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Somsubhra
2 Watchers1.6K Page Views3 Deviations
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A day in the sea
Something special is in the air today. The canopy of the sky is lit with a thousand lights, each held by invisible silk strings. I call them paperlights. The sky is enraptured; emotions stir into motion even as colors swim in heaven. I'm just a little man in my little boat, wading past water colored lilac and blue. I spend my day, fishing and musing. The fishes, long dead are my constant companions. Then there are my thoughts which have the flavors of gin and melancholy. My musings reach as far as those dead fish can see. Today is special because my thoughts are not confined to the cage of my heart, or my often empty stomach, or my little b
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Here as you fall
I stand here watching you cry As light falls in little patches Roving over you like a soothing hand. The bones in your legs ache, machinery crumbling As you fall down, on all fours now The dog has a new reason to feel proud. You're not a fist now, but twisted fingers Gripping the dust in hope of better days to come. Your heart left a hollow in its stead The freed veins mesh into one to dull the pain You wish. I am fascinated as you break down Even the Desiree disintegrates, Bites the dust and the dust clouds my conscious. I'm but a speck on your canvas. I've never seen beyond the skylight And your consciousness stems from the
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A night of silk-flower, ember
The fickle, grizzled memories; when I bottled you up in the jars of time You poured me, licked me, tore me into the petals... and called me up as I sank into the Satan's rhyme You filled me with your liquor, and left me within the grooves of the night. That night... When I had touched tranquility within a forest's very spine where the shadows innumerate tiraded with the Palm and the Pine The tunes long-forgotten, sweeter than those Orpheus could sing limed the air, as his mournings had once caressed the ocean's brine. The lilliend's lyre sounded from the foothill to the hilltop's ever-misty pane, where the thickets had sprung up an
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A day in the sea
Something special is in the air today. The canopy of the sky is lit with a thousand lights, each held by invisible silk strings. I call them paperlights. The sky is enraptured; emotions stir into motion even as colors swim in heaven. I'm just a little man in my little boat, wading past water colored lilac and blue. I spend my day, fishing and musing. The fishes, long dead are my constant companions. Then there are my thoughts which have the flavors of gin and melancholy. My musings reach as far as those dead fish can see. Today is special because my thoughts are not confined to the cage of my heart, or my often empty stomach, or my little b
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Here as you fall
I stand here watching you cry As light falls in little patches Roving over you like a soothing hand. The bones in your legs ache, machinery crumbling As you fall down, on all fours now The dog has a new reason to feel proud. You're not a fist now, but twisted fingers Gripping the dust in hope of better days to come. Your heart left a hollow in its stead The freed veins mesh into one to dull the pain You wish. I am fascinated as you break down Even the Desiree disintegrates, Bites the dust and the dust clouds my conscious. I'm but a speck on your canvas. I've never seen beyond the skylight And your consciousness stems from the
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Master of Ravens
Master of Ravens 1 My little brother is nine years old the first time I decide to kill him. During the night, snow fell over the jagged wreckage of our land. In the morning I realize he will follow me outside if I call to him. Like an awkward-limbed colt he'll stumble through the snowdrifts, and I can leave him to the ice and wind in the shadow of a three-walled building. No one will see me. Our father will think he has gotten lost on his own. I too will cry when they find his body. When the mourning is done, however, I will be my father's true and only son. 'Cam,' he will call to me, and I'll kneel down before him. My father. Master of
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why didn't you say goodbye?
Love wasn’t in the air the night you unbuttoned my shirt and kissed my skin. No, love definitely wasn’t in the air the night we spent in heat of moments, sweating and tumbling and fumbling on your father’s bed. It was anywhere but there. Does love go on vacation? I ponder and make fleshy butterflies from my outstretched fingers. Probably. I can’t remember much but I can remember the beginning. The burn of acid bleeding and gushing past my tongue and down my throat. The noises and then your silence. The clumsiness and then the awkward kisses. You had a garden of dark hair growing from your scalp and dirt eyes. You had a
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never grow up.
I have a monster living underneath my bed. He’s made up of burnt frog skin, white-red cobweb veined eyes and a collection of missing pebble teeth. Sometimes we play scrabble. (The first time he was just a mechanical hum beneath the bowing wooden planks, he was just a faint smell of green and he was just a hot cloud of fog around my lips. It’s the wind, it’s the wind, I breathed. Then he breathed back, heavy and loud and monster-like; AM NOT.) He always spoke in capitals; MONSTERS ARE MUCH TOO SCARY FOR LOWER-CASED LETTERS, he informed me one night under pink covers. I shined the flashlight into his eyes until they changed co
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a conversation
i welcome sleep as it is - a long lost friend returning home from battle, arms draped over my shoulders, weeping. i held it close and whispered - as if it were my only friend, being the prince of the sky, asking of why i cling to my possessions like a dog to its territory, why i harbor insane notions about silly things - "we are all barren, stripping the land, looking for love in white-capped waves of our own destruction." i asked why mother nature was pulling me by the roots of my hair, and being as i am, a girl who speaks vague classroom french and stands at the waterside passing small thoughts like stones as the brine and tangling seawe
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Eight Kisses
Eight Kisses One You can call it emptiness, breath, epithet, or oblivion or love, or the thing we can't touch, while in motion.         The rush of your mouth in me like icemelt water, innocent, surging like a creek, touching,    stopped.                                                         &#16
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Love Poem
.. last night I made a man out of pillows and forgotten fragments of clothes we'd pushed into my drawers. I held my pillow-man's hand and made sure he wasn't too warm because it is summer; I'm on the second floor; and that was always your biggest complaint. this morning I tried to shower but would turn off the water and run like a soapy dog, complete with loyal tail wagging, to the door thinking you'd come knocking. You hadn't. tomorrow will taste like the food of a week ago and I'll wear sunglasses, which, if you know me, (and you do) will seem out of context and like a little girl playing dress up. I know there are
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India
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:la: Welcome to :iconwriters--club:! :la:

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DevilTamer|Student Writer
Sure thing. Thank you for accepting me.
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You're welcome! :iconlachoirplz:
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