as flame chrysanthemum pots
grace the railing
ClicheI don’t know how to flow
I only know how to write from my soul
That’s a cliché
But that’s ok
Cause what’s a cliché to you
May mean everything to me
I’m just a stressed-out boy you see
Trying to make the most of my time
By belting out useless rhymes
To ease the uneasy truth
That not everything is about us
Only distracted by all the uncouth
In this plane
Only to wane
Coming down like rain
In a world
That has me twirled
Around it’s finger
With the feeling that lingers
And tells telling tales of my uselessness
That I don’t serve a Holy purpose
But I’ll prove to it that this story is not hopeless
It seems these words are all I have these days
And sometimes I don’t feel like I’ll make it
Sometimes I have to tell myself I have to fake it
But then again
I’ll be ok
I also have my friends, family, and a Creator by my side
They help me out when they hear my cries fr
It’s finally time!
The chrysalis has cracked.
For all the waiting, I’m no longer trapped.
Ages of crawling and slinking and trudging my way up.
Fighting my way over obstacles and foes, yearning for a better life.
Everything has amounted to this. My triumphant moment of methamorphical bliss.
The brightness of it stings my eyes, but my body finally feels alive.
Newly discovered parts unfurl and stretch, growing out.
Resolve strengthened with an outlook shift.
Easy had nothing to do with it.
But it was worth it.
There's Nothing Wrong With MeI responded normally,
badly in a stressful environment.
There's nothing wrong with me.
I do need to grow out of this and develop better coping skills,
but there's nothing wrong with me.
I walk around like there's a hole in my chest,
she's holding my heart wondering why.
I keep an eye out and am a little energized,
but that's cuz no adults did that for us growing up.
I fight about little things,
but those little things are all I have left.
There's nothing wrong with me,
but there's definitely something wrong.
Smoke And HoneyLost in internal vomiting
Lost in asserted shame
Seeing dancing cockroaches when
Melancholy is the corner of brain bile
That's right, I'm still chewing on my own tail,
Waiting for the epilogue to come abolish
This world's wreck
Survivalism isn't fueling the tenacity
It's the hearts of that are tied to this
Traditionalism is the tyrant that ruins this
Matter without being present;
Simply flaunting it's envy-producing beauty
It's that very beauty that has brought me to my pathetic knees,
Accompanied by finite abilities of this soul
Stop the smiling, it's causing living death
Bring the frowning, it'll making these tears less lonely
Taboo wishing has brought absolutely no solace
Showing these ethereally relatable notions has brought absolutely no support,
Just verbal slashing
Let's just watch this slug be utterly destroyed each day
...There won't be a pleasant moment...
Family FridaysThe walls of this house
They're constantly on the
Verge of divorce
And rattle the residents
In a blender of resentment
All the rooms are
Quietly brimming with madness
But one room is loud as thunder
The house rumbles
Through the deep boom of it
The residents are young and old
They've built their walls thicker
Insulated doors and black windows
Invisibles breathing loudly
In the thick, suffocating air of it
Guests come here
They're fed hearty meals
Smells of salt and meat and spice
Of memories they don't really have
They introduce themselves
With love and laughter, musical
And the blocks of this house
Stabilize a little
The aggregate melts then
tea. ice tea;
it’s exciting like the first conversations we had
on that long and hot summer
it’s delicate like your voice
that appeared in my dreams out of the blue
it’s bitter like the coffee you like so much
and my anxiety around you
when the days became shorter
it’s fresh like the smile you gave me
and the newly found confidence
it’s sour like my moments of doubt
but still very sweet as i look at you
it doesn’t exist—
but sometimes i’m reminded of its taste
Discarded DreamsGatherer of discarded dreams
that have fallen by the roadside.
Falling off cars as people drive to work
losing their dreams, thinking they died.
So many actors, writers, singers, poets, and artists.
So many promises and wishes made
So many left broken and lost
by the side of the highway.
People think working means they can't have dreams
People think all kinds of things that are not true
but I'll tell you this secret. I have picked up your dreams
and they wait for the day you remember you are you.
Futile Attempts | Ayato KirishimaThere's liquid running down his cheeks; he can't tell if it's tears, blood or dripping remorse.
You were never supposed to die, you should have been tucked away in the home he had made sure was safe with your friend (protection he didn't quite like) and dog (protection he'd never admit to loving). It was your own fucking fault that you wound up on the battle field and he'd had to kill you.
Someone else would have gotten you eventually, at least he was merciful.
Considering all he could have done, Ayato was pretty sure his method couldn't have been bettered - smashing your head till you lost consciousness enough for him to rip your heart out.
You had gotten involved in wrong world, you were the one that had fallen in love first.
Of all romances between humans and ghouls, this had been a futile attempt.
Unspoken Grief | Naki[Naki x Reader]
Sometimes, Naki wakes up crying.
You know this because, firstly, his crying wakes you (and everyone else nearby) up, and, secondly, you tend to be the first person on the scene. From there, it’s the same routine: hugging him tight, rubbing small circles along his back, kissing his forehead, whispering to him softly that it’s going to be alright. It takes a while to completely subdue him, as well as a promise that you’ll sleep next to him tonight, but it works.
Occasionally, if Naki’s had a very bad day, you read to him. He follows the words with his eyes, sounding out the few he knows under his breath. Every once in a while, you try teach him a few more words but, although he’s an eager student at first, he loses motivation quickly, and his attention span is minuscule at best. But the blonde has a massive smile on his face every time he recognises a word, and that’s reward in itself for the hours spent trying to explain simple
I'm more of a writer than an artist, so this account is for writing and art appreciation. I'll keep posting deviations for the meantime--mostly fic. I've been writing them since 2003.
Current Residence: Pennsylvania @ USA
deviantWEAR sizing preference: S
Favourite genre of music: Alternative/Dance/Rock
Favourite style of art: Digital and Anime. Occasionally, a good landscape.
Operating System: Windows 8.1 and 7.
Shell of choice: Uh...conch?
Wallpaper of choice: Hisoka...
Skin of choice: Never learned how to skin.
Favourite cartoon character: Edo Phoenix, Kenpachi Zaraki, Daigo/Steven Stone, Hisoka, Mink, Orochimaru, Sasaki Haise, Yamori