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Iím Sorry
By Tony Tran

Dear Son,

Iím sorry I wasnít there for you when it was your 5th Birthday. I wasnít able to see the happiness striking across your face, the anticipation running through your veins at the point of opening your presents. The blissful joy of all your friends and family around you as they sang happy birthday, that day was a memory I never had the chance to remember.

Iím sorry I wasnít there for you when you had your first day at school. It was like a new world for you filled with friendship, independence and above all, fun. Iíll always regret not being there to pick you up after school and having you run into my arms at a thousand miles per hour, as though you hadnít seen me in years. Those days when you came home and started humming a harmonious song that you learnt, it was a tune Iíd never hear.

Iím sorry I wasnít there for you when you were eight years old and just learnt to ride your first bike. The breeze going through your hair as you came speeding down the mountain side. When you fell off, I wasnít there to save you from the aching pain of disappointment. I wasnít there to tell you that itíd be ok, and it breaks me up inside to think about that very fact.

Iím sorry I wasnít there for you when you received your first kiss and needed someone to talk to. Your heart throbbing, a constant smile on your face and yet no sign of me. You were like a bird with no wings, lost in a world with no sense of direction as to where to go next. When heartbreak struck like a piercing dagger and your world came crashing down, still I was nowhere to be seen.

Iím sorry I wasnít there for you when you finished high school, with high honors and a diploma together hand in hand. The moment you stepped up to the stage with a huge applause being granted for your achievement, while sequences of camera flashes lit up the stage. It would have been one of your highest points of ecstasy in your life. Yet, where was I?

Son you must understand why you have received this letter after all these years. For you see, during the time of your birth, your mother was suffering from heart failure and both her and you were in jeopardy of having your lives taken from the depths of Earth. After some time in the hospital waiting area, there was only one thing to do. As I approached the doctor I told him that a heart donor was found for your mother. It was apparent he knew who the donor was and what would be occurring in the next few hours. I passed this very letter to him and if youíre reading it then what occurred next was truly a successÖ

Authors Comments: The love of a father towards his son is stronger than anything in the world. A father would give up everything he had for the well being of his familyÖ.even his life.
don't ask, just read
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The Complete Journey.

Drifting, drifting.. gone.

Sinking, slowly sinking down.

I wake, I am standing in a forrest, some sorry people are in the branches of the trees above me.

Where am I?

I walk on, come to a gate, a gate of black marble, with blood stained writing.

The writing is old, decayed, and over read.

I can't make it out.

Walking on I find a boat, guided by a lone soul.

I caugh and a coin comes out of my mouth.

The coin has a face, with horns on it, glimmers like blood in the moonlight.

The thought crosses my mind for a minute "Where Am I?", then is blown away like a seed in the wind.

The river man seems to be gesturing to the coin, I hand it to him and get into the boat.

We slowly navigate the river.

Bubbles coming up from the depths, pop, and eminate wild terrible screeches and screams.

I cover my ears and cower in fear.

One of my fellow passengers is dragged into the deep green water and is dragged under by hands.

His screams, muted, by a hand firmly clasped over his mouth.

I watch, witnessing an animal, being draged by its hungry prey.

I gaze on.

Bodys hang, slowly swaying in the wind lingering of blood and death.

The boat, reaches its destination, we are standing at a beach shore.

There are several of us here, standing in a line, waiting..

Waiting for what.... is the question.

A figure, clouded in shadows, walks by each of us, surveying actions, and reactions.

Women crying, men trying not to.

I standing here, look at the figure as a deer would look into headlights.

The pain starts, whipping.. we are forced into a cavern.

The heat begins to eminate from around us.

Fires burning, the smell of rotten flesh and sulfer fills my nose.

I now know where I am, but do not wish to admit.

Admiting would mean defeat.

Defeat means I would submit.

The whiping of my self, and my companions continue as we continue into the depths of the cavern.

People around us, years of being treated as horses with one limp leg.

Cripled by time, and torture.. they look on, at us, the new comers.

New horses, with new legs, just waiting to be broken in.

Suddenly I am whiped, the pain of a thousand fires burns my back and body.

I open my mouth to scream like I've never screamed before.

Yet nothing comes.

I am left bearing the pain, with nothing to say, or do.

Continuing down the heat gets greater.

Hands occasionally dragging others down into pits.

I see the people who are dragged into the pits eyes, glowing like firelight, asking begging for help.

Reaching up for guidance for what to do..

No one can offer anything, we open our mouths to speak, and nothing is said.

