CrispTell me you love me
the way you love the sky when it rains.
Would that be a lie?
Then move on, move away,
let my clouds thunder
and my blood pour,
I am sick of this weather
but I'm even more sick of you;
diseased with a molding horizon
dancing along my hips,
I am ready for winter
so let it snow, bitch.
Lost to The Penumbra.One glaring shimmerMore Like This
reflected by old and tireless eyes,
had given way to one glassy tear.
To that of the beholder
One had never known of such magnificence
and had wept appropriately on this rare occasion.
Those who once knew
but, now share this affliction,
know but a fraction of its mellon collie.
And are only reminded of their own bitter loss.
Those who are fortunate to remain certain.
Bow their heads in woe....
...and in fear.
Only one, whom from birth woke with uneventful eyes,
may dare to face such searing brilliance.
Is able to face such horror and amazement
and know nothing of its threatening splendour.
If only One was so worthy
For its very mystery
is far too perilous to gaze upon.
HaterI am Hated, So why fear?More Like This
To save myself the torments of
Persecution, ridicule and
I speak truth, foolish ears
Will discount my wisdom
For noise, that travel side them
Unwelcomed and despised
My conscious is left unharmed
By the blasphemies and
Gossips that loved to frolick
Amongst the wind
For every ear,
Eager for the lies
Of the truth
And when they grow tired
They will rid of my existance
No longer to hear my words
Nothing if physical means
Will irate their 'Absolute minds'
Low and behold!
'Fore my last breath is used
The head-filled of my teachings
Will spread like wild fire
Generations to come
Will know, every bit of me
Portraits willl be praised
My name known and powerful
As well as loved
Fools will deject one's wits
They've no possesion of
Until, finally one recognizes
It and all its treasures
I am hated but, My mind rests easy
DealHabit over a lfeMore Like This
Many willing to pay
To feed the hunger
Stowing the pain
Costs so cheap
To its true full price
Effecting as ice
The takeover slow
Yet ever rapidly
Til one notices
Your feet's disibility
Leave is a struggle
Abandoned out the
For every which way
Is the same direction
Mind set in stone
Attached like skin
Is always filled in
All the hands
To be lent
Has the touch
Wants of alone
Wail out a sore throat
And tear stained face
Sinks her own boat
Wants of need
Are smothered and exempted
Such thoughts should never
As the story goes
It'll probably end sad
Living the life they wish
They never had
Only thing to do is mourn
And move on
No point spending time in
Something already gone
From the start
Can anybody hear me?Can anybody hear me?More Like This
The silence is so deafening
Why do you feel so far away
The darkness seems to be surrounding me
and I'm barely hanging on
I know your here with me
but it seems so hard to believe.
Can anybody hear me?
The silence is so deafening
Why do you feel so far away
Believing what I can't see is hard
especially when the walls are closing in.
Can anybody hear me?
The silence seem so deafening
Why do you feel so far away
but I'm hold on to your word,
because you never failed me before.
I know you can hear me!
even when the silence is deafening
though you seem so far away
your here with me
But I need the faith to see,
nothing can seperate me from your love...
Whale Songs of the PacificListen, the girls swallowed by whales are the ones that grow up lucky.More Like This
Listen, no one will warn you about the little boys with the magpie eyes and the fists swinging splinters of glass. No one will warn you that their smiles are sweeter than their words are sweeter than their souls are sweeter than their intentions. No one will warn you of the sheer weight of the world.
Listen, sometimes girls are fragile. Sometimes girls are frothy. Sometimes girls let boys nuzzle "I love you"s into their necks and sometimes girls drink the wine of believing them.
Listen, sometimes the boys really are sweet, and little girls' tart puckered mouths can't taste the difference.
