in the head
youre not all there in the head, my mother says
im not all there in the head i repeat
sometimes im there in my toes and fingers and heart as well
and now - in this downpour moment- i lie on the street
so warm that i think well thats where loves gotten to
but where is your shirt n? oh someplace else
and is that a light flickering in the house across the road? hide!
i rush in soaken with rain i watched fall (like stars)
am i poetic enough yet, yet?
leaving rain-prints on the carpet but mother wont mind
mind you she never minds anything if its mine
but then it stops a quick shut-eye stop
(i wonder) is it dew now that it sits like jewels upon the grass?
the wind is lovely in my ear, voice like rushing water
Depressing PoemsSorry --
What if she died?
And at the funeral her parents told you,
"You could have saved her from herself."
How would that make you feel?
And that night you went home
Sat in your room alone
And killed yourself
Just to be with her again and tell her
Why do people try to help me?
Do they care?
I guess they do
But all I do is hurt them
She keeps trying to help me
But all I do is push her away
She's my best friend
Why can't I just let her help?
What if I died right now?
How would you fell?
Sad, depressed, torn apart?
Or would you feel nothing,
But an empty place that can never be filled again?
The MaskThat man with a mask who has no face
An inconspicuous mask he took in place
Who has no personality it would appear
For deep discern he seems to fear
This world apart in which we live
To his relief I could not give
That power in order to part away
From synchronization I tried to sway
From all the others whose faces hid
And I shall not hide as others did
I shall not fear who I will be
I shall not fear what others see
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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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