Dearest Calista,
you are nowhere.
Sleeping to the sound of trickling waters,
waking as your fluids drain between cragged tiles,
watching as they dribble from your rotten carcass,
weeping as they drain into your rifted flesh.
Dearest Calista,
listen closely to your cries.
You do not plead for help.
You do not scream in pain.
You do not shout in rage.
No.
Not even your song can be heard from beneath your crumbling cage.
Dearest Calista,
how your mind screams.
Beneath your ragged corpse your colours drain.
Echoes crash against your ridged seams.
Biles mingle inside your rotten passages;
dye seeping out your stoned retinas.
My Dearest Calista,
do you hear these echoes?
Panic burns,
lights shifter between your consciousness.
Fear spurs,
sounds that creep beneath your vessels.
In suffocation,
your fluids boil.
With exhalation,
the walls engulf you.
In stagnation,
your song proceeds you.
In ulceration,
melancholy defines you.
My Dearest Calista.
NagatoYuuki
undefined in spirit, not couragev.I My Dearest Calista
Newest Deviations
Literature
v.V The End
And so, my dearest Calista,
you remain nowhere.
In love your nails submerge into her wretched abdomen,
scouring deep between her pulsing moralities,
go deep, dearest Calista, so deep,
farther down into her core, then deeper still.
Dearest Calista,
listen closely to her cries,
do you hear how she pleads His name?
No.
She sings, Calista.
You harmonize in her sonnet of pain.
You echo in her raging soprano.
She wants more, Calista,
let her have it all,
just a little more, Calista,
pierce deep into her anterior wall,
and dig deep, dearest Calista,
dig deeper into her rotten flesh,
for only in sleep would her demons sing to her.
Dearest Calista,
do you feel it now?
How it ravages in silver and gold,
how it shivers in fear as your fingers enfold,
how it smudges so deep between your creases,
how it sings its song in silence as it releases.
Think of your love, Calista.
Think of your love and take it, Calista.
Take it and keep it for you own, dearest Calista.
Listen to how she sings, Calista!
He
you remain nowhere.
In love your nails submerge into her wretched abdomen,
scouring deep between her pulsing moralities,
go deep, dearest Calista, so deep,
farther down into her core, then deeper still.
Dearest Calista,
listen closely to her cries,
do you hear how she pleads His name?
No.
She sings, Calista.
You harmonize in her sonnet of pain.
You echo in her raging soprano.
She wants more, Calista,
let her have it all,
just a little more, Calista,
pierce deep into her anterior wall,
and dig deep, dearest Calista,
dig deeper into her rotten flesh,
for only in sleep would her demons sing to her.
Dearest Calista,
do you feel it now?
How it ravages in silver and gold,
how it shivers in fear as your fingers enfold,
how it smudges so deep between your creases,
how it sings its song in silence as it releases.
Think of your love, Calista.
Think of your love and take it, Calista.
Take it and keep it for you own, dearest Calista.
Listen to how she sings, Calista!
He
NagatoYuuki NagatoYuuki
0
0
Literature
v.IV Upon a Bed of Lavender and Roses
Tears melted her a garden,
upon her sheets of lavender and roses, this sister sleeps,
for far away shores inked in dark,
this child lay still in silver light.
So frail between her ivory bloom, this child lay still,
her bust, unformed, adorned in white,
her petals, unfallen, unstained by black,
her body, unbroken, untouched by sin.
As so in sleep she dreams the dream of dreams,
so young she sleeps upon the shore,
in life her heart given true to He,
whom’s love she swore, so blind, abhor.
But dearest Calista, don’t you hear them?
This child had heard her demons’ song.
Your lust had caged her,
her existence thin.
In time you would end her,
for she dreamed the dream of dreams.
As so in sleep, her tears would melt into blood.
upon her sheets of lavender and roses, this sister sleeps,
for far away shores inked in dark,
this child lay still in silver light.