Finally when the heat is unbearable, we reach another marble gate, only this one is crimson red, with black writing.

A large wolf gaurds this gate, three heads, salavating at the fresh meat being ushered under its feet.

I cover my eyes as the person behind me is devoured by its gaping jaws.

Its eyes red, dark as the deepest blood gaze at me.

I quickly run onwards, not wishing to become a small morsal of food for this massive beast.

Lost as a balloon drifting in the wind, I follow the crowd.

We are all forced, if not willingly driven, into our own caverns and made to follow the path.

Mine, lined with walls of flesh, pulsates, making me sick.

I try to walk back to the start, but something stops me.

I am forced to walk the way of my path.

Suddenly, the floor drops out from underneath me.



Falling into a pit of no light.

No light, no sight.

I feel something that feels remotely like hands ripping and tearing at my clothes.

Falling and spinning, having unknown things grasp at me.

Mute screams coming from my mouth.

Landing in a pool of blood and cadavers and carcasses.

The stench, terrible.

Grasping for air, reaching for help, the only thing I have to grasp onto, is my nightmares.

Grasping to a dead body that seems to be riddled with bullets, I support my body on its stomach and kick my way to the shore.

I stand, gather my breath and walk on.

My footsteps becoming pools of blood.

Blood dripping off my shirt, down my arms and down into the palms of my hand then on to the ground...

The drips, disappearing into puffs of smoke.

I look on..

A dark forest looms in the distance.

Dark as the darkest night.

Something, pushing me, driving me, forcing me onwards.

I enter the forest, and don't look back.

Trees reaching down, as if alive, pulling at my exposed flesh.

Thorns puncturing, tearing, ripping, tears of pain dripping down my face.

I move on, owls hooting and wolves howling.

Suddenly I'm forced to stop.

Cockroaches, asps and rats crossing my path, in some kind of cruel river.

Crawling, shimmering, and slithering.

Gathering my courage, I step gingerly through the writhing pandemonium.

Feeling the thrashing myriad of creatures.

Suddenly I feel a sharp pain rise in my feet.

This pain, unmatched by anything.

I continue, not caring, not feeling my legs, the crippling pain in my legs.

I crawl slowly out of the river of horrors.

Pain eminating from my foot, I look down, a scarlet welt pulsates slowly, beating with the rythm of my beating heart.

I rip a small remnant of my shirt off, and wrap it around my foot, hoping to calm the discomfort.

I roam on.

I soon come to the end of the black as charcole forest.

I look up and see a citadel.

The citadel, looming in the distance like a spectre.

Climbing the mountain that the citadel calls home, the pain in my foot continues to grow, forcing me to limp.

A horse.. limp, with pain.

Wearing down, I look up at the citdel's distinct features.

Grotesque gargoyles sitting on ziggurats, mouths open, carnage flowing forth.

Pain, grapples my foot and forces me to crawl across the draw bridge.

I crawl slowly, into the citadel.

Crawling slowly I gaze like a hungry animal at the interior.

Torches flicker from the sides of the wall, drawing my view inwards, toward the throne room.

Moving slowly, deathly slowly, I gather what energy I have and crawl to the throne room.

My eyes are drawn to a throne of blood.

Flowing, dripping, pulsating.

What is on the throne, throws me into convulsions of shock.

It is my self.

Sitting, looking with the look of a hungry wolf.

That terrifying grin..looking, staring back at me.

Then the laughing starts.

The terrible maniacal, nefarious, laugh.

Resounding through out the walls of the citadel...

As the laughter grows so does my affliction.

Trying to scream, I cast my head to the moon and open my mouth.

Lifeblood, bubbles to the top of my throat.. and dribbles down my cheeks.

Searing as acid down my body.

The pain, over whelming, I collapse in to the glowing rubicund.

Squirming and worming in dispare in my own blood.

I shake and shimmer, and sweat.

My eyes, my soul and my heart burn.

The smell of rotten flesh fills my nose and I begin to caugh a mute cough.

Tearing at my skin I weep, and my tears only make the pain worse.

My skin melting off, into the puddle of my own blood.

My fears becoming reality.

I thrash about in terrible agony.

I throw my hands away from my body, arms out streched, and open my mouth to scream.

I awake.

I find my self sitting in a throne, guarded by gargoyles.

The area, surrounded by torches.

A welt, pulsating on my foot.

I open my mouth to scream.
The Complete Journey.

The complete poem of a journey.

This is the complete work of the previous 6 deviations.