Listen, writers are the ones that drip fishhooks down their throats to coax out their hearts. Writers are the ones who fling those heart-hooks into the sea even if they have a message but not a bottle. Listen, sometimes fish swallow them. Some of those fish sink to the bottom of the ocean with the weight of the world in those heart
Mommy MommyMommy mommyMore Like This
Look at me
See what all I can be
Aren't you wowed
What can I do to make you proud
Please get out of bed
I'm tired mistaking you to be dead
Please don't cry
You and step daddy don't have to say good bye
Did I do good
I did the best that I could
I didn't mean to make you part
And make step daddy break your heart
No need for shame
I will take all the blame
Please don't date
It really is something that I hate
Don't leave me again
Can't you see I'm in so much pain
Please come back
Your heart has turned black
I don't want to watch the young one
Can't the dates be completely over and done
Are you even my mom anymore
Because you just seem like an uncaring whore
I hope you're happy
Because you've lost me
I Can't Devour You, Not YetI Can't Devour You, Not Yet:More Like This
I long to taste the sweetness of your flesh,
To roll your meat between my tongue and teeth.
So many times have I come - so close -
To taking that first bite from your neck.
Yet, there is something about you,
A scent perhaps or a sickly sap.
It turns bitter upon my tongue,
Poisoning it; I am left unable to eat...
Much like the caterpillar, covered in spines,
Each bite would spew only bitter venom -
Numbing my senses and dulling the mind;
It would leave me naught but a gormless wreck!
Even so, despite me knowing of the repugnant taste,
I am drawn toward you, like a moth to the flame.
May my wings crumble in the heart of the fire -
& body be turned to dust and ash...
If only for the chance to feast once more!
Ah, my dear - I will have you.
& on that day it will be so sweet.
But for now - I'm afraid that -
I must leave this as a mere - tantalizing - fantasy...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 12th December 2012
RosesYou love too much, I am told by a man with a briar heart, thorny sinews and collapsed ventricles bearing down on him, hardly beating in his tight chest. He looks at me with flat, slate eyes, chipping and eroding. His hands are dark with cigarette burns and rough with calluses; I feel them on my shoulders as he looks down at me, face collapsing in at his eyes like a dead man's.More Like This
For the first time, I realize he is dead. His briar heart dried up when winter killed his rose; my father, he is all thorns.
He squeezes my shoulders, too tight. You look like your mother, you know, he whispers, eyes shifting to the garden, to the yellow rose I planted for her. It is a rambler, sending shoots to the sky that sink back down. We never gave it a trellis. I loved her too much. And there are tears in his eyes, wet, heavy things that slip down his cheeks and on to the grass below us.
I don't know what to say, so I think of the rose, of her. I think that I'd like to send this
GDD Contest: To tell a story - 5 days left!More Like This
GetDailyDeviations is hosting an exciting contest for you ALL to participate in! We hope you're all very eager to create and submit your entries, please read the description, rules, and guidelines below!
To Tell a Story:
The theme of this contest is to tell a story, which is vague, but also very to-the-point. All artwork tells a story whether it intends to or not, as we all interpret what we wish to, when we see it. Your goal for this contest is to create a piece of art, with a specific story in mind. It can be your story, the story of someone you know, it can be fictional, it can be short, it can be sad, it can be ha
Traditional art techniquesTraditional art techniques IMore Like This
Traditional Art Week continues! This article will give you a brief overview of most commonly used physical media techniques and their characteristics, featuring beautiful examples found all over DeviantArt and tutorials. I sincerely hope this will get you inspired to try something new and experiment, why not pick a tutorial and see what you learn! Don't forget, whilst techniques has their own regulations and principles, they still can be combined, you have to be no wizard (just a little creative) to find a new way to express yourself through them. Let's take a look
1. Drawing media
Drawing is one of the major forms of expression within the visual arts, and is generally concerned with the marking of lines and areas of tone onto paper. Traditional drawings were monochrome, or at least had little color, while modern colored-pencil drawings may a
i would do anything to get you to love yourselfi know your type, i’ve seen them around hereMore Like This
before, browsing through my poems like
you’re flipping through vinyl records, trying to find
that one disc you were listening to the first time
he leaned over and kissed you.
