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cool kid
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t
the boy who smelled like paint
"Your painting is ugly." I looked up. The candy apple sun dripped golden glitter onto a boy's tousled hair. His nose was wrinkled and his cheeks were smeared with dirt.  I didn't like dirty boys, so I wrinkled my nose right back. "It's not ugly," I protested. "you're ugly." The dirty boy smacked a grubby finger onto the corner of my painting. I tried to pull the soggy canvas away, but the finger held on tight and ripped the right corner clean off. Blue watercolor paint began to drip through the cracks in the picnic table, staining the yellow grass below with tears of pigment. The movement caused the colors on my canvas to swirl together. I
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suburban love story
"My white picket fence is painted red," my grandfather reads from the yellow paper in his hands and seeks the ashtray with his trembling fingers. "What does that mean?" I say but he reaches the cigarettes before me and for a moment all my eyes can see is his the feeble flash of his lighter. " The hell if I know," he says and disappears behind the smoke, "that's the kind of nonsense she wrote but I forgot it was nonsense because of the way she said it." My grandfather sits in a brown rocking chair on the porch of his square brick house that's the same as the other square brick houses except for the rusty numbers hammered onto his mailbox th
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c
cages
i. caged water casts         neat gentle                  little ripples onto the polished         tiled floor                  i see                  little cracks of sunlight snake across my worn jeans and the          air smells a           little of salt and something bitter like          crystals of the rage           that the little aquarium fish         cannot express because theyve never known more than          glass glass glass                  and tap tap tap         and sticky fingerprints         that smudge their sky and if youre a fish who lives in glass and breathes in stale molecules what            doe
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a
a reflection on goodbyes
Sadness and I are old friends; her thick and heavy syllables ooze into my ear canal and stagnate. I can feel her wings chill the air below my eyelids; even when my irises are full of sun, her feathers flicker in and out of my vision. They say she fears laughter, so I laugh and laugh until my body aches but with each convulsion I feel her grip me tighter. No one will hold me like sadness does; tenderly, lovingly, constantly, no one will listen like sadness does; with a wrinkled, broken ear and a heart that knows me better than I know myself. What does sadness smell like? She smells like freshly cut golden grass, humid air, rain-soaked m
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letter to cinderella
hello cinderella,         hello my love my sweet saccharine doll with the acrylic smile,          a thin red scar that never fades, only flakes slowly away. how neatly you sit, how gently your fleshy scorched palms tremble in your lap how perfectly your pliant fingers lock together         joins inserted tightly         between your jagged knuckles, your wrists evenly swollen by the polished iron         binding you         to your dress, how lovely you are. i love your glassy eyes,        your wishing well        eyes i see myself in,        a smooth opaque surface circumscribed by plucked eyelash and groomed eyebrow. how c
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S
Spring Cleaning
a) in the bookshelf My feather-duster, fine as neurons, prowls across the fake wood thats sags with the weight of too many pages. Clean, white pages now grey and wavy, weathered by greedy fingerprints seeking words. b) under the bed Two socks that don't match lay limply intertwined with fourth grade art and last year's World War One test. Forlorn objects, forgotten by the cerebrum that once produced them, condemned to slow asphyxiation by gathering dust. c) on the desk My own Himalayas are formed from line paper, graph paper, printing paper stacked without order and without thought. Remnants of nights full of headaches, drooping ey
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b
between
stop thinking, just feel, with that grimy heart of yours so murky, clouded, twisted, wrung from scaly hands that squeezed the light from your soul. don’t pray don’t defile the skies with your serpent's lies and your demon’s eyes that glow red when you love too much. you dangled me over the abyss, told me to hang on, hold me like a lifeline, and i did i clawed your fair arms raw i begged until my mouth ran red but you just smiled flashed your fangs in the moonlight, and dropped me.
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E
Empty Knives
Our princess is a warrior, the people whisper, warming their wind-worn hands by the fire. The sluggish smell of gasoline diffuses into their pores and oozes into their veins. Their clothing is hard with filth, the skin on their faces is merely a scab, their eyes are empty sockets. But deep within their pneumonic chests, the desire to hope burns bright. One young man holds a photograph in his shaking hands. There she is, their princess- bright red hair, sharp cheekbones, bright green eyes, a wolf's smile. Fight me, her eyes laugh. Fight me, and die. I am not afraid of you. Her brightness and her ferocity straighten their aching spines. They w
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T
The Crocodile's Tears
You’re crying again. You’re in your room in the corner with the cobwebs and your bottles on the floor. You’re on your knees and you’re rocking back and forth. Your makeup falls in clumps from your face. Your white dress is smeared with red and no one can tell if the stains are from the wine or the glass shards forming a mosaic on the floor. We know why you cry. We can all see the red in your eyes and the paleness of your cheeks. We can all see how your fingernails are flayed like paper. We know that you don’t eat and sleep and you just stare out of your window, wasting your years and your life because your ghost
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9
t
they only spare the gentle ones
his chrysalis hangs around his waist, green tongue fastened tight, his eyes drowning in the chlorophyll (he wishes it was chloroform). he the cancerous, he the carcinogen likes to hold the nuclei and crush them in his meaty palms scatter the cytosol in droplets (cytosol or cyanide?). he did not like artemis, her blood cells pulsed to the antithesis of his heart with membrane, he fastened her to his ankles but she bit him, refused to let go so one by one he plucked her teeth, strung them on her polymers, and hammered them into her vertebrae.