The Installments:

Part 1: [link]

Part 2: [link]

Part 3: [link]

Part 4: [link]

Part 5: [link]

Part 6: [link]

Irony strikes, this is DeviantArt's 666th day of serving the Online Art community.

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your self-inflicted pain is getting too routine
the crowds are catching on, to your self-afflicted song

you gotta sink to swim

'cause we all know art is hard
young artists have gotta starve

try and fail and try again
the comforts of repetition

keep churnin' out those hits
'til it's all the same old shit

You gotta sink to swim

impersonate greater persons

'cause we all know art is hard

when we dont know who we are
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My God! My Master! Thou decreed a law for me but instead I obeyed my own low desires And I did not guard myself against the allurements of my enemy He deceived me with vain hopes whereby I was led astray and fate helped him in that respect Thus I transgressed some of its limits set for me by Thee and I disobeyed some of Thy commandments

O Allah! Accept my apology and have pity on my intense sufferings and set me free from my heavy fetters (of evil deeds) My Nourisher! Have mercy on the infirmity of my body, the delicacy of my skin and the brittleness of my bones O' Thou!

O' my God! My Lord! My King! And Master! Which of the matters shall I complain to Thee and for which of them shall I bewail and weep? shall I bewail for the pains and pangs of the punishment and their intensity or for the length of sufferings and their duration?
Kumayl Ibn Ziyad Nakha'i was a confidant amongst the companions of Amir al Muminin, Imam Ali Ibn Abi Talib (as.) and this sublime Du'a was first heard from the beautiful, though anguished, voice of Imam Ali. According to Allama Majlisi (on whom be Allah's Mercy) Kumayl had attended an assembly in the Mosque at Basra which was addressed by Imam Ali in the course of which the night of the 15th of Shaban was mentioned. Imam Ali said-"Whosoever keeps awake in devoutness on this night and recites the Du'a of Prophet Khizr, undoubtedly that person's supplication will be responded to and granted. When the assembly at the Mosque had dispersed, Kumayl called at the house where Imam Ali was staying, and requested him to acquaint him with Prophet Khizr's "Du'a". Imam Ali asked Kumayl to sit down, record and memorise the "Du'a" which Imam Ali dictated to Kumayl.

Imam Ali then advised Kumayl to recite this "Du'a" on the eve of (i.e. evening preceding) every Friday, or once a month or at least once in every year so that, added Imam Ali, "Allah may protect thee from the evils of the enemies and the plots contrived by impostors. O' Kumayl! in consideration of thy companionship and understanding, I grant thee this honour of entrusting this "Du'a" to thee."

The above is just a small extract of a most beutiful Dua.

You can listen to this Dua(with english) here : [link]


"Dua" means a prayer.
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The diary of I M Hormonal

So yeah like i kinda fell out of bed this morning (it's a REALLY thin bed) kinda yeah.††And like, i wasn't in a good mood (i did fall out of bed) y'see.††It kinda all began like.... y'know (getting to the point quickly here), last night where i like... well my girlfriend (well we weren't really going out per say...) is such a whore (not that i'd know of course)...i mean she's my ex now y'know (see previous).

But she sleeps around like (and i found out last night.††Tore my heart in two (well not really but it felt like that once the hormones kicked in... except not as painful)) and like, threw it onto the ground (she didn't really do this either but it makes me feel inntelygant) and (i felt really sad) i cried myself to sleep (but i did wake up in the middle of a night for a poopie).††She says the rabbit made her feel happier than me (rabbits are sexy i'l give you that), like, i must be sooo pathetic (like... i cannot compare to a rabbit (damn rabbits)).††Why am i breathing? (i'll tell you after biology).

But yeah like so *abuse of fillers*.††Even before that my day was (less than amusing) abysmal and lamentacious (wow check my sophistimacated vocabulary [thankyouthesaurusiluffj00]).††That was like yeah cos my step dad (well he's more of a stepstepstepstepdad) came home drunk (actually he was high from sniffing marmalade) and he's a violent man (you should see how wound up he gets playing pac-man) he beat me (actually he sent me to bed without supper) down into the ground (sorry korn i love jonathon davies).††So i escaped out the window (front door in common lingo) but only after taking some webcam pictures (i so seksi) and molesting deviantarts gratuitous (vocabulary again) free space offer (i <3 DA 4ever) so people tell me i iz hawt (y'know it).††

and then i saw my girlfriend (well we weren't together yet) but she was with the white rabbit (damn that rabbit) and he is hawter than me (damn him again) and i felt so jealous (who wouldn't be against such a hawt rabbit?) and then she told me that she was with (in the real way) the white rabbit (damn that rabbit) and then my life felt like nothing (well actually it felt like the chemicals inside of me were producing a rather undesirable effect).

