|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Will-o'-the-WispWhat brought you here to my window?
Go away. My father is home.
I'll place my lips here, here on the glass
And you can kiss the cold night air over it, just
(Can you hear me? The glass is closed. I cannot speak over the wind. Read my lips, please.)
Yesterday, I was walking through the woods
And in the depths I found a house made of living trees.
It glowed warm through its twisted window eyes
And I thought it was a flame, someone there;
I entered the door. The house was empty,
Loud with life but only in the walls.
The flame was a faerie flame. I reached my hands out
To touch it, but it was not warm enough; my fingers curled,
And I pulled it from the hearth whole.
The house died. The leaves fell like soft black snow.
Beneath my feet, roots wept, and then went still.
I held the faerie flame to my chest in fear,
And into my heart the flame went.
(It beats like a drum, and flutters whenever you are near. What can I do? Let me spit it out.)
What brings you here, like
angel dusttiny bird bones
are his ribs, delicate flower arrangement, hands splayed, or
two beautiful white wings behind a stranger’s grave
-- we can see lines of purple river coiling his fingers,
tap his knuckles, and hear faint guitar picks strum pasty flesh
like an anthem to stupidity -- his bones are hollow.
his ribs are my favorite thing about him, i used to think, said
“your ribs, they are angels meant to fly” -- “you don’t make sense”
he replied, but nothing made sense back then
or makes sense now, everyone is standing face to the mud
and we close our eyes and hold hands and jump when the next person jumps, down
means nothing, neither does ground
or angels, for that matter. he counts his white hairs
stranded in clouds, plucks feathers from doves and makes a nest with them
calls it home -- wondering, all the while, what wind might feel like
singing around his spine if he jumps, and whether i would bury
his bones behind a white grave when he does?
As Are Moth-Eaten Clothes Jack says I’ve always got to carry around this machine, big as a TV, with loopy wires coming out of it and wriggling around in my stomach. Sometimes if I’m tired he carries it, or sets it on some wheeler, but most days I’ve got it settled in the crook of my arm or against my hip. It’s hard to play football with the other kids when I’ve got to hold it, and can’t drop it neither. Jack says I oughta be grateful I can run around at all.
It’s not too heavy, the machine, it’s just a box with some gooey slush in it and a place on top that flashes numbers in red. Jack checks the numbers every sixty minutes, on the dot, even at night when I’m asleep. He’s awful smart. He says the numbers are my blood pressure and glucose and oxygen and stuff, and there’s one number that’s the estimation numeration of months I’m still functional, and I don’t understand any of it. I
Tsunami There was a tsunami on the northern shores of Israel. It was a tsunami made of a million grievances accumulated in the earth for a million years, and with the power of a million sharks it let loose its impersonal fury upon the beach. There was a terrific storm of wind and rain that day, and the earth shook at the force of its enormity.
But this is not the story of a tsunami.
This is the story of a raindrop. A single droplet of clear dew, shimmering in the sky. In the clouds, the air became pregnant with the weight of the water in its belly, and the raindrop escaped from the atmosphere's tight embrace and let itself fall. Down the raindrop went, down through ice, down through sunrays, down through thunder, down through dust, gathering speed until it was as sleek and thin and sharp as the sharpest needle. And then at last it struck its point against the eye of a man, where like a needle of glass it shattered into a million pieces and sent its fin
Yes, They Can Drown Lucila stared at the twenty thousand leagues of sea water on top of her. It didn't feel nice. It felt like twenty thousand elephants were sitting on top of her chest and trying to squeeze out her brains. It also felt like their tusks - all forty thousand of them - were trying to stab her.
Deep sea fish swam leisurely over her, a few of them giving her hair some experimental nibbles. Lucila summoned up the strength to hiss at them. They darted away, all long tails and grotesque jaws. Aesthetics weren't very important at the bottom of the sea. Up on the surface, of course, it had been crucially important to look good, what with the bright sun bleeding golden light everywhere, and her husband - the sweet little fool - always taking her to every important occasion. Apparently the life's work of a human queen was to show her face around a lot and act pretty. It was very tiring work. Lucila only put up with it because her husband was a sweet little fool, and also
HypocrisyI own great admiration for the blank slate. It possesses many unwritten ideas. They paint my waking dreams with realizations that hide beneath preset realities. What is caged within the sleeping soul that so cowers beneath human concept? The blank page embodies all that is, was, and ever will be--in minds both unwritten and out voiced. There are tears, and laughs, and screams among the blank pages of existence. Pages, which are devoted to un-birthed ideas and colorless worlds, are caressed by the longing, hungry eyes of silent souls. These souls wish to press full against the purity and bleed out across the pages in a raw, timeless voice. I own an admiration for the blank slate, which so presses against the will of writing philosophies within me that, most often, my fingers refuse to mar its innocence with them. Thus, with this bleeding out of soul, I have given life to colorless, un-birthed ideas. Thus, I have labeled myself a hypocrite.
