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untitled

u

untitled

there is an echo of poetry somewhere between my cold bones and psychosis. it sings the names of my nightmares through halls of memory. i lay odd lines scribbled between now and soon, like stacking bricks to build a bridge tomorrow, a suicide note for days not here yet. in turn, these days have not been kind to me. anxiety nests on a swing beneath my ribcage, often reaching a hand up to squeeze my heart. i have little i want to say of which i am confident. lately, i'm unsure of most nights' survival. slowly, i am losing myself. that much is true.
1Comments

ceramic.

c

ceramic.

all the broken ceramic asks the same, where do you eat now that you've broken the plates and your home? i'll answer in silent surrender: you will eat with your grandparents, grandma's recipe on old spotless china. i will eat with the broken glass in the same kitchen where your heart bursts into rage. these four walls are my own, a penance. reminder that the broken can only break. with these shaking hands of mine, what could you ever expect of the hurt?
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septentrio

s

septentrio

.i shed your skin,    and settle your heart. i am waiting by the shore  on the port from which   you loved me. .ii.   call me circumstance,     call me untimely,       i come to you        to offer my care,         if you'll take it.      hold it fast between        the waves of longing         i call your hands. .iii the tide of your smile  follows no moon but   heartache,     and i wonder what star &#
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hope.

h

hope.

dickinson writes of hope as a little thing with feathers perched on the soul,   but i've come to see hope as a vine of thorns  and flowers inside my ribcage. it hurts when i breathe, and blooms when i bleed.
4Comments

as if.

a

as if.

you hold unto the knife as if it were a prayer, as if the steel held answers to your questions and the blade answered them whispered against your skin, as if the bleeding from the wrists were psalms. get high on every cut, as if every blood drop spent were a revelation and you, prophet of burned bibles and nicotine were a revelation and you, tired of life were transcending, as if nirvana hid in the space between your palms and the knife’s hilt, as if you could only breathe when you cut, as if god only answers when you’re numb, as if.
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in one of the stars you shall be living

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in one of the stars you shall be living

i'm sorry i can't save you with a name or hold you. i will never be able to teach you how to shave, how to talk to your crushes in middleschool or how to tie a tie, use a pocket knife, how to make rice. and how tell your mother you're sorry you got an F in math class, or how to make her favorite meal ( alfredo shrimp pasta ) to make her smile; see, i have a cheat sheet in my head to make your mother smile but you'll never be old enough to use it; at five, you could recite a poem by Neruda and at six you could draw a sheep, in a box, or a hat and only we would know its a boa eating an elephant, (she'd ask why you drew a hat, but she
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knife.

k

knife.

I held unto the knife as if I could dull the cold, stainless steel edge with my palms. She pulled, and pushed, and I held steadfast. "Stop struggling." She whispered, finding my eyes with her own in an desperate attempt at a fragile, atemporal connection. As if to say she was sorry, she smiled, and pushed her weight behind the knife. "Stop!" I yelled, squeezing the blade, feeling the skin rip. "I don't want to hurt you anymore." She begged, and her shoulders sagged. Mine did too. Seeing my moment of weaning, the lessening of my blunt determination to stop the knife, she pushed again. The motion repeated itself; I held unto the knife blad
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Little prince

L

Little prince

At night, I've learned to sleep with a copy of Le Petit Prince you gave to me besides my pillow. Sometimes, I hold the book and pretend my hands aren't cut and that you were never sad and that the self-inflicted scars on my wrist are birthmarks from a past life's death. When I met you, I am convinced, I was born again to love you; I have stumbled, and crawled, and I am ready to walk if you hold my bloodied hand. I promise that If you ever dare to try and taste my shame I, the hypocrite, will hold unto the blade you turn against yourself as if i could dull the sharpness of the steel with my skin and bones. I promise to gift you books y
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reverse

r

reverse

I've been writing in reverse, deconstructing thoughts in spanish, translating, recalibrating, rewriting, in reality, in writing, trying to get a grip with my literary technique and I am at odds with myself, inverting the order of my verses, trying to make sense of my muse, I've been writing in reverse.
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untitled

u

untitled

there is an echo of poetry somewhere between my cold bones and psychosis. it sings the names of my nightmares through halls of memory. i lay odd lines scribbled between now and soon, like stacking bricks to build a bridge tomorrow, a suicide note for days not here yet. in turn, these days have not been kind to me. anxiety nests on a swing beneath my ribcage, often reaching a hand up to squeeze my heart. i have little i want to say of which i am confident. lately, i'm unsure of most nights' survival. slowly, i am losing myself. that much is true.
1Comments

ceramic.

c

ceramic.