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See all
t
the boy who smelled like paint
"Your painting is ugly." I looked up. The candy apple sun dripped golden glitter onto a boy's tousled hair. His nose was wrinkled and his cheeks were smeared with dirt.  I didn't like dirty boys, so I wrinkled my nose right back. "It's not ugly," I protested. "you're ugly." The dirty boy smacked a grubby finger onto the corner of my painting. I tried to pull the soggy canvas away, but the finger held on tight and ripped the right corner clean off. Blue watercolor paint began to drip through the cracks in the picnic table, staining the yellow grass below with tears of pigment. The movement caused the colors on my canvas to swirl together. I
2
3
s
suburban love story
"My white picket fence is painted red," my grandfather reads from the yellow paper in his hands and seeks the ashtray with his trembling fingers. "What does that mean?" I say but he reaches the cigarettes before me and for a moment all my eyes can see is his the feeble flash of his lighter. " The hell if I know," he says and disappears behind the smoke, "that's the kind of nonsense she wrote but I forgot it was nonsense because of the way she said it." My grandfather sits in a brown rocking chair on the porch of his square brick house that's the same as the other square brick houses except for the rusty numbers hammered onto his mailbox th
3
5
c
cages
i. caged water casts         neat gentle                  little ripples onto the polished         tiled floor                  i see                  little cracks of sunlight snake across my worn jeans and the          air smells a           little of salt and something bitter like          crystals of the rage           that the little aquarium fish         cannot express because theyve never known more than          glass glass glass                  and tap tap tap         and sticky fingerprints         that smudge their sky and if youre a fish who lives in glass and breathes in stale molecules what            doe
3
8
a
a reflection on goodbyes
Sadness and I are old friends; her thick and heavy syllables ooze into my ear canal and stagnate. I can feel her wings chill the air below my eyelids; even when my irises are full of sun, her feathers flicker in and out of my vision. They say she fears laughter, so I laugh and laugh until my body aches but with each convulsion I feel her grip me tighter. No one will hold me like sadness does; tenderly, lovingly, constantly, no one will listen like sadness does; with a wrinkled, broken ear and a heart that knows me better than I know myself. What does sadness smell like? She smells like freshly cut golden grass, humid air, rain-soaked m
0
4
l
letter to cinderella
hello cinderella,         hello my love my sweet saccharine doll with the acrylic smile,          a thin red scar that never fades, only flakes slowly away. how neatly you sit, how gently your fleshy scorched palms tremble in your lap how perfectly your pliant fingers lock together         joins inserted tightly         between your jagged knuckles, your wrists evenly swollen by the polished iron         binding you         to your dress, how lovely you are. i love your glassy eyes,        your wishing well        eyes i see myself in,        a smooth opaque surface circumscribed by plucked eyelash and groomed eyebrow. how c
9
39
S
Spring Cleaning
a) in the bookshelf My feather-duster, fine as neurons, prowls across the fake wood thats sags with the weight of too many pages. Clean, white pages now grey and wavy, weathered by greedy fingerprints seeking words. b) under the bed Two socks that don't match lay limply intertwined with fourth grade art and last year's World War One test. Forlorn objects, forgotten by the cerebrum that once produced them, condemned to slow asphyxiation by gathering dust. c) on the desk My own Himalayas are formed from line paper, graph paper, printing paper stacked without order and without thought. Remnants of nights full of headaches, drooping ey
2
8
b
between
stop thinking, just feel, with that grimy heart of yours so murky, clouded, twisted, wrung from scaly hands that squeezed the light from your soul. don’t pray don’t defile the skies with your serpent's lies and your demon’s eyes that glow red when you love too much. you dangled me over the abyss, told me to hang on, hold me like a lifeline, and i did i clawed your fair arms raw i begged until my mouth ran red but you just smiled flashed your fangs in the moonlight, and dropped me.