The Unsurprising Tale of Jacklyn I couldn’t believe that I was finally starting high school. I made sure to avoid orientation, as it would have been very difficult to convince the staff that I was not masculine after an initial meeting. So, I dropped in unannounced, dressed and perked up in a way that was unsuspecting.
I tried my best to make sure that I was not caught, and when I returned home I discarded my form instantaneously to make sure my parents didn’t see. For if they knew what I was doing, I was sure to live in the streets over by the ditch on the road to the supercenter like all the burnt out junkies. I did feel sorry for them, having to walk around all day in the sun and then sleep in a ditch or under some other person’s porch.
I was able to get with the other girls’ sports programs almost flawlessly. And within the first week, I was already making a small name for myself in the girls’ basketball team. Playing wasn’t the hardest
Generalized Anxiety DisorderH met a woman at the bar. H liked the woman at the bar so he missed the last train for her. They drank mojitos. The woman at the bar talked about the interconnectedness between the universe and all of the objects within it etc.
The woman at the bar invited H back to her apartment. The apartment was very chillin. The woman had a terrarium of Macaqs in the middle of her apartment. H said “your monkeys are very pretty” and the woman said thank you.
H and the woman made out.
Then, they took off their clothes. It was when they disrobed that H noticed something very weird.
“Where in the wide world of sports are your nipples?” H said. The woman indeed had 2 breasts, but 0 nipples. This woman was a freak of nature.
“Fuck,” said H. “Are you a man?”
The woman laughed a high, feminine laugh. “Wait,” she said, “you mean you didn’t know what all happ
IndependenceIf you shoot me
Nothing will change
Despite your attempts
Each moment is mine
Perhaps you will feel better
Every time you contain our actions
Nothing can stop us
Death is a favor
Even if it's early
Never think you won
Certain people will live forever
Everlasting and perfect
No sooner had the door closed softly than the sky opened frenzied and demanding.
As if to echo relief; as if to echo wanting; as if to let loose remaining words left impatient and electrified in the air. The fire and light that assaulted the senses was accompanied by – too quickly and too out of any semblance of pace – an imposing boom that set the world trembling. And it left us at once recognized and cowering.
Lost within the tantrums of the heavens and the careless flood of referenced duality - a black bird sat,
wanting nothing more than the freedom of wings and the quarter of open air innate of its being, patiently, until I gave turn to notice. He, in a space barely holding his shape at the window sill, likely neither the most easily discovered nor gentle location, found what was needed and of relative comfort for the time. As the winds and rains raged, he pushed himself against the glass, seeking that small, random, by-chanced place of safety. I was honored and hoped i
Just a Little Jetski Ride It's a feeling like no other. The adrenaline, the excitement, the absolute freedom. I forget to be worried about every little thing; I forget my problems. I forget about friends, family, and acquaintances. It's only me, gliding across the water at impossible speeds, and the wind attacking my eyes, ears, and hair.
But, I don't care about that. All I care about is the freedom. Free from the thoughts of others. Free from responsibilities. Free from stress.
I'm soaring! Flying high above the dark clouds of negativity, forever bathed in the light of happiness. I've no need to find the occasional burst of sun peeking through the dark mass over my head. The storm clouds cleared away and left a rainbow of positivity in it's wake.
Even as Shane slows down to bring us ashore, the rainbow stays. The assortment of colors radiates through my body, taking over me.
Beautiful. Bright. Happy. And most of all, free.
Storm The badlands are nothing compared to that of an irreversible agony, constantly eating away at lingering hope until nothing is left.
A vast land was set before my very own feet, a land that has yet to be kissed by the rain. All those who entered went into a storm, vast to never be found, forgotten into the world. Yet something tugs at me, pushing me into the dark unknown.
Maybe its because of my greed, my desire to not live in vain, and to emerge as a victor and laugh at fate's will.
Perhaps what drives me is pure stupidity, to believe that I can bear such a tremendous amount of pressure and continue walking, to underestimate one's wrath, and learn to stand.
I don't know.
There is no desire in me to run in there screaming a battle cry, and nothing in me to turn around and run towards safety.
I don't have encouragement, tenacit
the outcastsHe stood there... Watching them pass by ignoreing him as always. Never noticing him, never talking to him and when they do it was always words of hate, and he took it. He took it everyday this kind of abuse. For he was always an outcast. Always in the dark, always ignore. Even though inside he was an angel he can never show that side. For he was demonized everywhere he went. Feeling the scars in his heart as they hurt as bad as those on his back he continue to walk his lonely path that he never ask for. That he never wanted. But he kept on living for he knew one day he will be needed somewhere no matter if this world wanted it or not he will do it and today was that day. As he walked he saw a girl about his age who look a little scared. Coming to her he said hi but instead of running like most will do she replied with her own greeting for she was also a outcast against her will because she made the right choice. Both look past the false labeling that others Gave them and saw there true
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
Keep in Touch!
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