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About Literature / Hobbyist Hinfallend C.Female/United States Group :iconpeace-poetry-prose: Peace-Poetry-Prose
 
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Second Floor by Hinfallend Second Floor :iconhinfallend:Hinfallend 2 0 First Floor by Hinfallend First Floor :iconhinfallend:Hinfallend 1 0 Cellar by Hinfallend Cellar :iconhinfallend:Hinfallend 0 0
Literature
Frick
I'm not tired
I'm depressed
I'm not emotional
I'm depressed
I'm not moody
I'm depressed
I'm not lazy
I'm depressed
I'm not stoic
I'm STILL DEPRESSED
I've got depression dripping off of me, slow as honey but not nearly as sweet. I'm riddled with anxiety the same way swiss cheese is riddled with holes. I sleep too much, and I cry too much. I spend hours on my computer and not enough time picking up my room. I can't decide if I'm sad or angry or apathetic or if I want to fight. I'm filled to the very brim of mental problems, with a little bit spilling over.
But I am so much more than that. My mental health does not define me as a person, and if you actually cared, you would get to know more than my depression and anxiety.
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Literature
The Ripple Effect
'i'm tired,'
they say, eyes downcast and
head bowed like the weight of the world hangs
around their neck.
'sleep then,'
you say lightly, watching
not them but
the fractured petals of light on the wall.
it's the same color
as the bruises beneath their eyes.
silence
and then
'not that kind of tired,'
drifts across the space between you as
lazily as the smoke from the
cigarette in your hand.
you hum once,
soft and low, before
dragging your eyes over to stare
at the the downturn corners of their lips
where sadness
has pressed lines into their skin.
'i know.'
a hand shifts over
to curl on top of theirs,
as slow and heavy as molasses, and
you can almost feel their
exhaustion.
it feels like a
parasite,
leeching onto whatever it can.
it feels like a
sickness.
'good night,'
falls on your ears,
cutting dully
like weathered pieces of glass.
you don't watch as they
move away, but that god awful
tiredness
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Literature
Where Memories are Buried
When Paytah is four, his birth parents abandon him in the center of a busy market place belonging to a different town than his own. He remembers the colorful clothes hanging artistically around the stalls and how badly his small fingers itches to grab hold of them. He remembers the ocean of noise, remembers being able to hear it from what felt like miles away. The cacophony of the merchants voices blending together as they call out their wares and the prices in hopes of drawing in more customers. He remembers the heat and the blue, blue sky above where the tiny black shapes of birds soared. His mother's long, calloused fingers had been wrapped securely around his soft hand, keeping him just far enough away from the makeshift stalls so that only the barest tips of his outstretched hand could brush them. He can remember his father, who seemed as tall as the leaning buildings around them and with shoulders broad enough to block the sun, holding onto his mother's other hand as they walked.
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Literature
Courage
I want to tell you something, but courage is a fickle thing to find. I tell myself that I have to speak before you finish your cigarette. That was five minutes ago, and I'm watching the glowing tip get closer and closer to your fingers as you move it from your side to your mouth and back again.
Ashes and small embers are captured and swept away by the wind with a simple flick of your fingers. The smoke is playing hell on my eyes as it drifts between us, creating a screen. For a second there, I thought you said you tried to die once, but the smoke is in the way.
I have to tell you something I feel is important, but courage has gone and hid with intelligence, because I can't seem to think of the words. I tell myself that I have to do something before you are finished with your cigarette. That was eons ago and you are busy crushing the cherry beneath the toe of your shoe.
Time's up, and you are gone.
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Literature
Bad Night
You know it's gonna be a bad night when all you can think is "It's going to get me. Oh god, it's going to get me. Somebody save me. It's going to get me." and you can feel that pressure on your chest, in your head, against your heartbeat that signals a panic attack.
You know it's gonna be a bad night when you're scared to look out the windows or have the curtains cracked, and the mirrors have to be covered because god, what if it can get in that way? What if the things in the mirrors get out? Fuck, what if the thing you see in the mirror finally gets you?
You know it's gonna be a bad night when the stairs freak you out, when you want to barricade your door because the stairs freak you out. The stairs are right outside your door, and they freak you out and you don't know why but they do because it's a bad night.
You know it's going to be a bad night when it looks like there's demons hiding in your hallway, right near the railing of your stairs even though you
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Literature
If I Loved You That Way
My first love and it has to be you. Of course you would be the one that I adore. You are one of the few people that can make my focus narrow down to only you from the second you open your mouth to the moment you leave my sight. I fought for months against this, telling myself that it was just an infatuation and nothing more. I don't want to be in love with you like this. I hate you for making it so god damn easy to fall in love with you. I hate that I'm in love with you when you aren't even mine and never will be.