So frail between her ivory bloom, this child lay still,
her bust, unformed, adorned in white,
her petals, unfallen, unstained by black,
her body, unbroken, untouched by sin.
As so in sleep she dreams the dream of dreams,
so young she sleeps upon the shore,
in life her heart given true to He,
whom’s love she swore, so blind, abhor.
But dearest Calista, don’t you hear them?
This child had heard her demons’ song.
Your lust had caged her,
her existence thin.
In time you would end her,
for she dreamed the dream of dreams.
As so in sleep, her tears would melt into blood.
NagatoYuuki NagatoYuuki
0
0
Literature
v.III This Ink Dries Coarse
Dear Father I beg you reconsider.
The months grow old between us,
so much so I fear the seasons may wither into infirmity.
Dear Father you declaim of these dreams,
but I beg, what dreams are there to dream
as I lay awake each night, sleepless as the starry sky.
Oh Father you speak of these demons that plague me,
yet the only demon I conceive of is She,
and my actions, as stained as they may be through the lens of time,
remain lucid to me, in my mind.
Dear Father I beg of you take me from this place.
These wafer sheets offer meager respite from their insufferable cries.
And their eyes, dear Father, they stare upon me as if my form reflects their own.
These metallic winds churn evil within my bowels,
and these pills, dear Father, they sedate all but the pain they cause.
Do you not remember our love, dear Father?
How we sung beneath the moonlight?
How we danced between the raindrops?
Oh Father how brightly I shone for you then.
My hair silken in dye, my body radiant in song.
Whatever foll
The months grow old between us,
so much so I fear the seasons may wither into infirmity.
Dear Father you declaim of these dreams,
but I beg, what dreams are there to dream
as I lay awake each night, sleepless as the starry sky.
Oh Father you speak of these demons that plague me,
yet the only demon I conceive of is She,
and my actions, as stained as they may be through the lens of time,
remain lucid to me, in my mind.
Dear Father I beg of you take me from this place.
These wafer sheets offer meager respite from their insufferable cries.
And their eyes, dear Father, they stare upon me as if my form reflects their own.
These metallic winds churn evil within my bowels,
and these pills, dear Father, they sedate all but the pain they cause.
Do you not remember our love, dear Father?
How we sung beneath the moonlight?
How we danced between the raindrops?
Oh Father how brightly I shone for you then.
My hair silken in dye, my body radiant in song.
Whatever foll
NagatoYuuki NagatoYuuki
0
0
Literature
v.II How Tears Melt
Tears melt into oceans.
Across broken shores the siren lay,
wasted across lonely shingle,
ravaged by passing storms.
From under crying ripples her eyes reared:
White sands inked in black,
black skies bleached by white,
entropy muffled beneath crashing waves.
Freedom had caged her,
calm scrawled under her nails.
Silence had deafened her,
memories eroded across the shore.
Do you see?
No…
His voice reigned heavy upon her,
her corpse sank; drenched beneath him.
A voiceless breath,
bewitched in song.
A warmthless sun,
a spectre of change.
A fragment of cipher.
Dusk stained deep now,
between the folds of white.
Wounds bled thick now,
tricking down amid the creases.
She saw it now,
how all but herself drenched in his presence.
It mocked her.
The colourless wench sprawled across the bay,
whose shadow bleached still amongst the waters.
His reason advanced upon her,
his words washing over her,
her tears crumbling beneath him,
her climate subsiding onto him.
This much was beyond her.
Fight
Across broken shores the siren lay,
wasted across lonely shingle,
ravaged by passing storms.
From under crying ripples her eyes reared:
White sands inked in black,
black skies bleached by white,
entropy muffled beneath crashing waves.
Freedom had caged her,
calm scrawled under her nails.
Silence had deafened her,
memories eroded across the shore.
Do you see?
No…
His voice reigned heavy upon her,
her corpse sank; drenched beneath him.
A voiceless breath,
bewitched in song.