the only way you’ll ever be able to love yourself
is if he leans over and kisses you again, is if someone
tells you about the seven wonders of your soul, if
someone sits down and writes a list of all your beautiful
fault lines that you’ve never been able to forgive.
you want to love yourself and you want to be loved,
but i know it’s hard to believe that you’re holy,
when your hands still shake when they touch food and
your breath always quickens when you drive
over bridges and no one can look you in the eye
when you ask them if you’re beautiful.
look, you’re stardust, you’re snowflakes, you’re
the sky’s gift to us, you’re comets on a cloudy night
when no one looks up to appreciate how beautifully
the destiny of fate and timesoul to soul;More Like This
red ribbon of fate
why couldn't you have thrown her
in the irish wind
instead of so late --
heart to heart;
silver string of time
why wouldn't you bring them together
when they called out
looking for their soulmates
and the one they could call 'mine' --
eye to eye;
golden weave of destiny
why would you wait so long
to have them now
be loved by the other when
they have known, for so long, with such clarity -
I Once Dreamed...I once dreamed that I had you here beside me, in my arms. I could feel your warmth against my skin and I could smell your wonderful scent. It reminded me of spring time, right after the rain.More Like This
But better than your warmth and better than your scent, was the amount of happiness it brought me to have you here, embracing you. You and you alone, had the ability to chase the loneliness away. It was a wonderful feeling and a feeling that disappears within an instant as I realize that you’re not real. You’re only a figment of my imagination. There is only coldness beside me and only my own scent that envelops me.
Yet, despite knowing this, it doesn’t stop me from dreaming of you. I don’t know who you are but in my dreams, you exist. Perhaps you are real, perhaps you are not but sometimes, I like to pretend that my unknown lover is real. I love to tell myself that you and I are meant to be, that we have known each other in previous lives and that our love was so strong, t
macrocosmici.More Like This
i have a theory
that the size
of the universe
is measured in
so small that it
became big again
thus we are all
and each other
and our expanses
when we touch
and the universe
every nebula or
a star was re-
that wasn't nothing
or a nothing
lately the hole
in my chest
so i will observe
and wait for
a bleak space imploding
stark ribs contracting
is this a refraction
of some light unsourced
or bouts of redacting
doubts interacting with stellar patterns
unquell our orbital shackling. we're asking
seas to stay churning while ashes keep spurning
our totems over
in certain collapse
i'm a supernova
BreatheUnder your galaxy strewn eyesMore Like This
my gravity has shaped
your valleys and your hills,
breathing my fire into you
A summer sun
I rise over your lips
and make a way for me
that guides my breeze towards the peaks
like waves through summer dawn,
gently they show me
a place to kiss with zest -
the sacred ground on which
your breathing makes its rest
Serene, I contemplate
the playful hum of butterflies that
the spring is setting in
the opening of petals can begin
crimson as the summer skies
from which I hail
I am drawn
towards the blooming petaled wonder,
storming the fields of eager butterflies -
a cradle to imprint myself
over the thigh,
the flutter of your wings
sends lively butterflies around,
earthquake and thunder
splintering each other,
I gift the violence of my soul
to the chaotic puzzle of your world
where You and I
Entwined as lovers
We have accomplished our need,
but i hold my hands out, ad infinitumpolysemous kneels and jaded,More Like This
i curl ambiguity against
the collapsing walls of
letters folded into wings
and gone again.
(maybe they're fluttering,
gliding, soaring, drifting (away))
i cannot fly and
nor can you.
and my voice is clawed
into the branch where i was born
and i am not st. vincent;
i cannot birth in reverse.
no matter how much
i try to carve the words
out from my jawed
but this love and sadness
is baroque, climactic
i look for you
in the attic of my mouth
and the basement of my hands--
i hear you in the corner
of this dystopian (uni)verse
and know better than to reach
for you now,
the room will only fall in on us.