5
13
E
Empty Knives
Our princess is a warrior, the people whisper, warming their wind-worn hands by the fire. The sluggish smell of gasoline diffuses into their pores and oozes into their veins. Their clothing is hard with filth, the skin on their faces is merely a scab, their eyes are empty sockets. But deep within their pneumonic chests, the desire to hope burns bright. One young man holds a photograph in his shaking hands. There she is, their princess- bright red hair, sharp cheekbones, bright green eyes, a wolf's smile. Fight me, her eyes laugh. Fight me, and die. I am not afraid of you. Her brightness and her ferocity straighten their aching spines. They w
4
2
T
The Crocodile's Tears
You’re crying again. You’re in your room in the corner with the cobwebs and your bottles on the floor. You’re on your knees and you’re rocking back and forth. Your makeup falls in clumps from your face. Your white dress is smeared with red and no one can tell if the stains are from the wine or the glass shards forming a mosaic on the floor. We know why you cry. We can all see the red in your eyes and the paleness of your cheeks. We can all see how your fingernails are flayed like paper. We know that you don’t eat and sleep and you just stare out of your window, wasting your years and your life because your ghost
11
9
t
they only spare the gentle ones
his chrysalis hangs around his waist, green tongue fastened tight, his eyes drowning in the chlorophyll (he wishes it was chloroform). he the cancerous, he the carcinogen likes to hold the nuclei and crush them in his meaty palms scatter the cytosol in droplets (cytosol or cyanide?). he did not like artemis, her blood cells pulsed to the antithesis of his heart with membrane, he fastened her to his ankles but she bit him, refused to let go so one by one he plucked her teeth, strung them on her polymers, and hammered them into her vertebrae.
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7
S
Spring Again
It was spring when you first left Hugged me tight, promised you'd return. April showers bring May flowers I knew you'd come back. Soon. I'll be back soon. I waited. The world smelled like fresh rain and blossoms. It's spring again, ten springs later Your hugs are ghosts, promises dust. A drought killed all verdure I thought you'd come back. Soon— Soon was an eternity ago. I stop waiting. The world smells like stagnant water and rot.
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Yggdrasil
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Mythology Feature!
:thumb387086002::thumb597588664::thumb717302223: Mythology is wonderful and eternal and is something that connects us all. I hope you have enjoyed the beautiful artwork. Now please go and check out their galleries and give them some love. :rose:
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hi my name is robert
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happy birthday dear Biiitch, happy birthday to you
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No Mourners, No Funerals
There were no mourners when I died So only Mother Nature grieved. For my death, she dressed in keening night Swathed in stars as if for them To be my missing mourners who wept and cried. There was no funeral when I died So only Mother Nature held one. She decorated my casket with flowers wild Sobbing clouds and rain as if for us To be mother mourning her own born child. No mourners, no funerals when I died. So Mother Nature loosed a sigh When her duties to grieve for me were done And moved on to grieve the next dead one. Leaving me alone again, without goodbye– No true mourners, no true funerals when I died. None bother for a soul lik
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DC - Wonder Woman
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first meme
this is the first time i have done this, so if its wrong and cringey please lmk. also i stole this from Dogfood/Beem/whatever. Level 1 ( ) Smoked a cigarette. ( ) Smoked a cigar. ( ) Kissed a member of the same sex. SO FAR: 0 Level 2 (/) Are/been in love (i meannnn idk if i can really say what love is at this point so its .5) ( ) Dumped someone. ( ) Been fired. (x) Been in a fist fight (my family was NOT happy). SO FAR: 1.5 Level 3 (x) Had a crush on an older person. ( ) Skipped class. ( ) Slept with a co-worker. (x) Seen someone/something die (i saw a frog get run over on the road. it was very horrible. would not recommend
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wonder woman should have been nominated for all the oscars :( 
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Reading Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God for English and I'd like to share a few quotes with you. "...their damnation does not slumber; the pit is prepared, the fire is made ready, the furnace is now hot, ready to receive them..." " The God that ...
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Comments28

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comatose-comet's avatar
thanks for the fave :rose:
Reply  ·  
atra-corona's avatar
atra-corona|Student Artisan Crafter
my pleasure :D
Reply  ·  
The-Archaeon's avatar
The-Archaeon|Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the :+fav:, it's very much appreciated :)
Reply  ·  
atra-corona's avatar
atra-corona|Student Artisan Crafter
No problem :D
Reply  ·  
DamhsoirBreacadh's avatar
Hello! Just dropping in to offer my congratulations (!). Welcome to deviantArt! I look forward to seeing more of your work. :hug:
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atra-corona's avatar
atra-corona|Student Artisan Crafter
Thanks so much!!
Reply  ·