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another unwantedby the light of a dying day
as unhappily as my heart could beat,
as breaths could sing,
Did I ever choose?
I think not.
just give a hushed
seal it with a
m a gic s p ell,
t a l e to
IllusionIridescent illusions fleeting across a crumbling path,
as trembling hands sew
what is left of
a lovely visage.
that send the world
falling to its knees,
as the backdrop of the universe
bends against the will
of its god,
and the fear-stricken children
of this realm are demolished
upon swimming in never-ending flows
of hate and ignorance.
Open your eyes,
all that seems to be beneficial
to your rotting human existence,
will drain you of your will to live.
Your body, like the discards of a dull record
on a lifeless day,
will be disposed of
like the waste of flesh that it is.
WaitI have to take a second look,
delve into the past that has shaped the sufferings of my mind,
I stepped on the shards of the mirror,
my blood covers the floor.
I realize that I am barefoot, that I am not breathing.
Who is this?
A scar sits upon my chest, from where I attempted
to pierce my lungs,
but the few tears I cried
were those of happiness.
What have I become?
I am confused,
all the papers have been scattered, and I search
for the one that bears the truth,
as soon as the building is set to flames.
I inhale the smoke.
Too familiar of a feeling.
HazinessHaziness of the lights, blurred vision
breath shortened to weak rasps,
hands frail, the weapon is dropped,
and into the room the rest run.
Faces looming above, they stare you down,
eyes filled with fight, tears falling,
echoing in the chambers of my mind.
Cloth to neck,
panic and fury,
our eyes meet.
Slight smile, clothing is colored bright.
Final sight of your lips, and darkness floods,
as faint sirens screech
in the distance.
You and ILingering through my dreams,
Grasping my hand,
in a gentle dance,
across the field of swaying flowers.
Holding you close,
embracing against the shine of the sun,
soothed by the touch of the wind.
And laying in the rain,
just you and I,
hoping to be yours till the end of time.
I close my eyes,
till the beating of the rain
I Love YouI love you more than anything
more than anyone,
I'll miss you more than I miss anything,
even the bliss that I had lost
I want you more than my hidden desires
that tug at my aching heart
But it seems that you have ran off,
out of my arms,
and out of sight
And I'm sorry
for saying all the wrong words,
and being all the wrong things.
I love you
so even if you don't come back,
my love will forever be for no one but you.
To Whom it Doesn't ConcernHello.
I've truly realized how none of you care.
You act as if you do, but in the end, you are concerned with no one but yourselves.
I had never asked for much. A simple kindness was worth too much to give, it seems, but I understand.
I wasn't the person you were looking to give it to.
I learned that I've never wanted to be.
Never wanted to breathe, never wanted to live.
Mostly because, there is nothing worth living for, not even myself.
Why must I suffer? Why do I let myself face this agony and this pain?
You say that this is selfish, because it'll only inflict pain upon others, but there'll be none.
Because you don't care.
It is selfish of you to degrade me for wanting release, for letting me crumble and wither away.
But you don't care.
You're just like everyone else. And hopefully you will suffer just as much as I have to.
It's unbearable. It's indescribable.
It's consumed me.
I've turned into this monster.
And it's time that I rid the world of it.
She's a WriterShe sits at her desk
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
BetrayedI won't swallow your lies anymore
I can't stand your presence
You used to be my friend
But you're nothing to me now
And soon you'll be
Another bad memory
I won't be able to forget
Do you know what it feels like...To be lonely?
To be bullied?
To be called ugly?
To be unattractive?
To be compared to other women?
To be considered unnormal?
To be unloved even though you give love to others?
To face issues that you don't in reality know how to fix?
To think that your goal you're reaching for, is unattainable?
To feel like the cause of many people's problems?
To be held up on a high pedistal that you can't get down off of?
To realize that people don't like you based on your personailty?
To at no avail, keep up your happy and upbeatness for others?
To look at happy couples and wish that you had someone to be happy with?
To stop fighting for anything anymore?
You AgainOh, it's you again. I must admit,
The crooning has
The lies have been
And mine are like swords
It's just you and me
In this sick game
I can tell
You're pulling me in,
And I don't have
To pull you down
Sometimes, I've had
And all I see is
Then it became
I don't know
How to escape
Dark to see.
And all I can
Wonder at every
Turn I make
When can it be
flower petalsi know that when we touch
that my energy is yours
that we are like flowers
because at our roots
we need water and love,
we reach tall as we can
to get to the sun
and stretch our leaves
to welcome it all;
and when we touch
i know that our skin isn’t skin
too soft for this world
when it grows rough with gravel
so i invite you back to our bed,
soft with the earth
where we can lie gently
and sleep until it is time
Reasons We Love Homestuck“Reasons we love H O M E S T U C K.”
Why do this love this web comic, you ask?
Maybe it’s just the way the fandom rolls,
or how mean Andrew Hussie trolls.
It could possibly be Eridan’s accent (WWyeh?)
or even Feferi’s keyboard trident. (---E)
Some people say it’s Equius’ broken bows and arrows, ( D →)
but what about Nepeta’s meows and roleplays? (:33 <)
We really do love Sollux’s lisp,
and also when Karkat’s pissed. (FUCKASS!)
Including Kanaya's fabulous lipstick,
it's also Rose's amazing magic.
How about when Dave starts rapping
and Jade Harley begins napping?
We love Vriska’s eight-pupiled eye,
and how John is such an adorable guy.
Or maybe it’s with all the sprites
or how prospit glows bright.
Can’t forget about Derse’s darkness
or Gamzee and all his soberness. (WHOOPS.)
There’s also this thing with Tav and stairs
which he t
An artist (revised)
Staring blankly at a white sheet of paper
Can truly be an artist’s worst nightmare
An artist’s duty as its shaper
Their thoughts up in the clouds somewhere
Looking for bits of inspiration
Their eyes searching the skies
Nothing can break their concentration
Nothing can blow out the passion in their eyes
Being an artist does not always mean you are skilled
You do not need to be Picasso or Bach
It means you want to see your dream fulfilled
And that you will never give in to an art block
SightStars in the night sky
I see beyond that and through
Greatness into darkness, I can fly
Here above the earth I can see the truth
There is an angel that will love me until I die
I Don't Come with the Edgesi.
It cries the way dragonflies leave ripples
in the rain. On days I swallow
whirlpools for breakfast and
drown with libraries for fun,
I can almost allow myself to forget
And it doesn’t want to make
me kneel on my shoulders
or pluck the weeds
from my scars;
I can see it try so hard
to be my friend.
But if I could choose
polka dots over tail lights
and sun screen over
I wouldn’t think thrice
or even once
not to blow the candles
on my grave.
That’s why I keep
the colons of analog clocks
under my tongue;
so I could keep the
figures eight of cliché’s
as keepsakes for old age.
I like to think infinities
have loopholes; tree rings
that dissolve into each other
with exhales for a caress.
And just when the tones
of lyrics would enter the
eutony of names, only then
would I drift into love.
When I wouldn’t be holding
my blood in my temples-
when all I am is a thought.
The running footsteps
we’ve come to cla
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
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