A warmthless sun,
a spectre of change.
A fragment of cipher.
Dusk stained deep now,
between the folds of white.
Wounds bled thick now,
tricking down amid the creases.
She saw it now,
how all but herself drenched in his presence.
It mocked her.
The colourless wench sprawled across the bay,
whose shadow bleached still amongst the waters.
His reason advanced upon her,
his words washing over her,
her tears crumbling beneath him,
her climate subsiding onto him.
This much was beyond her.
Fight
NagatoYuuki NagatoYuuki
0
0
Literature
v.I My Dearest Calista
Dearest Calista,
you are nowhere.
Sleeping to the sound of trickling waters,
waking as your fluids drain between cragged tiles,
watching as they dribble from your rotten carcass,
weeping as they drain into your rifted flesh.
Dearest Calista,
listen closely to your cries.
You do not plead for help.
You do not scream in pain.
You do not shout in rage.
No.
Not even your song can be heard from beneath your crumbling cage.
Dearest Calista,
how your mind screams.
Beneath your ragged corpse your colours drain.
Echoes crash against your ridged seams.
Biles mingle inside your rotten passages;
dye seeping out your stoned retinas.
My Dearest Calista,
do you hear these echoes?
Panic burns,
lights shifter between your consciousness.
Fear spurs,
sounds that creep beneath your vessels.
In suffocation,
your fluids boil.
With exhalation,
the walls engulf you.
In stagnation,
your song proceeds you.
In ulceration,
melancholy defines you.
My Dearest Calista.
you are nowhere.
Sleeping to the sound of trickling waters,
waking as your fluids drain between cragged tiles,
watching as they dribble from your rotten carcass,
weeping as they drain into your rifted flesh.
Dearest Calista,
listen closely to your cries.
You do not plead for help.
You do not scream in pain.
You do not shout in rage.
No.
Not even your song can be heard from beneath your crumbling cage.
Dearest Calista,
how your mind screams.
Beneath your ragged corpse your colours drain.
Echoes crash against your ridged seams.
Biles mingle inside your rotten passages;
dye seeping out your stoned retinas.
My Dearest Calista,
do you hear these echoes?
Panic burns,
lights shifter between your consciousness.
Fear spurs,
sounds that creep beneath your vessels.
In suffocation,
your fluids boil.
With exhalation,
the walls engulf you.
In stagnation,
your song proceeds you.
In ulceration,
melancholy defines you.
My Dearest Calista.
NagatoYuuki NagatoYuuki
1
0
Literature
Archaic
You…
Don’t remember how you got here.
When you got here.
Your skin is pricked by the frost of dawn as your eyes look out through the sun-burst canopy of rosen sakura.
You don’t remember how you got here, and you’re not afraid.
Should you not be afraid?
You hear echoes of raindrops fall in your past yet no understanding of why.
The echoes fade into harmony; vibrations through the wind.
You hear ocean waves crashing through the song.
What music is this?
You find control of yourself and take a step forward; your feet wet in the carpet of ancient dew that imbues your roots.
You take another step…
And another…
The wind whispers to you.
Don’t you remember this place?
The canopy opens itself to you.
A shrine sits; parallel to the shore line.
It’s small, and lonely; yet content.
A place where waves wash the old moss hair.
She sits at the shrine; looking out toward the sun i, thought.
Perhaps she is the reason?
Her hair as archaic as the rising
Don’t remember how you got here.
When you got here.
Your skin is pricked by the frost of dawn as your eyes look out through the sun-burst canopy of rosen sakura.
You don’t remember how you got here, and you’re not afraid.
Should you not be afraid?
You hear echoes of raindrops fall in your past yet no understanding of why.
The echoes fade into harmony; vibrations through the wind.
You hear ocean waves crashing through the song.
What music is this?
You find control of yourself and take a step forward; your feet wet in the carpet of ancient dew that imbues your roots.
