I let the water take controlIt's been awhile since I've been underwater,
so I drew myself a bath
and let the water rush itself into the tub
like blood to the brain,
as it pooled into the fiberglass basin
I felt the tides start to rise
while the pond I created began to
encase every limb,
my lips brushed against the water
in a liquidated kiss
and my blonde locks melted into the sea
as if my name were Medusa and
my strands of hair were snakes,
but my body dissolved into what it used to be,
I became the water and the water became me.
Lord of the DanceI'm a sun pillarMore Like This
B reathing in a cosmic love spel L
L eave all negativity & just let g O
O pen up the pores of your spiri T
O utcast melancholy by an adie U
M elodic mornings of serene blis S
I ntimacy with a totality of lazul I &
N ights filled with a calm veridia N
G reet you to a twilight of kisme T
L ose the handcuffs of daily rus H
I n the knowledge you stand fre E
K iss the earth in dancing hoove S
E xcuse the past, don't look bac K
A ccept yourself
Froth is another synonym for ScumYou know, it truly baffles me how people like you can keep carrying on with such scotch and guilt-free consciences.More Like This
You put on a dozen disguises a day and I watch you sway, prance, and masquerade with the hearts of all those who think they love the genuine you, and that's including myself, too. How can you not flinch for even a nanosecond at all your fallacious fidelity and flippant ways, even whilst staring me dead-straight in the eyes?
I've heard of souls evicting the corrupted bodies of their owners who have been far too fractured with lies, but you, what you are capable of goes beyond false laughter and cries. Something tells me you've been living without a moral compass for so long that for you to call to mind the meaning of direction and compunction would be deeply dippy.
You are the byproduct of false humility and fraud sympathy- I doubt you have ever felt the sorrow of being scammed and ripped-off while wanting so bad to pour your heart out to a hot, steam-filled cup only for
IdesThe past is nothing moreMore Like This
than a story you've created;
when such snow fell in March,
it was flash frozen vapor.
AnatomyI cannot be the backboneMore Like This
of your moral affirmation;
set aside the scalpel,
burn the phonebook if needed.
novemberthe sun is a dim pearlMore Like This
beneath a blanket of gray
hung low from the heavens;
i'm your yellow tremor
paled by the cold, aching
for a proper sunrise.
stillyou lust to make his long legs quiverMore Like This
like two blades of grass
heavy with morning dew
but you're the first frost of november.
Census of Ghostshe now resides in susurration:More Like This
shaken from our summer sheets,
flags drawn taut and shuddering,
and wispseeds rising into the light
with their dressing gowns unbuttoned,
planting onto my lips that name
i've tried to hang with himself;
on a late morning,
while folding your laundry,
i found him again and held his tongue
when he yearned to speak of love
that once transpired in his passion,
or maybe it was the infatuation
of surrealists: brown skin but touched
upon each other,
marking the insignificant with brands
of remembrance: like the crinkling of
tinfoil or the crisping of smokers' lungs
or the thought that cigarettes are only
romantic if you can witness their glow
or hear them faintly burning—
white ash rests on the dashboard
and his fingers are caked with rust
in my flashbulb drug collections:
the color of blood that's been drying
in my mouth while i try to recall how it felt
to hold someone who might have come
and remained forever breathing
if that letter had never reached my
the story of a girl made of fire and of bloodThat red dress flowing at her ankles like blood,More Like This
rippling against her river thin frame of fire,
she is burning, burning so bloody,
she sweats and she cries and she falls to the ground,
but her eyes dance in the flickering flames
and her heart skips when his voice catches on her pastry flake flesh,
his voice lingers there, rests, soul upon skin, sin upon sin,
her body cooked tender.
His Breath, Her DeathHer eyes,More Like This
so pale yet patient,
swarms of orca whales swim inside her irises,
dancing along the sunlight in jewel tones,
so rich with reflection,
it's as though you are staring into the ocean
if the ocean were emptiness,
but when you look passed the beauty
you can see that she is broken,
she is a ship wreck in the making
with anchored hips and a drowning smile,
but that's what she gets for falling too fast
when everyone told her it wasn't safe to sail,
the waters too rough, too cold, too heart breaking,
it's too late now though,
she is withered and writhing,
intertwined with ribbons of seaweed,
she has nothing left to give anymore
because he stole her oxygen and
trapped it inside his own greedy lungs,
so now as she dies,
he breathes in her reaping
and then the wind sweeps them up, down, and away.
