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. the rules .More Like This
. the rules .
The bar's hot. The door in is propped open with a chunk of street pavement that's left scrapes on the floor from its weight and apparent favoring as a stop. Bright sunlight slashes through the opening and through the window from the sidewalk and street outside. The noise of the traffic on the boulevard outside, punctuated by the whoosh of the German trams on their tracks, blots out the drone of the flat-screens and their triplet glow of football matches. The dim of the bar is compromised and my head aches from behind my eyes.
The pack with the tripod strapped to it drew an arched eyebrow from the large greasy haired man with the jowls behind the bar when I'd entered but he relaxed when the plastic monopoly money had appeared from my pocket and "Coke Zero" had been understood. I light another Red using the green plastic throw away; the
. cold sweat .More Like This
.cold sweat .
Images, photographs laid out across the wooden surface of my work table. The stream of Tubed tunes and flaming bridges left behind glowing from the screens that surround me. A mess of sweat and jittering jumping nerves with my eyes darting and my hands crossing off items on seven different lists. The cell's here beside my hands with the battery dead; don't really care, the last calls have been made. Au revoir, think of me when you touch strangers!" and "Bon voyage, à bientôt!" in echoing return refrains.
Suitcase stuffed like Santa's bag (too.much?)(too.many?) 'Can that corner there, take another pair of socks or panties?' The camera and computer and toiletries arranged in arrays on the dining room table. Escape po
May 1 2013 together in fleshMore Like This
The nine rings are hollow and cold; Hell is hushed and frozen hard; there are no flames here of burning sulphurs or melting iron, the only heat is remorse's pain and the passion that warms the human here is illusion in imagined shapes of hate. Hell is hushed and frozen hard and those that yet remain are still. Like any circle of any cast geometry the sounds of whispers travel fast, a demon and her tortured lover have escaped.
The message left in large symbol shapes, splashed beside the shattered entry gates. With her own blood they'd defied their fates; their hurried footprints led away …
This was my Anais, my Wardrobe_Lesbian; she and I rolled free and were RAMPANT in this Seventh Ring of Hell. I had searched all of my life for a woman who could love me, love me for all that I am and for what I am not. Each day when I awoke I reached into that empty plac
. spinning .More Like This
. spinning .
The dust is settling on another epoch in Hell; the seductive glows have dropped in intensity and the demons and tortured alike are slumped in exhaustion. I alone tread the hard scorched cold niches and twisty tiny tunnels almost vaginal in their shapes. "Paint lilies as feminine places to taste and touch and this is where you will end …" A longing pained murmur of one who has been denied her pleasure draws my attention … "… you … you bore the fire long ago … I have a memory …" I stand over her and shudder … she is all that I might have been, and better presented. She is subtle in twisted motion, seductive in appearance and composure; a desire cast in flesh. "I attend, explain fallen one."
"You visited once … and gave voice to my precepts, spoke truth where none could be spoken and heard." "Yes I re
. grim .More Like This
. grim .
She sits across from me with the disappointment apparent; a spread of hard edge and concern and beneath that some shallow current moving quick across the smooth rocks of a winter stream, cold; masked coldness that these, my always-machining eyes, detect. She makes attempts at concealment but the contempt and dismissal are apparent. "It will be okay." There is quiet and stillness settling into place. "What are you thinking? Tell me what is in your mind." I long to know to find some firmer place to make a stand; this quagmire of my own self-doubt is impossible for maneuver. Silence, as the retraction, her extraction from potential ambush of the truth takes place … is completed in relative safety.
"Nothing really … it will be okay." "Grim." "What? What was that?" "Grim. It's a word in my language … not the fairytale author … it's …"
. knuckles .More Like This
. knuckles .
her hands are bruised and bloody
contempt writ on each furl
strength to take the punishment
rise to push the curve
stretch straight out from the shoulder
strike back to pay the debt
impact all that's left to her
pain trade her only fact
rise again aflame she's burns
you never see it come
lose all that she has left of you
you're victim twenty-one.
"BlowBack Poetry" by WarningsGiven
© Amanda 2013
Image: "I was a child" by :iconcikolatali-waffle:
:iconloveblackplz: :iconloveblackplz:
for Mina
. longing .More Like This
. longing .
whisper, i whisper sleep
quiet breath, hollowed cusp
we our separate sheets
touch, i touch this empty bed
hand reach out in hunger
gestures finger led
ache, this pain in absences
emptied hole my longing
put you beside me, presences
© Amanda 2013 3.23.2013
Image: "C_I_R_C_E" by Amanda Graham © 2013
… a prayer to my Circe
. scythe .More Like This
[Unidentified dA Commentator]
Did someone abuse you as a child???