You take another step…
And another…
The wind whispers to you.
Don’t you remember this place?
The canopy opens itself to you.
A shrine sits; parallel to the shore line.
It’s small, and lonely; yet content.
A place where waves wash the old moss hair.
She sits at the shrine; looking out toward the sun i, thought.
Perhaps she is the reason?
Her hair as archaic as the rising
NagatoYuuki NagatoYuuki
0
0
:origin()/pre00/7d3a/th/pre/i/2012/117/0/d/vast_cobalt_by_nagatoyuuki-d4xql3k.jpg)
Vast Cobalt
NagatoYuuki
4
1
:origin()/pre00/6bdf/th/pre/f/2012/102/7/9/inspiration_mood_board_by_nagatoyuuki-d4vzaxp.jpg)
Inspiration Mood board
NagatoYuuki
2
5
:origin()/pre00/a9ae/th/pre/i/2012/102/8/f/hdr_test_3_by_nagatoyuuki-d4vwsjf.jpg)
HDR Test 3
NagatoYuuki
2
0
:origin()/pre00/96ab/th/pre/i/2012/102/8/e/hdr_test_2_by_nagatoyuuki-d4vwshq.jpg)
HDR Test 2
NagatoYuuki
9
7
:origin()/pre00/f0bd/th/pre/i/2012/102/5/6/hdr_test_1_by_nagatoyuuki-d4vwsc7.jpg)
HDR Test 1
NagatoYuuki
4
1
Literature
To Encounter a Student of Enatia
Random Scene Description:
A small hill top surrounded by a light flurry or trees; petals of rose, yellow and azure flustering under the shade of freshly grown canopies. In the distance lies the ocean, the waves audibly, crashing lightly against the rocks of the coastline, a few miles of flat countryside separating the mound and the elegant spire that seemed abstract in it's structure; so tall that it towered over the entire scenery, as if it was watching it. Keeping guard. The top half of the tower was separated with a transient crystal of cyan energies, linking the top floors of the tower through levitation, resonating a cold, artificial refraction through the strong, chromatic sunlight that attacked it from both sky and sea.
---
The atmosphere shook silent as her stare grew heavy in the ethereal energies that now infested her body like wild fire.
The dirt path startled through the air as she skidded her feet across the ground into a more braced stance. The mercenaries watc
A small hill top surrounded by a light flurry or trees; petals of rose, yellow and azure flustering under the shade of freshly grown canopies. In the distance lies the ocean, the waves audibly, crashing lightly against the rocks of the coastline, a few miles of flat countryside separating the mound and the elegant spire that seemed abstract in it's structure; so tall that it towered over the entire scenery, as if it was watching it. Keeping guard. The top half of the tower was separated with a transient crystal of cyan energies, linking the top floors of the tower through levitation, resonating a cold, artificial refraction through the strong, chromatic sunlight that attacked it from both sky and sea.
---
The atmosphere shook silent as her stare grew heavy in the ethereal energies that now infested her body like wild fire.
The dirt path startled through the air as she skidded her feet across the ground into a more braced stance. The mercenaries watc
NagatoYuuki NagatoYuuki
0
0
:origin()/pre00/a143/th/pre/i/2012/054/8/2/are_you_noiseproof__by_nagatoyuuki-d4qpgrj.jpg)
are you noiseproof?
NagatoYuuki
2
0
:origin()/pre00/41d2/th/pre/i/2012/054/7/b/music_to_hear_by_nagatoyuuki-d4qpgma.jpg)
music to hear
NagatoYuuki
1
0
:origin()/pre00/0e63/th/pre/i/2012/054/d/3/listen_by_nagatoyuuki-d4qpghw.jpg)
LISTEN
NagatoYuuki
2
5
:origin()/pre00/479f/th/pre/i/2012/054/e/7/will_you_un__plug__by_nagatoyuuki-d4qpgd7.jpg)
Will you un//plug?