So i ran and i ran and i ran (and i ran and i ran and i ran and i ran and i ran repeat as necessary) and i cried my crystal tears (technically tears have salt in them so yeah like, salt is crystally yeah? wish i studied in chemistry now) and i felt like a lost soul (a big mac in burger king) wandering the empty endless (4meters squared) space of the unknown (my bathroom... well it is kinda unknown since i don't shower often).††

and i made friends (i <3 inanimate objects) with that blade (it's called a razor damn you) and i pushed it into my innocent (i did this the day before too, embellishment is a terrible thing) flesh (they say that a lot in the bible) to set free (i can see why they'd want to escape me) all the lies and misery (i rhymed i rhymed i rhymed i am SO COOL).††i caressed the wound (with my tongue, blood is tasty) and remembered all the times (all four of them) where i'd been hurt so bad.  and i took a picture (this is art) to show to the world (although i don't think they wanna share) my pitiful state (we'll i'l give you that much)

then the drugs kicked in (</i>the spot medicine is working!! hurrah!!!</i>) and i saw the light (we have this weird globe shaped fixture in our bathroom, really quite decorative and i never appreciated it until just then).††And i could almost (i emphasise that word) feel kurt cobain whispering (cos he's so da man) "i hate myself and i want to die" and then i knew (getting think and know mixed up again, sorry) that i was to live by this (technically that's a juxtaposition because if you want to die and to live by this... dude....).

and i was so scared (pissing myself here) of sleeping (the horror... THE HORROR!!!!) and dreaming my nightmares of tomorrow (a real clairevoyant in the making here)

and it's my birthday today (it was last week too) and i'm 14 now (i'm so hawt) and because i'm older (and smellier) than my school friends (we'll say associates) i don't think (KNOW) if they'll accept me (they didn't yesterday anyway) because i'm an individual (a true pioneer of my generation) see?††the pain (we'll call it lack of testicular fortitude) hurts (this is my hypochondriac personality kicking in) so bad of thinking (it hurts so bad).††it's time to bottle it up (like white wine) inside (wine cellar) and hide the bruises (i fell out of bed) and the scars (.... i fell out of bed) of my life (i fall out of bed a lot) because it's another (omg not again) day of my disaster-life (hyphen hyphen hyphen).

So yeah (gain) i wanna kill the white rabbit (damn that rabbit) cos it was he who did this to me (indirectly and not at all) he made me who i am (no not my parents, they never created me).††i'm going to listen (endure) to some the rasmus now (hardcore!!!) to remind me of the hate i feel (hate feels squidgy) inside (damn that rabbit).


yours forever and in several pieces

I'm bored, so i wrote this in about 30mins, just a lil piss-take of the angsty teen culture :)

Thanks to my wonderful younger brother for being the model in the picture, you know it's worth it.

Disclaimer - this is all in good humour, it is not in any way meant to be offensive to any particular person.
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His eyes flinched, twitching
Like bats ears.
ďPick up your mother at 7, meet us at the restaurant.Ē

The world seemed an unhappy place,
His placid tears set to fill the Nile in a few short hours,
A half charged cell-phone
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bou
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Nc
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp ing
On the seat like his blonde haired blue eyed thin framed
Perfectly sculpted

Darkness and obsession a prelude to a needle,
Exasperation, struggling respiration
And an elongated, low pitched sigh.

The slick roads washing like soap suds,
Dry as desert
But in the incapable hands of our main character,
They were as slippery as a bathroom floor
Post bathing.

When he d r i f t e d
Into a lamppost,
Percussion cracked his skull like a sledge hammer,
Each bones fermata captured perfectly with a bass and snare,
Befitted perfectly with the occasional cymbal crash.

An airbag can only cushion your face for so long,
Until it leaves a mark in the steering wheel similar to Christís face on a cloth.

He thought of his mother.
Brown eyes.
She liked baseball and watching the plants grow on Sunday afternoons.
She was a short woman,
Always reaching for things and snapping fingers at him.

Between the metallic strips tearing through his splintering jawbone,
He thought he smelled steak,
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp His lips trying as hard as they could to drip saliva
But they were currently quite preoccupied with disintegrating.