Keep your hands to yourself and keep those loving, sweet words in that sinner's mouth of your's. Don't press in close and drag your fingertips from my neck to my hips. Don't touch your lips to mine like I'm the only thing you've thought about all day. Stop kissing me hard until I can still taste you hours later, like you want to leave behind an imprint until next time, and stop kissing me softly, over and over like you can't make yourself pull away for good. Like you've just
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Literature
Mine, Love
I want to write my name over every inch of your skin in blue black ink until the entire world knows you are mine. I'll fill in the spaces in between with words like 'love' and 'perfection' and 'soulmate' and love again because I don't think I can love anyone as much as I do you. You're my Love and my first love and my love.
I want to press close enough to feel your heartbeat and hear the soft, instinctive inhale and exhale, to know you haven't left me yet. I'll wind my fingers around your hand and hold on tight enough to leave bruises, wordless marks of 'mine' for everyone to see, because I can't tell the difference between good and bad affection/attention from you.
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Literature
Maybe You'll Stop
Maybe you'll stop once you've finished picking the gravel from your knees and the red crescent moons heal on your palms. Once you're lips aren't swollen and you're voice doesn't have that rasp, you'll stop. It's not like you enjoy this, the ache in your jaw and crick in your neck. Gotta pay the bills somehow though. So you'll get down on your knees again, in some nameless place with another nameless face, and do your job with a fake passion that only a professional can pull off.
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Literature
I'm a Writer
I'm a writer, and I'll keep your name with me forever.
I'll write your name down on notebook paper. I'll write a four page letter to you. I'll list all of the things I love about you and all of the things I hate about you. Then I'll burn it, piece by piece, in the middle of my yard with my zippo until the only thing left is white, gray, and black ashes of once upon a time words.
I'll keep your name forever in my head with all the other words I know, right between pseudo and redundant. I'll keep your happiness imprinted behind my eyelids and connect your name to certain things of joy. I'll take your sadness and write a story from it with your name hidden beneath thousands upon thousands of other words that don't hold the same depth or meaning. Your name is mine until time erodes it from the wiring of my mind. Your name is what I breathe in and the emotion of what I breathe out.
Don't break my heart because your name will be caught up in the pieces and woven in as I stitch it back togeth
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Mature content
Answers to Questions II :iconhinfallend:Hinfallend 2 0
Literature
Answers to Questions
1. "Why do you look so stressed?"
I'm sorry for the way I am. I know I'm a nervous, flighty wreck of a person. People scare me. I can't help it. They lean too close or grab without warning or permission or they say things that throw me off balance. The creatures on four legs that can't speak are what I grew up with. They're what I grew up talking to and learning how to act around. Looks and words don't matter with them, so I never properly learned how to watch what I say or how to act. Society is like a giant stage and I fumble my lines a lot. Being in public is as tiring as donating blood. It's honestly nothing personal with you. I just have a low tolerance for human presence, and some days, I reach that quota easier than usual.
2. "Why didn't you tell me about your past?"
I know how exhausting being with someone like that can be. I went through it with my friends, my family. Fixing someone who has damage isn't beautiful or easy or romantic. It's hard. It wears you down until all you
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Literature
Winters Kisses and Summer days
It leaves the skin winter kisses cold and the body summer days hot. An infestation that comes and goes but never leaves completely. It's a bone deep ache, settling in right between the joints like a disease. It's broken glass in the trachea and acid on the tongue. It resonates like waves through limbs. There's too much shaking, lazy adrenaline coiled directly beneath the surface. A spring waiting for the release of pressure, waiting to claw and hack it's way free. It's wound tight through loose muscles, pulling and pinching like sparks skittering over skin. It's the jittery energy skimming low in the blood, turning life into gasoline, just waiting to catch fire and burn alive. Moving is a talent buried deep in swollen bones and blistering veins. It's muscle memory in the back of the brain, something done without thought through the jerking and twitching and shuddering. It's nails scratching deep green chalkboard type irritating.
It's something that hurts.
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Literature
Voice
You've got the voice of a bleeding heart.
You have a voice that gives everything away without any words being needed. It cracks under the strain of emotions. Inconsistent surges and drops in volume are a tell of when you're upset and the quickness of your words lets me know how happy you are.
You have the voice that encourages chatter. People want to talk to you, to let you know what is going on in their life. Your  voice makes people want to go on and on about nothing and everything and then they want to listen to your response. It makes them want to listen, want to know what you are saying whether it is mindless rambling or shockingly intelligent babble. It makes them want to shut up for once and just hear what is going on.
You have a special kind of voice. It captivates the attention of whoever is listening. They hear your voice and just want to hear sympathies and comfort roll off your tongue.
Your voice is a special one. One that tells the world you care too much.
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Favourites