NagatoYuuki
1
0
Activity
So I feel that I should speak some words now that I have finished writing this small story concerning dear Calista.
The name to me not a days ago as I voyaged across the spine of wales toward my parent's new permanent home in Conwy, near abouts Llandudno, at the northern coast of wales.
It came to me as simply as that. A name. A figment untouched by the grubby little paws of the material. What followed was a harsh but nostalgic wave of inspiration caused by the re-discovery of sorts of potentially my two most favoured of musical narrative works: Electrocutica's REVERSUS, a tragic and melancholic tale of a spirit lost beneath the waves of reality, and his other well known work: DYE Syntheses -extended-, an equally broken and melancholic orchestration of the difficult concept of identity and understanding one's self in a world so disjointed in its influence and intentions.
And so between the haunting soprano of REVERSUS and the chaotic narrative of DYE came about this rather macabre-esque series of poems that I felt often rather uncomfortable but mindfully driven to express.
I just happened to have chosen this time of festive delight to find within myself to complete what I most pridefully declaim as my most complete and perhaps most ravishing work of narrative to this day.
Which isn't saying much I guess...
A friend of mine asked me how I found the drive to write this story that I had conceived so soon, and I found that my drive to write this story was a drive to learn more about these obscure figments that came to me.
And so I found that the inspiration to write came about by my desire to learn more about these characters, that then inspired me to write more.
It wasnt until the third verse that I even knew what story possible existed, but in a shift of perspective I had realized that the story was obvious, and thus from there on I knew what it was that I had to write.
So yea, that's all I have to say really.
I hope that anyone reading this had/has a great Christmas solstice thing.
The name to me not a days ago as I voyaged across the spine of wales toward my parent's new permanent home in Conwy, near abouts Llandudno, at the northern coast of wales.
It came to me as simply as that. A name. A figment untouched by the grubby little paws of the material. What followed was a harsh but nostalgic wave of inspiration caused by the re-discovery of sorts of potentially my two most favoured of musical narrative works: Electrocutica's REVERSUS, a tragic and melancholic tale of a spirit lost beneath the waves of reality, and his other well known work: DYE Syntheses -extended-, an equally broken and melancholic orchestration of the difficult concept of identity and understanding one's self in a world so disjointed in its influence and intentions.
And so between the haunting soprano of REVERSUS and the chaotic narrative of DYE came about this rather macabre-esque series of poems that I felt often rather uncomfortable but mindfully driven to express.
I just happened to have chosen this time of festive delight to find within myself to complete what I most pridefully declaim as my most complete and perhaps most ravishing work of narrative to this day.
Which isn't saying much I guess...
A friend of mine asked me how I found the drive to write this story that I had conceived so soon, and I found that my drive to write this story was a drive to learn more about these obscure figments that came to me.
And so I found that the inspiration to write came about by my desire to learn more about these characters, that then inspired me to write more.
It wasnt until the third verse that I even knew what story possible existed, but in a shift of perspective I had realized that the story was obvious, and thus from there on I knew what it was that I had to write.
So yea, that's all I have to say really.
I hope that anyone reading this had/has a great Christmas solstice thing.
- Listening to: Deadmau5 while (1
- Eating: Twiglets
- Drinking: Rose Tea
deviantID
NagatoYuuki
Michael Fisher
Artist | Student | Literature
Artist | Student | Literature
United Kingdom
|
My name is Michael, though I prefer to be named Yuuki for some reason. I'm nothing much when it comes to art, but do often have urges to write random stuff that may or may not be credible. |
We're so happy you decided to hop on board! We'll be doing weekly prompts (which are recommended you participate in but they aren't required) and some contests here pretty soon. Don't be afraid to contribute your work, to the right folder of course. We hope you enjoy your stay, and if you have any questions don't hesitate to either note me or the other adminAmphetamineDreams, Dreamer9431,That1PersonYouForgot, or Sharkitty.
Happy writing!
You know it's true.