As his body contorted so far as to fit inside a typical office drawer,
Head whipping madly throw white airbags
And into glass windows,

Saturday afternoon on the pier.
The sun was in the sky, incandescent for whatever reason,
Mother natureís finest gem.
Her dress was a light yellow.
Her hands were fragile, like porcelain.

This whole process of dying seemed entirely too long,
Much unlike the movies but retaining that cinematic quality.
He felt something go through his lower back
And shrugged it off,
Itís momentary excruciation merely a segue to some finer glory he hoped to find.

The cement pillar seemed the titan in this struggle,
Our main character playing whatever anonymous henchman,
Just cannon fodder.

His left ear went dead as he felt a piece of glass
Tear through his ear drum,
Sounding briefly like masturbation but ending too quick to tell.

He wasnít too sure when his rib cage cremated itself
and saved his parents the trouble,
But briefly he felt whatever wasnít crushed rushing to fill the space.

She smiled.
Soon \ | / nooS

He knew what she meant.
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Over the course of the last 23 months as a deviant, I've seen some things that most others never get the chance to, and I've seen the highs and lows of the community. I've seen the transfer from version to version with the each new August; I've seen what it's like to be a deviant; I've seen what it's like to wear the staff hat as well; I've even seen being banned. But, I ask you this: Why am I still here? What makes me keep coming back here, and supporting this place so strongly? What it is I'm yet to find properly and define, but I know for sure, it's slowly dwindling away, fading into the distant memories of better times when deviantART was simply the best website around without the slightest shadow of a doubt. No'urdays, community seems to be taking a backseat to the corporate ventures the site seems to be undertaking at an exponentially quick rate. With every passing day, a new move towards turning dA into exactly what it is not: a corporation.

When it was founded in 2000, the basis for this place was community and art; a hub for people to interact and share their ideas and works with one another, and anyone else willing to look. Now, as we near the start of 2005, things have gone somewhat sour of that ideal. Check the news page on any given day, and I'm quite sure you'll see a very limited supply of community activities, all of which seem to be getting put on the "has-been" and the "might look into later" pile, where the more "interesting" ideas seem to be populating that shelf instead. Now, I pose to you this question: At what price does all of this change come? To me, it comes at the sacrifice of not only the morality of the website in the name of money and capitalization, but also, comes with a  spitefully redundancy of community ideal and freedom of interaction. You can only hit a horse with a stick so many times before it turns around and tramples you. To me, dA is that horse, and the tolerance threshold is on the verge of being breached.

It's all well and good for those of us who're lucky enough to be subscribed to tell those who're complaining about the DeviantNotice system to be quiet and quit moaning, but really, like it or not, we're all being stuck with mass-advertising in every new thing that happens. I remember a time when deviantART was a truly ad-free for those who pay, when you could open a news article in the Hot Topics without being bombarded with lines and lines of shameless, crass promotion. Now however, you're lucky to see anything recognised as being "important" to the members of the site that doesn't contain at the bare minimum one ad. So much for the features mentioned on the subscribe page, isn't it? While I realise deviantART takes monstrous amounts of money and funding to keep alive as it is a completely voluntary subscription system, we're in desperate danger of becoming an extinct breed, a dieing race at the hands of the golden dollar.

Now, if I may, I shall quote, the meaning of "community", the thing that deviantART is supposed to be, as defined by HyperDictionary. It is as follows:

\Com*mu"ni*ty\, n.; pl. {Communities}. [L. communitas:
cf. OF. communit['e]. Cf. {Commonalty}, and see {Common}.]
1. Common possession or enjoyment; participation; as, a
   community of goods.

And now, the exact same source's definition of "corporation":

\Cor`po*ra"tion\ (k[^o]r`p[-o]*r[=a]"sh[u^]n), n.
[L. corporatio incarnation: cf. F. corporation corporation.]
A body politic or corporate, formed and authorized by law to
act as a single person, and endowed by law with the capacity
of succession; a society having the capacity of transacting
business as an individual.

Now, which of the aforementioned does it feel like deviantART is becoming? To me, I feel it's drawing further from the former, and lingering slowly but steadily towards the ultimate outcome of being synonymous the latter. For what? An extra few bucks in liquid funds for dA? That, by itself defeats the purpose this community was founded with. Although deviantART doesn't function as a democracy, it does allow its users a voice to speak up when needed. However, this voice, is seemingly being silenced by the powers that be in times where it is really needed. When Scott Jarkoff, and Matthew Stephens founded this place way back in the distant land of the year 2000, the word "corporation" couldn't have been more antonymous with deviantART if it tried. Now, the seemingly small time of just over 4 years later, the comparison between the two is almost sickening. It truly does make me sick to the stomach to see the rollercoaster spiral out of control, and headed towards the same miserable, hideous fate that the dinosaurs suffered. Now, while I talk of the past, present and future, they're not as seemingly clear-cut as they should be, at least not to those who're outside of the loop. So, I offer you… this. Take a trip into the past, a time when this place was still, the place to be.