Journal
Shit Posting
Because if you don't shit post with your best friend, are you even really best friends?
"Fuck off, SUSAN."
Damn, Barb, airing our dirty laundry to the neighbors.
Maybe I wouldn't have to if you would keep your brat of a kid out of my yard, Susan. Doesn't he have band practice to get to?
I DON'T KNOW BARB. DON'T YOU HAVE AN AA MEETING TO GET TO OR IS TIM JUST GIVING YOU THE ALIMONY NOW?
WHY DON'T YOU WORRY ABOUT YOUR OWN HUSBAND, SUSAN, OR MAYBE YOU'RE TOO DISTRACTED BY YOUR LOVER TO KNOW WHERE YOUR HUSBAND IS.
WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN
BARB
ARE YOU FUCKING LARRY?
IF YOU ARE FUCKING LARRY, I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL TELL THE PTA ASSOCIATION
IF YOU WEREN'T BUSY DRINKING SIX GLASSES OF WINE EVERY NIGHT, YOU'D KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT.
I HAVE THE NUMBER TO THE AA MEETING IF YOU NEED
If you hadn't been drinking with your son in the car, Jeremy would still be here and you wouldn't have that number.
HOW
FUCKING
DARE YOU
SUSAN
FUCKING MY HUSBAND WON'T BRING YOUR SON BACK BETTY
WELL FUCKING LINDA
:iconMuzica-G:Muzica-G
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Journal
A reference guide on bookbinding types
A reference guide on bookbinding types
When I tell people I'm a bookbinder they often think I make only one type of book; the library kind. That, however, is only one of the many ways an artist can create a book. For me, it's a fun challenge to pick the right binding style to go with the purpose of the book. Whether it is a novel that needs to look really classy or medieval, a sketchbook for a graphic novelist or a paper about connections that lets me show the binding. In this article I'm going to tell you a little bit about all the types of bookbinding that I know. I'm not going into details but, if possible, I will link to images and tutorials that do.
If you're here for inspiration: this guide is pretty long. I recommend scrolling through the images first!
To make a start...
The different ways of binding books can be broken down into two general groups: adhesive bindings and non-adhesive bindings. Adhesive b
:iconBoekBindBoetiek:BoekBindBoetiek
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Jelsa by sakimichan Jelsa :iconsakimichan:sakimichan 38,356 1,893 Elsa by sakimichan Elsa :iconsakimichan:sakimichan 48,237 1,640 Sam - Moleskine sketch by Petite-Madame Sam - Moleskine sketch :iconpetite-madame:Petite-Madame 60 8 20 pionters pg 2 by MonochromeRaver 20 pionters pg 2 :iconmonochromeraver:MonochromeRaver 14 6

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Activity


Well, it's been ages, hasn't it? I haven't uploaded anything to dA in a long damn time. I doubt I'm suddenly going to become active again simply because all of my friends and most of my favorites on here aren't active either. I dunno, maybe I'll start a new account. If only to get back into writing. The piece I just uploaded it full of run-on sentences, so sorry for that shit. Life is alright, I guess. I doubt anyone is actually reading this, but I'm working my way towards beating my depression. Also trying to get into some CNA classes and hopefully moving in the next six months. We'll see how life treats me in the next year.
  • Listening to: Lips of an Angel by Hinder

deviantID

Hinfallend
Hinfallend C.
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
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Current Residence: Hillbilly Hell :D (someone save me!)
Favourite genre of music: Rock, Kpop and Jpop
Personal Quote: "When life gives you lemons, ma-" "You say it and I'll castrate you."
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:iconjim555:
jim555 Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2015
Happy birthday mate!
Reply
:iconhinfallend:
Hinfallend Featured By Owner Jun 28, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks :) This is the first time I've been on dA in a long time....It's changed a bit :XD:
Reply
:iconjim555:
jim555 Featured By Owner Jun 28, 2015
Well welcome back mate!
Reply
:iconhinfallend:
Hinfallend Featured By Owner Jun 28, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
:hug: thank you
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconschnitzelmobile:
SchnitzelMobile Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2014
Happy birthday Hinfallend! Hope you have a great day! :party: :cake: :party:
Reply
:iconhinfallend:
Hinfallend Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks, Lovely :heart: Sorry for the late reply. I don't get on here nearly as often as I used to.
Reply
:iconschnitzelmobile:
SchnitzelMobile Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2014
Same here lately
Reply
:iconhollyrosefowlcasson:
HollyRoseFowlCasson Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Aww, thank you for the watch!
Reply
:iconneytirix:
Neytirix Featured By Owner Aug 14, 2013  Student Digital Artist
Hope its okay!! >> fav.me/d6i2pvd
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:iconneytirix:
Neytirix Featured By Owner Aug 13, 2013  Student Digital Artist
Hope its okay! :D >> fav.me/d6hwz32
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