all the broken ceramic asks the same, where do you eat now that you've broken the plates and your home? i'll answer in silent surrender: you will eat with your grandparents, grandma's recipe on old spotless china. i will eat with the broken glass in the same kitchen where your heart bursts into rage. these four walls are my own, a penance. reminder that the broken can only break. with these shaking hands of mine, what could you ever expect of the hurt?
0Comments

septentrio

s

septentrio

.i shed your skin,    and settle your heart. i am waiting by the shore  on the port from which   you loved me. .ii.   call me circumstance,     call me untimely,       i come to you        to offer my care,         if you'll take it.      hold it fast between        the waves of longing         i call your hands. .iii the tide of your smile  follows no moon but   heartache,     and i wonder what star &#
0Comments

hope.

h

hope.

dickinson writes of hope as a little thing with feathers perched on the soul,   but i've come to see hope as a vine of thorns  and flowers inside my ribcage. it hurts when i breathe, and blooms when i bleed.
4Comments

chains

c

chains

I don’t love you, she said when their eyes met and though her words were words of pain she spoke with closure, and with every word she undid his chains; the heart is feeble and weak, and sometimes our compromise is too little. their one-sided love  was hard, harsh, and difficult when he dragged, when he stretched his love to cover her insecurities, and her faults, but you can’t make a lover love; I love you, she said when their eyes met. But I’m not in love, she said before she left, and on her nurse’s scrub she wore the matching pens he bought her, and he understood what he once misunderstood; no gesture, no
6Comments

sepia and amber

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sepia and amber

she saw the world in tones of sepia; odd, washed out scenes and vignettes as strings of memories; ordinary life made beautiful by the verse with which she wrote about the sun, moon, and starts and every love that had graced her quiet heart and sparked burning passions, heated flames, raging fires that burnt away at the colorlessness of her sepia tinted reality, bleak and stark and beautiful in its ritualistic expression of writing, in her art, and soul. and for him the world was amber , hazel, bright and colors strewn across the cosmos behind the open, windows to the skies that were her eyes. for him, the world was beauty in the filth an
1Comments

see my heart.

s

see my heart.

see, my heart is: strings stretched taunt about to break. vocal strings too tight to sing    - &  too tired to scream. I’m a coward. See,   I saw her car driving up to the gas station and my heart started       pounding.   Pounding Hard on my clavicle with immaterial  fists   and    cold,   sharp blades of immaterial anxiety and stress that made me pause and think: “I am a coward.” Let’s just go elsewhere, I begged my friend to leave and we did, while my heart caved in. see, my heart is: strings stretched taunt about to break. vocal strings too tight to sing    - &  too tired to scream. see, my heart
4Comments

How do you like your eggs? v2

H

How do you like your eggs? v2

“A snowflake settling on a panda feels no remorse. Random inspiration, or just insanity? Who knows. Maybe both?” A manicured finger tapped against her lips. The rest of her fingers curled beneath her chin, as if cupping her expression and framing in for one particular moment in time; a pause in her daily ramblings. “No, not quite.” On her other hand rests a pencil. Black, thin, fine point; it danced over the sepia toned paper sheets of her thrift store moleskin journal. Behind her, he prepared breakfast. “How do you like your eggs?” He smiled, turning with a spatula in a hand, and two eggs in another.
30Comments

dont leave me

d

dont leave me

Don't leave me, she begged with tear stained cheeks, dry lips and an open mouth; pain like crucified-christ nailed on a cross on a wall in an old country house; image, symbol, stigma of suffering written over button nose and dark, onyx eyes: doubt etched on her cheeks as worry lines, like the scars I wore on my wrists, and arms, and knuckles and knees. They're beautiful, she smiled placing the roses in a transparent vase, with water and a drop of clorox. It keeps them pretty, she explained between a sad smile and a giggle, and I smiled as if my positivity would make everything alright, although it couldn't. These too, she confessed looki
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puntos - triggering.

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Muse's

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pistol priest

p

pistol priest

i want a dance that destroys the dancer as if he is wrapped in barbed wire and as he spins he is gently shredded, unraveled like a piece of yarn or a piece of clothe or a young smile stopped at the corners of a mouth as a bud. cut as he dances i want air like a razor, a song like a knife an imagination that limits heaven to a smile imagine that as i dance my legs unravel around you. around this silence and religion people, like so many beings i know. i want this dance. i want it in me like a mountain down by the roadway railway in my churches vestibule i place my hands on your head and you fall down a foot and your hair is

The Atlantic

T

The Atlantic

An airship-escape From flying boulders; I've capped off the Maudlin Cannulas, I've shut-trap The capsules, Little boats In glass bottles, Little notes Beneath a sky Of cork, Bobbing up and down in old waters: I'll never be Re(a)d.

Scholar Chemist.

S

Scholar Chemist.

Scholar Chemist. one. he is a scholar chemist. plying the spray-painted suns that seeped into my spunge-brain. iller ones, scaffold-dreams, lulling at length my diluted soul-- cluttering, gland by gland, the corners of forwarded rationale alongside my eel river veins. every day towards nothing and everything i descend a step-- loading the polluted stories i murmur to myself with his involuntary florescence and nebulae-eyes. [the absurdity. the error.] i continue to re-embroider the accolades i have offered up to him. continue to be the vagrant-- nourishing a flesh vermin; oh, the loom of a spirit uninhabitable. a tinder

Fantasmagorie.