Exteriorsflashing lights and a tightly wound clock,More Like This
a never-ending waterfall of mass-produced body parts
and machinery with solar powered heartbeats,
a digital anatomy
punching holes in the night to let sunlight filter through,
artificial stars locked into conveyor belt constellations.
we could fall off the edge of the horizon tonight,
it will only be tomorrow when we wake up attached to heart monitors,
Houston, we are in coma.
we can't change the shape of the air we swim through
if we refuse to breathe,
so let's drink to the night and drink the night.
we pull oxygen through spiderwebs of nerve endings and tin foil,
to fill our disappointed lungs in a last ditch attempt to feel something.
if we don't come back in one piece, or not at all,
they'll chisel words like Stellar and Fearless on our headstones.
but we were nothing special.
we were only satellites on a forgotten wavelength.
It's Burning Down Anyway"You shouldn't play with matches," she said. "You'll hurt yourself."More Like This
I lit a cigarette - with a lighter - and remembered Annie Venter telling me that in the eighth grade as I lit matches behind the school. I had stared at her and lit the whole matchbook on fire, and then I had dropped it in the grass. She made me stomp it out.
I stood on the porch of my apartment, listening to the rain and staring out at the fog and the clouds and thinking that somewhere out there, Annie Venter was probably sleeping, not thinking about the time she told some stupid kid not to play with matches. I flicked the lighter on and off a few times to see if it would feel the same way the matches had all those years ago, but it didn't.
The smoke curled above me in the cold air, a visible metaphor for addiction as it hung off me. Everything in my life smelled like that anymore: like ashes.
I dropped the cigarette on the deck and I stared at the small red ember, letting it burn and smoke, letting it become
silent scream.lost in the darkness-More Like This
quiet, invisible soul
i am nothing- but a spirit
looking for a light
lost in the darkness-
i stopped hoping
that you are still there-
i thought: it is safe
to crawl alone in desert of confusion: -ego blinded me,
stumbled on the first step;
your n a m e
lost in the darkness-
i am deeming on the ones
i left behind:
g o n e-
can i find
a place that fulfils me
that you don't know, neither i
why do we need it
(we are too w e a k, my love)
lost in the darkness-
my heart is still filled with echoes of your l a u g h t e r
diary with no paper, no w o r d s
it confuses, causing fear.
lost in the darkness-
i'm suffocating in animosity:
who is swearing into your ear,
who is smiling
when you fall
and can't get up.
lost in the darkness-
maybe, sometimes it is bette
A letter to people from my pastYou just can't go back,More Like This
even to the times you once thought were the greatest.
It's like the playground you played on as a child.
You have endearing memories of the unique mixture of warm mulch and cool metal,
but when you return to it years later,
it's not quite how you remember.
The once large play area now seems small compared to the large cities you've explored.
The slide that once seemed to go on for miles
is nothing compared to the walks and runs and car rides you've been on:
the thousands of miles you've conquered.
The swing that once made you feel like a bird high in the sky hardly gets you off the ground-
(maybe it's due to the weight time has put on your shoulders,
or maybe you no longer need a swing set to fly).
Yes, you can go back, but you can't have what you had.
Keep the memories fond, and carry them forward.
And if the people from your past are aware of this,
you'll see them in the road ahead.
There's one way to go,
and that's forward.
Hope to see you ther
All They See Is ScarsI want to tell a story,More Like This
but this story isn't a fairy tale
and it wont have a happy ending,
because the real ones, well
they never really do.
In high school
I picked up my pen
and I began to write
It existed and it was pure
and it was lovely.
But my rapist rewrote me.
breathing on my neck
and tracing my back with his fingers.
He rewrote me as broken.
He wrote me as a statistic,
as another white girl who got told
that she cried rape for attention.
But that didn't matter because see,
I wanted to tell a story.
A story about family,
about picking each other up
about blood being thicker than water
about how not everyone's home
had to be broken.
But my father rewrote me.