Dear DaughterThis is what I want you to know:More Like This
I am always afraid
of losing sight of you
and your body, strong and full
in the sun as I consider how
it is for you, the oceanic weight.
We both know how
invisibility goes, that feeling of
erasure, a call without
seems to follow subject.
My mother taught me
only how to ask questions:
make the other person feel
interesting – try and keep
the conversation lively.
I wonder if you
know the length of your life
lose itI loved youMore Like This
as I am going to lose you:
steadily, and without artifice.
like the clearing of floodwaters.
like the healing of a wound.
there is something within me
that does not permit permanence,
something rancid inside
that slowly wears through—
I cannot keep. I lose. I lose.
but I am determined, this time,
to do it gracefully. to make it
into a skill that I can perfect,
a performance that commands awe,
a sideshow of precious things
slipping through my fingers.
somewhere, behind a curtain,
on a rickety platform
surrounded by strangers,
I am losing you
as I have loved you:
willingly, and without reservations.
with the depth of an ocean.
with the tenderness of a bruise.
BreakingOne day, you will open the cupboardMore Like This
to find a wine glass or some Tupperware
and the world will, without warning
or alarm, roll off the edge of the shelf
and coming crashing down.
The oceans will splash onto the linoleum,
onto the rug. All the dust in all the deserts
will rain down onto the couch and coffee table,
the hills will crumble, the mountains will break,
all the windows in all the cities will shatter
and fall, a thousand dangerous miles of glass
glittering on your kitchen floor.
Everything will hush.
Exhale the breath you are holding,
and go look for a dust pan, for a broom.
open my eyesdead summer holdsMore Like This
an afternoon heat haunt
ghost in my periphery,
chin to shoulder
to glimpse and--
left so soon?
or only the billowing
white curtain cotton
reaching into sunlit room
close, dying stars
have such long
Circus of Fleeting BreathI worshiped you,More Like This
Madly thrumming against the walls.
You looked past me,
Unaffected by my broken rhythm.
You summoned darkness to surround me
In my naivete, strangling the light
To mock my vain attempts
At earning your attention,
But, in striking contrast to my flailing limbs
Drumming out my desperation
Against your cold stone,
You did not move.
Dance. Dance. Dance with me--
The repetition of my futility.
You wouldn't even do me the honor
Of holding me at arm's length.
Mesmerized by my disjointed movements,
As random nerve endings fired.
They saw only my self-destructing.
You were the constant--
So constant that, to them,
You became the scenery
Unnoticed by my motion.
They didn’t know the reason
For my dissonant beating against the concrete;
Trying to change what is certain,
But I was their little circus of fleeting breath.
They, too happy to observe
The funny sight that didn't concern them,
Would not bestow the gift of death,
And so, I danced.
partly used partsI met up with this Russian girl at a local Mediterranean place and while she was slipping hummus covered pita bread past her red apple lips, I was thinking of the life we would have.More Like This
How she would keep me up with what she would dub “anti-folk” music which was really odd vocals and off-sync piano accompaniment. She would be loud, in her laughter, in her smile, in her fucking, in her love for me but insecurities would tip-toe in and out while we were spooning.
She would whisper for me to call her “dorogaya moya” and she would call me “krasavchik”.
She would have grown up listening to classical music and famous Russian bards like Vladimir Vysotsky but she would concede to liking my very Independent “American” songs I would write endlessly for her.
Her silliness would be the most endearing thing to me, how she would ask if they would make a statue of us and how she would sing so earnestly about meatballs in refrigerators but her serious side
A Gypsy's TravelsI assigned myself a visionMore Like This
and resigned myself to a gypsy's travels.
I wandered the precincts
pawning my trinkets for change
instead of cash, collecting experiences
the hue of a prophet's intuition,
a pallet full of perfect memories
painted across the landscape.