Way back in 2003, when I was just a fledgling around the site, it was hard to spot a thing I could imagine different or that could be done better. As time progressed, that list didn't do much to grow. That is, until about halfway through this year. When things started being exposed, and the true underside to the glossy veneer became more than just a little bit apparent. The truths of a lot of things I'd always wondered become clearer than ever. Unfortunately, things are still clear, and very apparent. Seeing this place dissolve into little more than just an addiction to feed the mind for a few hours isn't a good feeling. Having been on so many different tangents of it personally, it hurts even more. Ultimately, what happens cannot be changed by the miniscule deviants themselves, everything is already pre-defined. That is, unless objection is held and maintained of course.

Now, take a few minutes out of your oh-so-busy schedule to ponder over the question I'm about to ask you. I mean really think what you would do in this circumstance. What would you do, if deviantART suddenly disappeared? If deviantART became a shadow in the past, never to be seen again?. I want you to reply to this with your answer. It may be as long or short as you like, as long as you like, as long as you've really thought about it for more than just a few seconds. This will ultimately be different from not only deviant to deviant, but vary greatly depending on the amount of time the deviant has been around, the friends the deviant has made, and factors of a similar nature. The older guys would probably be quite distraught by it, and the younger, and in most cases, less experienced deviants with a little less assocciated trauma. For me, although this site doesn't hold as much to me as it once did, it would still be a massive loss. I've made many good friends through the ranks of deviantART, ranging from short-time deviants, through to admins and the longer stayers. Right now I'm trying to hold on to the shards of community still left around, and not lose the friends I've made. Now, inevitably we'll all depart this place at some point in time. Personally, I know that I'd prefer it be out of my own free will, not because of necessity calling a greater shot than my own want to remain behind. How did you arrive? Why are you here? Why do you remain behind?

As I look around the site, I see so much potential for bigger and brighter things for the future. As I look deeper, I see so much of what's occuring, and it brings me to the edge of tears. It's like watching a family member get murdered. At the end of the day, however, one needs to know when to cut their losses and move on with their back to the breeze. Do you?
I'm fed-up. No other word will justify exactly how much this makes me not only sick to the stomach, but makes me want to cry for the destruction and raping of something which was once pure; something that was once the center for only good things.

Please, I urge you, if you read this, please pass it on to your friends to read. I want this to touch as many people as I possibly can, so I can gather as many different opinions of the issue as I can. Also, if you read it, please take the time to think over what has been asked therein, and tell me what it inspires in you. If 5 minutes is too much out of your schedule, then deviantART must not mean as much to you as it does to me.

Once again, I urge you to tell me what you can come up with in response to the questions. This is one submission that is desperately important to me, and a lot of other people.

Thank you to everyone who reads and responds, if I can inspire some slight change then it's a step in the right direction :):heart:

PLEASE NOTE: The views expressed herein are the views of myself and myself alone . This editorial is for no other purpose than to a) vent some disgust in a constructive manner, and b) to inspire thought in the reading audiences. Please do not take inappropriate action in regards to this editorial. Thank you.

Image thanks to *blackzer0 <33
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The dawn is breaking slowly
    shedding light over the sleeping world
New life, new loves, new glories,
    Come as the sun stretches radiant fingers out to the world

Young man awakes and sees the sun,
    closes his eyes and drifts in dream
Alone, but not lonely, one man shunned
    closes his eyes and comes apart at the seams

The moon is shining brightly
    painting the world in silver lies
Old life, old loves, old glories,
    fade as the sun burns through lunar disguise

Young man stares out his window
    wishing she were near
One man sitting at his window,
    wastches Luna and sheds a tear

Sun and moon forever dance
    as life dances on below
Following the stars in heavenly trance
    unable to see, unable to know

Wrote it last night thinking about my girl friend.
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This one took exactly one week and it was so difficult to make something like this.
Most done with pentool
I hope you'll look at the detaills in it!

its so cold when you're alone

mdo :meditate:
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A tribute to the loving memory of my late fiance, silvermind.
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