When i picked up my pen
he spoke words to me
that I swear bruised my whole body
and I learned that nothing
was thicker than his alcohol
and my home was already shattered.
But I wanted to tell a story.
so I picked up my pen
to write about god.
A God that could save anybody
And God loved everybody,
which was the onl
The World BurnsMore Like This
This is where we live
Where souls come to claw at the idea of nonexistent tranquility
Driving us one and all to the darkness we all have faced before
The place where dreams meet reality
Hearts are broken
Worth is reevaluated
Existence is questioned
Pleasant times come to die
Better than finding who you are
And the truth revealed in the dark
Lying is so much easier
So much more entertaining
Self-gratification trumps morals
And burns it's remains
Pure souls are a rarity
To be so unattached to a compliment
To overanalyze the meaning of 'kindness'
To conclude it as yet another dagger in your heart
Why would the norm transform their revolting personalities so drastically?
To make you feel you have worth?
Just another met reality
In this world of darkness
Of narcissism and cynicism
What a time
It requires unheard of efforts to be sincere
Lying is easier
This is where we live
It will burn before our unintentionally despic
Insanity is blissDarkness surrounds meMore Like This
My heart beats a million miles per minute
I stare at the ceiling
I don't know what to do
I tell myself to stop
But I let the pleasure overcome me
So very wrong
But it feels right
I shudder at the slightest thing
I scream into my pillow
I slap my face
I need to come back to reality
But I don't want to
In my world I feel happy
And the sensation of giggling
Takes hold of me
I can't help it
I read things
It makes me happy
In my world
In the darkness
I feel alright
Then a pain in my gut starts
I shouldn't do this
But the pleasure
The chills going down my spine
My throat is dry from my heavy breathing
Throughout the day I wait
Then when I get home I lock myself in my room
My world welcomes me
I try to keep my smiles and giggles to a minimum
If my parents knew they would be in shock
So I keep to myself
I want to tell some one
But I won't because it's weird and creepy
People would call me a disgrace
That's why I keep it to myself
Wake up! Prophecies from Near death experiences.Original source I got this information.http://www.near-death.com/experiences/research32.html...Feel free to continue your own research and come to your own conclusions.More Like This
~I'm not posting this stuff; to induce a fearful spirit.I am doing this because I had many serious dreams and feelings of my own; and felt provoked
to share.This is a very real possibility.Don't just ignore; open your mind and do research.Stop being caught up in the matrix.
If you feel even a bit that these things can come to pass--please prepare, tell others, start doing all you can for earth.
You are an individual--come to your own conclusions.I'm not forcing you to do or believe anything--that is entirely up to you.
I do this out of general concern and love.
The Future and the Near-Death Experience
Many people were given visions of the future during their near-death experience. Generally, these visions foretell a future of catastrophic natural disasters and social upheaval followed by a new era of peace and have actu
You, You are Worth it.The scar lasts,More Like This
The hurt never fades,
The pain is always there.
Lies spread by the devil,
You are loved,
you are cared about,
you are important,
you are beautiful,
you are always there,
you don't need to be afraid,
you are never alone.
There is always a spirit with you,
an angel to guard you,
a heart to love you,
someone who cares.
But it takes effort to let them in,
fear may drive them away,
sadness may set in,
But fear not,
Someone will be there,
through the scarring,
Embrace those who care about you,
however little the amount of them may be,
you are worth it.
Never forget that.
Dear meDear eyesMore Like This
I'm sorry for all the tears that I made you shed.
I wish I could have kept you dry instead.
Those nights I didn't let you rest
I'm sorry for being such a pest
I'm sorry for fumbling to the ground
I wish I had done something more profound
I just couldn't wait to fall
For those people who said they would be there if I call
Sorry for all those nights of crying myself under
I wish I could have made a silent surrender
For those sweet words you heard and believed
I'm sorry, but they were from people who stole and thieved
I'm sorry I didn't listen to you from the start
Now my life is falling apart
I should have believed that you were right
I wish I had given you more of a fight
Sorry for letting those dancers dance and dice
What they did wasn't too nice
Stripes suit you fairly well
Too bad I had to put you through hell
Sorry for messing you up so bad
I hope that didn't m
braille.her paperthin skinMore Like This
bear the scars from within
& his hands seek
all that his eyes fail to satisfy.