I ignited ideas as incense
as I read my lucky cards by candlelight,
melted wax poured out as libation
to the pathways my feet have etched out.
stretching staccatoswait there or run to meMore Like This
stand still or come to me--
your mind is a china cup
and my hands are shaking
as they have since I was young.
these teeth chatter till my head splits
open spilling bottomless love into dreams
to seep out of the faults in figments, reality;
it will mend you. I promise
it will fix you up
give me time to steady sta-sta
in the meantimethe sunMore Like This
following the moon--
a harsh mistress
pale-lighting an animal farm of mice and men
run by a god of small things;
and their eyes were watching god,
the beautiful and damned,
as he seared a thousand splendid suns
into a blank bluest-eyed sky
dyed then set to soak in the ink of night.
these faults in our stars burn holes into homemade
wish-propelled sails as we seam along a crack in the line
of time believing we are the wild things
we are only leaves of grass--
here lies the infinite jest.
the modern day runawayher distant memoriesMore Like This
gave way to dreams of
blurred birds and
of grass touching
bare skin of hesitant
soft-step foot paths through
insecurity creeps as hidden
snakes, only the rustling heard
only a forgotten gasp heard
by her sleeping partner
and in the morning
she retreats to the chill of
insulated rooms and the ac drip;
she falls asleep,
this time, to the
cubicle shrill phone ring
and she dreams
nonsensefake and fineMore Like This
the fucking farce--
is fancied philosophy
for fatherless fools.
Fragile--FFM Day 7Lindsey Stirling blared from my ear buds and I bobbed my head, furrowing my brow. My hand was shoved deep into my purse, searching for my keys. Instead, I found receipts from the Stone Age, a collection of seashells from last year's vacation, and enough pepper spray to blind at least twenty bears.More Like This
Frustrated, I dumped my portable landfill on the welcome mat; lipstick tubes and loose change bounced across the wood and disappeared, lost beneath the porch. Spreading objects out with my hands, I sighed. No keys. "Damn it all to Hell and back ag--"
Glancing up, the box near my door caught my eye. Wrapped with neon-colored paper, a large skull-and-crossbones bow held a handwritten "FRAGILE" note in place. The colors were garish, clashing with the ivory siding.
Wrinkling my nose, I pulled the package toward me, keys forgotten. The paper was slick, slipping against the pads of my fingertips like silk. Examining the box, I flipped the "FRAGILE" note over--and gasped.
Yanking the ear
The Girl Who Was Afraid To BeShe speaks to me fondlyMore Like This
of passions and talents,
of guitars and stars,
with such breathless intensity
then stops short and
for speaking at all.
All because somewhere in her life,
someone she loved broke her heart
her beautiful words
and telling her to
keep it down,
People aren’t born sad.
We make them that way.
my wild and reckless heart.You know what I love? I love my heart—oh, how I love my wild and reckless heart.More Like This
Because my heart is not a beautiful one nor a pure one nor one to inspire sonnets. But it is strong. It is scarred. My heart is ever-thirsting; it yearns for beauty and sunrises and shooting star wishes and things that it cannot comprehend. My heart has tremors that rock it like earthquakes; it twists and shakes and tightens in ways that cannot ever be understood. It is not satisfied with the now nor yesterday and, in truth, it does not even grow fat and happy on the promise of tomorrow. It is forever in a state of want.