 
:iconAmanda-Graham: Professional Writer - reply
For the sake of saving my friend from having to answer your obnoxious inquiry I myself will offer you some insights from my own life ...
Please take a moment and compose your imagination and just go with the following, not becoming defensive as will be your immediate response but reading this like some entertaining fiction that is not launched as an attack against you personally.
Your question itself is an abuse, even to an adult of my age, and should be an abuse to any individual whether ever abused or not. Here, in a public place you throw a question such as this in the face of all. It takes 'lacks manners' to an entirely disgusting level.
I was abused sexually as an infant; I have no memories
. how can I keep anything .. how can I keep anything .More Like This
White, softer white, black and bruised deeper than black, there over there is a brush wash of indigo, and watercolor splatters of grey; drip drop drip four five six and mirror shine on black am I a blur distort twist splash and white with running blue bleeding now and in a blend and air brushed sprays of cooled violet arrays. Dip yet again close your eyes with mine and surprise open wide for soiled white; white on grey behind verticals of furnace black solid shine on the left hand side and hold my hand for just a leap the feel of red where none it's hidden but glows beneath and let me go, just walk alone there's more verticals in falling longs like charcoal shadows. Night on white; smile and laugh, hear echoes come back
Responseher sleep nowMore Like This
so much more peaceful
than before
even in this cold,
distant place
secrets left behind
undisturbed by
the discovery
remain soiled
and so lay the truth
in her last smile
Time - A featureMore Like This
Libération
- par Alain Grandbois
Chacun sans issue
Très bien muré
Dans son cachot dévorant
Le temps glisse à reculons
Mon fer m'a forgé
Nuls maillons de chaînes
Ne peuvent me retenir
Je suis plus dur
Que tout l'acier du monde
Je ne veux plus rien entendre
Je connais ces mots
Gonflés comme des fruits mûrs
Ah dans le brouillard
Ces îles fantômales
Je refuse leur murmure
Je refuse l'émouvante évasion
D'une aube libératrice
Avec le ciel de ses étoiles
Leurs troupes de fraîcheur
Dispensant les délices
Je refuse l'empreinte
De son pas sur la plage
Le sable léger
Marquant le signe encore
Aux cadrans solennels
Îles frontées de rubis
Îles belles p
.I.Greetings everyone.More Like This
I have the pleasure to inform you that I was interviewed by the very wonderful and talented :icontwilightpoetess:,
here http://fav.me/d613i22. I am writing about it simply because I want to thank and feature this lovely young lady
and a few of her beautiful works, along with some of my latest literary discoveries/favorites.
I hope you will enjoy, and Beth, thank you once again for all you do, for so many deviants.
:iconorangeheart-plz: :icontwilightpoetess: :iconorangeheart-plz: http://twilightpoetess.deviantart.com/gallery/
:thumb36295234
A Call to Conversation (10)--:devhalcyonshores:Welcome to the tenth article focusing on featuring and getting to know the deviants behind the work! This series will be posted every Wednesday. If you have a deviant you'd like to see included, please send =TwilightPoetess a note with the subject "Call to Conversation"--make sure to include the deviant's name as well as a reason you think they'd make a good interview subject! Also, feel free to send along a question or two you'd like to have answered by them!More Like This
This week's featured deviant is *halcyonshores!
Woman, mother, married, eclectic, undefined. Warrior, lover, traveler.
Eager wanderer, I reverently appreciate the simple wonders,
like Nature, Beauty, Art, Music and Friendship.
Loner, distant at times, with spurts of absence.
Quiet, very private, aware & awake, I write, capture, imagine and create.
Inspiration is a magical thing and I simply let it steer me;
Z.B.You are my best.More Like This
You are mine, now, here, for the time we need, and that is now, here, and always.
Knowledge of one or the other is perfect, it is easy, it is complete, it is never wrong. How do we achieve such effortless harmony? I want to kiss you every fucking time. It amazes me, and we are more than a you and more than a me, like we imagined once. Now, time is not called time when we are a we and nothing else. It shows. . . well, something. Everything. It means we are the ones we need to have, nothing feels like this has, does, will.
And we will never know anything we don't need to know, and this is for you because I am here, and you ar
Sta.sh