he'll try to read her like braille -
he is too blind
to see otherwise.
actions may speak louder than words
but his touch has little worth
to someone who knows it can't
if his thirst is quenched
by mere touch,
he doesn't care too much
& if he is too poor of himself
then is she too cheap?
why does he explore each scar
like it's a prize
for him to keep?
an eye for an eye
would leave the whole world blind
but what do you do
if you want to leave the whole world
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
Yes, I am a teenage girl Yes, I am a teenage girlMore Like This
No, I don't squeal over One Direction
No, I don't wear mini skirts
No, I don't curl my hair everyday
No, I don't need my phone 24/7
Yes, I am a teenage girl
Yes, I prefer Edward Scissorhands over Edward Cullen
Yes, I like violent video games
Yes, I like action movies
Yes, I listen to Rock
Yes, I am a teenage girl
No, I don't draw hearts all over my homework
No, I don't spend 20 minutes trying to make myself resemble a porcelain doll
No, I'm not afraid to cry
No, I don't party every weekend
Yes, I am a teenage girl
Yes, I hate reality shows
Yes, my hair is short and messy
Yes, I'd rather walk in the woods
Yes, I am okay with mice
Yes, I am a teenage girl
Yes, I'm different
Yes, I'm strange
Yes, I'm my own person
Why is that bad?
Why do you hate me for that?
Why can't I just be myself without your criticism?
Why is it horrible if I'm not just like you?
I don't have a problem with it
Maybe the problem
Rose tinted memoriesI’ve felt this way since we first metMore Like This
My heart pounded fast and I couldn’t behave
My hands were always shaking and my words wouldn’t come out the same
I removed all that’s dreaded to change my old ways
But time has passed now, and everything has changed
The love I once felt might no longer be awake
But I know deep inside that things remain unchanged
Because I might forget your face but the good moments will never go away
honeysucklei cant discard those sunsoaked flower petal daysMore Like This
the fragrance of the warmed rough sidewalk
and the air slipping past as soft as forgetting
honeysuckle bloom yields a small kiss of nectar
one that rolls and sings across the tongue in f major
and you would yield small kisses
and i would yield also
ExhaleI love the marks that a woman’s clothes leave on her body. I love the red indents and the proof of a long day before she even opens her mouth.More Like This
Tight socks circumventing ankle bones. A watch cutting a bit too tightly around a pulse. The alluringly simple bra straps; wire pressing up into the impossibly soft undersides of breasts; the cryptic clasp nestled between shoulder blades. The imprint of lace and elastic on the taut tender tendon of the inner thigh. The geography of jeans around the hips and trailing along the legs like railroad tracks. The line on her cheek from when she fell asleep on the bus home.
I love the luxurious sigh when it all puddles to the floor, shedding this artificial skin. Remnants of weariness leave whispers on the body.
And after all she has been through, she still comes to me and allows me to trace these whispers with my fingertips, eyes, lips. She doesn't cover herself and doesn't hide and lets me in.
We leave the lights on.
Sometimes You Don't Have to Change the WorldAres is not what I imagined her to be. The great man of myth, muscular and imposing, shining in his armour, with crested helmet and mighty spear, does not stand before me. Instead I face a young woman, hardly more than a girl. She is soft and delicate, with eyes so large they will soak up the world, and skin like spun glass, that glitters in the darkness. A warm glow radiates from within her, not quite visible, but strong enough for me to feel the heat on my face.More Like This
The sound of traffic wafts up to us from the street far below. Heavy clouds block out the night sky, reflecting back the poisonous orange of streetlamps and office blocks. The rooftop is high above it all, and we are invisible. That’s why I chose it, to be alone. The last thing I expected was a visitor, proclaiming to be a god.
“Ares?” I scoff, looking her over with something I imagine to be petulance. If not for the fact that she was so decidedly un-human, and that she had materialised on the rooftop with n
My EnglandI care not for neon lightsMore Like This
or garish 'stylish' clothes t' buy,
I only want the sun t' shine
in fair o' pleasant England.
I care not for new Ipads
or nipping out to take a drag,
I only want t' grab a bag
and hike in my own England.