F

Fantasmagorie.

Fantasmagorie. i had walked through the house of my mirrors black glass and stilted, crippled legs. misappropriated visions of myself within my selves, and my face was disassembled into stretches framed with exhausted streaks of crinkled fingers. yet then, a coal cask containing word, skin and eyes that caught light like they were nets muddled away the wrinkles on my brow, and assorted a palatable view onto the leagues before me, brandishing hope like a sword and the spun mirrors were all falls down.

in the quiet.

i

in the quiet.

--- i.  do you love? shhh. enough to paddle rafts across atlantic oceans to brush fingers.                             don't speak. for this, I forsake my own centuries, chronologically absent of you. I was there dragging pyramids from sand; I was there.                        (if love spans time,                         non-linear, then I was a drop of salt                         in your ocean when the world was new. I                         was there for the celebrated supernova; we                         were born of wrought iron and                         fireworks and                         heat.) -and it was

It's a Small World After All

I

It's a Small World After All

Deep beneath the Magic Kingdom, alarms were going off. Sanchez palmed the red override switch, and the hooting silenced, though strobes and flashing indicators lit up half the power board.  Something had seriously gone wrong in Walt Disney World’s electrical grid. His phone rang while he punched up diagnostics. “Sanchez, I’ve got blackouts in—“ “I know,” he muttered absently into the throat mic, “stand by.” Other calls came in from all over the park.  He routed them into the same queue and conferenced them together.  “Everyone, stand by.  I’m o

[Con] Havoc

[A] Graffiti : Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

[Con] Chasing Colours

[A] Kashii

[Con] Red String

Laughs

[Com] Anais

Shingeki No Kyojin Chibis

Spotlight

Bitter

B

Bitter

Dusk wrapped us in its ephemeral eternity; moments that lingered before their passing. In their wake, memories would flutter into the distance of remembrance.  The ambiguity of time would distort the details, but we still remember the small little things like the date, the shorts she wore, and how water was cold at first and then warm.   It was April 22nd and we decided to go bathe in the river behind my house. Though the path was treacherous, we made it down the muddy slope in one piece. Covered in mud, twigs and wet with sweat, we sank like stones into the water. We mingled with the rocking currents, dissipated into the
40Comments
Artist // Student // Literature
  • Apr 22
  • Puerto Rico
  • Deviant for 13 years
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Albino Llama: Llamas are awesome! (73)
My Bio
My name's Sergio.

2014.

2014.

I haven't been posting much lately, life's been sort of chaotic. 2014 has been one of the best, and worst, years of my life. But, I'm still around.
3Comments

fat and DD.

fat and DD.

I noticed my old journal entry was over a year old, so I figured I'd write something quick, though. So, completely overwhelmed by the attention I got with Fat and the DD. Extremely thankful for the feature. When you're part of this community for as long as I have you truly aspire to get some sort of recognition, but you also get used to receiving mixed critique and comments on your work. First time I got a DD I'm sure I got some negative and positive comments, but it wasn't as cutting, any of it, as it was this time. This time what personally surprised me the most is the necessity of some people to attack me, as a person, directly and outsid
6Comments

voice, help, and questions

voice, help, and questions

I need to get back into the literature community here in dA.  I'm in the process of finding my voice, and it feels more defined. If you, whoever, is reading this, what do you think about my writing? To you, what's my voice, style, prose and poetry like? I want to know what people think, so I can work on the good, and challenge myself in new directions. I'm happy I came to dA, and the beautiful people I've met over the years. ps; someone in particular, grumpy, giggling, someone bad to the bone will read this line and smile to herself. she's been my inspiration to come back to dA, to keep writing; to know that she likes my writing, when all
9Comments

Comments 875

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Hello, sir. How goes it?
I found some art that reminded me of you and I simply wanted to let you know. You are complete awesomeness. <3

BTW it's Andi-Panties.
KonjukuStudent Writer
how u been, dear? <3
Suddenly finding myself among the living dA community once more. <3 How are you Sunshine?
Heart - Free by KawikuHeart - Free by KawikuHeart - Free by Kawiku
Thanks for reading and faving
Kawaii Pastel Star Divider by miemie-chan3
YOU'VE BEEN HUGGED!! *Hug*
Hug
Spread the DA love around! (you can copy and paste this message on their userpage!)
RULES:
1- You can hug the person who hugged you!
2- You -MUST- hug 10 other people, at least!
3- You should hug them in public! Paste it on their page!
4- Random hugs are perfectly okay! (and sweet)
5- You should most definitely get started hugging right away!
Send This To All Your Friends, And Me If I Am 1.
If You Get 7 Back You Are Loved!
1-3 you're bad friend
4-6 you're an ok friend
7-9 you're a good friend
10-& Up you're loved
(つ´,,・ω・,,`)つ   Konjuku-senpai!~   /slapped

askjhfdsjkdhg  dude faves + watch ?!
I don't deserve this. 
Let's be tomodachis! 8D