And I refuse to believe that is not okay. I love the urgent press of my pulse that nips at my heels and forces me to dance faster and wilder; I love the thump-thump-thump of that desire and the hold-me-tighter whisper that rips from between clenched teeth. I love the way my heart has flung me over cliffs and expected me to swim—and I love it still when I washed up on the beach
the something I am missingthe wood paneling in the living roomMore Like This
has been peeled from the paint;
bare and brash and bold
and I'm wondering
is there something that
you were the colour of my poetry,
you were the delicate bone structure
of a beautiful face,
you were the pull of bow-and-arrow lips
into a crooked fragile smile.
my house is not my house;
it has been infiltrated by
a monster, and he has
blotted out, invisible ink,
every line I wrote
beneath this roof.
all I'm thinking
is how your breath is in the walls,
how the nights fell lonely
like faded flower petals,
and you were five hours
ahead of me.
you are blowing smoke rings
from the mouth that once sang me songs,
you are reddening your eyes
when once you cried for love;
and in this house
that is no longer my own,
I am remembering;
because this is what I was missing,
that somewhere in my heart
there is a room you have carved
in your own hand;
that somewhere in my heart
you are somewhere in the world
that isn't endless across the
.i said death,More Like This
death is a closet;
let's all just hang
ourselves up and keep
the place tidy -
No rest for a weary heart.Yesterday my mother asked me what IMore Like This
would name my children and I told her that
I did not want any. She scoffed at me
and shook her head, insisting
that once I found the
all of that would change.
And I thought back
to all the times when my palms
sweated and my throat ran dry
and my cheeks heated up just because
a girl walked by whose lips
were so pretty and pink that all I wanted
to do was taste them.
I replied, swallowing the acid
that was threatening to crawl out of
"it will take a lot more than that
to convince me."
Because despite the fact that
the mere thought of a man
with arms that could carry the weight of the
world holding me tight could
make my legs crumble beneath me,
I just don't know if it
would be the right choice.
I remember once
when I let it slip that I supported
those who loved all genders
my parents stared at me as if I
had admitted to murder. "It's wrong,"
my father had exclaimed and to me,
his words were a toxin more deadly
Empty insideDead emotions inside a body still aliveMore Like This
Life goes on, without something for which to strive
There are no strings left of my imagination
No more journeys into worlds of my creation
Life turns out to be empty and dull
Or that's how it seems inside my skull
It tries to get in and it freely can
But inside it doesn't stumble upon a man
Only an empty hull is left of me
Although my eyes can still see
and my ears still hear sound
my thoughts lack stable ground
EyesThey told me not to look,More Like This
But I always do.
I can't help it you know?
Their eyes are so beautiful...
Each one shines with a colour from the rainbow.
Some are green, some are blue.
You might even find a set of gold amongst the lot.
Some of them shine like pearls,
Others twinkle like stars in the sky.
Each one holds a fragile soul,
Each one has its own sense of depth.
And so, I always end up looking into their eyes...
Right before I blink mine and I firmly squeeze the trigger...
UntitledFor the record,More Like This
God stopped visiting me
I can’t recall how long it’s been
Only that it has been
Something like a second birth
Not so virgin
Not exactly merry
But it happened
For what that’s worth
I noticed my guilt
Took largely to the idea
That somehow it was I
who drove Him away
I also took careful
thorough notes of how absolutely
Amazing it felt
not to care if Hell became Home
Or if I was worth
the extra space I’d take up
Confusing as it was
To have all these granted answers,
given by innocent-blind-eyed sheep
become doubting questions
Whispered through the cracks in my
mind’s borrowed jurisdiction
window-pane snake eyes
who believed God was a gamble
And a down right political lie,
What luck (rotten or otherwise)
To have been split by two dots
floating like fleas
A choice on each face
of each Di
An Evening StrollOh, evening stroll, welcome againMore Like This
A friend here to relax and to mend
As I drift my way into the meadow
Thoughts of the love I left a widow
The moonlit grass passes through my feet
I imagine lost comfort of skin met breeze
The nightly rain will was my sorrow
To be fresh again as I face tomorrow
To the house I built years before
Lived in by children I built it for
A forest home lost in isolation
Now I haunt in their condemnation
I creep into their room
As they climb into bed
I slip through the walls
Though I am visible
Pale white and devastated
Screaming in terror and shock
My children fear me!