Plastic smiles and distant hugs
I think for now I've had enough,
I only want the land I love
the moors and woods of England.
Silver bark and golden leaves
Birds sing soar in autumn breeze,
I only want the grasses green
in glowing dusk of England.
Now I'm old and still I sigh
at admirals red and foxgloves high.
Yes, I feel there's no place like
my homey fields of England.
an infinitesimal sibilancea wisp of a whisperMore Like This
remains in possessions
long after we're gone
things we create
or just treasure
faint echoes of others
faint echoes of us
llp - dA - oct2013
DD - jun03/2015
The Fifth Horseman“I'm not saying they're not killing each other,” I explain. “I can see from the figures in front of me that they're killing each other. What I'm saying is that unless you can broaden your demographic, we're never going to meet our targets for this quarter. This is supposed to be a world war, Belgium and the Netherlands isn't going to cut it.”More Like This
War squawks at me down the phone. It's hard to hear him over all the screaming in the background, but frankly I'm not interested in his excuses, I need to see results.
“What do I expect you to do? Do your job! Think outside the box! Look, Famine is in Europe right now, why don't you ask him for some help? I see the potential for synergy there. No, I'm aware you don't do 'asking for help'. I'm also aware of your performance over the past century, and I'm noticing some startling correlation between- hello? Hello?”
I slam the handset back into its cradle, which is a lot harder than it sounds when done from the back
Throwback ThursdayYou know what I miss?More Like This
The simple days
Of aimless buses and trains,
Like magic carpets
That helped us to escape,
If only for a little while.
I miss the endless walks
That led to hours of
Shopping center shenanigans--
Spinning in desk chairs,
Petting that little blind kitten,
And reading anything
From cheesy joke books
To Frost's melancholic verse.
I miss cheap deli lunches,
Discounted coffee house milkshakes, and
Midnight conversations on the swings
At your old elementary school,
With the moon so bright that
I could see your T-shirt.
Remember that time when, hot chocolate in hand,
We followed the sound
Of live fiesta music
Sailing on the hollow winter air
Until we nearly crashed
A Hispanic family's party?
Or what about the moments
Of heartbroken silence
When we discovered
The ruins of a piano
At the church
That was once your daycare?
I remember climbing, barefoot,
Halfway up Ricky's fence
To watch his illegal fireworks
And stealing Mom's car
In the dead of night,
Just for store-bought C
On NaraThe deer bow and the sky bends and I amMore Like This
smiling, lanterns red at sunset, pavilions gold
at noon and I wish I could curl up in Buddha’s
lap and watch the world turn. Lotuses are opening
in my lungs and the train tracks blur past my eyes
and I spend the night dreaming of fawn dawns and
antlers balanced on my shoulders, bowing to a
white-cloaked beauty with promises of more,
promises of Nara.
NapowrimoI have spent thirty days and thirty nights breathingMore Like This
poetry, inhaling images and exhaling similes. And
now my bones are tired, hands raw, this pen empty
of all ink and I will spend storms waiting for the next
inspiration to rise above the horizon and capture my
captivated mind, will wait patiently for the next poem
to flutter in my lungs rather than searching through the
overgrown foliage of forgotten memories for scraps of
somethings I can string together free-verse and
scattered like migrating birds. I will wait, I will wait
for the April showers to pass and for the May sun to
call its siren song over waves of sleep and awaken my
inner author once more.
myrmecology for humansthey moved me to this ward two days ago. as a nurse hooked up my IV, a voice piped up from the next bed over, introducing its owner as allie, myrmecologist, pleased to meet you. i had no idea what that meant so i smiled and when they took her upstairs for testing i slipped my dictionary from between my pillows and looked it up.More Like This
i couldn't find myrmecologist, exactly, but i found myrmecology which is some ridiculous term for the scientific study of ants, so i supposed that a myrmecologist must be the sort of person that spends their entire life picking apart ant corpses with tweezers.
“do they go stiff?”
they’d brought her back an hour earlier and i’d finally plucked up the courage to ask her something.
“the ants, do they go stiff like humans do when they die?”
“that only happens to zombie ants,” she said enthusiastically. “a parasitic fungus infects them.”
“oh,” i said, my interest in ants