Oh, evening stroll, take me again
Lose me once more in river's bend
The water is where I now nest
My family can continue their rest
She Was With the StarsThe amber girlMore Like This
was preserved perfectly
and her silky hair and porcelain skin
gleamed like a doll's
But the scientists weren't able to keep
her soul burning
because though she was in the
glass case filled with chemicals and fluids
and they were desperately trying to pump
oxygen into her lungs,
her mind was still up in space
with the stars
So the sun was extinguished
despite the cries and mournful screams
because they had
and the many who looked up
at her light and glory
slowly began to rot away
And so not a single thing was solved
ExcelI would like to have somethingMore Like This
in which I excel
I would like to have something
that would drop your jaw
I would like to have something
that stops people in their track
I would like to have something
in which I'm special
I would like to have something
that everyone does.
'Friends'Hear the words he says,More Like This
can you hear the pause
every time he says "dad"?
He may never miss him again
after he now must miss him
until his own last day has come.
His father was his best friend,
but that friend is gone forever
after his 'friends' came along.
'Friends' he never sees again
after his best friend is gone
Left behind, bleeding cold.
Unhearable wordsThe words nobody wants to hearMore Like This
No matter how they are spoken
Be it quick to get it over with
or be it slow to soften the blow
The look on the person's face
hits sooner than words themselves
your mind spins away in horror
of what you are about to hear
Lips open, a deep breath
a sigh that has no end
"I am sorry to say this
and I'm sorry for your loss"
EmptyEmpty words from an empty heartMore Like This
words pass through ears
their meaning not heard
Empty words from a crowded mind
thoughts stay inside
their meaning not said
Empty words from a thoughtless soul
feelings buried deep
not felt for a long time
Empty words from an empty heart
Empty deep inside
means empty outside
The Cycle of PassionNever knowing eyes never did haunt usMore Like This
’Tis our own ditty which fails to daunt us;
The amorous rose or the lovebird’s lustre
Leaves but two shades for a season’s fluster,
Yet the poet’s pen is perchance guided
With rabid romance, nature unprovided -
For summer songs are bare conversation
Betwixt life and long winter’s predation:
Pale thirst for passion or higher power
Quenches its quaff in the quiet hour,
The soul’s tragedy is in demanding
Liberty lost from body remanding
Creation’s cold woes and callous joys, cannot grace
Vanity’s visage or the selfsame face,
In vain, we swallow the daily smother
To love ourselves, we love another.
tidesTidesMore Like This
How do you
answer the incoming
Dark water rising
with no place
Drowning in Oceans,
of feelings unspoken,
a silence unbroken..
Lessons Never LearnedNever give your heart away to just any manMore Like This
There involves too much pain
A lesson I should have learned long ago
But my naivety remains the same
Am I Truly Yours?Words cannot describe my love.More Like This
The canyon of my soul filled.
I loved you from first glance.
My heart stopped.
Moved only by quakes of emotion.
They say we each have one.
You are mine.
I am truly yours.
TodayToday I'm aloneMore Like This
Lost in thought
About the past
I'll never have back
Yet, I still hope
For a better future
For the light
Without Sleep."Sleep is life."More Like This
"Without it, we are dead."
"Only fictional characters of the undead don't sleep."
"We need sleep because we are alive."
A child's promises.I remember sitting in front of your childish self,More Like This
Promising everything I could give and meaning every word.
We where so serious back then, now I realise.
Through everything I sacrificed for you.
You never promised back.
By your sideWish I could hug you tightMore Like This
Tell you everything is gonna be alright
Wish I could hold your hand
Say I understand
But I guess since I can't
That for tonight
I'll just stay by your side
No EscapeI can't make out what's a dream or reality.More Like This
Both are nightmares and I can find no escape.
The Devil's at the door with his outstretched hand,
So I close my eyes and accept my fate.
LoveLove is simpleMore Like This
Love is a word
Full of fluffness and fluffness again
That's only four letters
But "dead" have four too
Love is something diffrent
Love is something more
It's a treasure
Full of gold.