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About Deviant Artist Sean D.Male/United States Group :iconpunahouschool: PunahouSchool
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Housemates - Chapter Two Part Two
After running through what was quite literally a quarter-mile of shelves, they entered another room. It was identical to the front room aside from one thing. In the space where the exit had been, another bookshelf stood. It was much smaller, with room for only two rows of books rather than twenty. Only one book sat on its shelves.
'You see this book?' Again, the words simply floated into their heads. They didn't understand who or what said them.
"Yeah!" Gregory said as he stepped forwards to grab it. He picked it up carefully. It was self-bound. It had a simple tree-bark cover and simple pages inside. It had been tied together with strands of leather. Gregory walked back to the group. "What is it?"
'I wrote it,' the same voice said. 'Sing it please!'
"What, like a musical?" Ethan asked. "I can't really-" Keith elbowed his side, and he stopped, trying not to intimidate whatever it was they were singing for. "How do we know the notes?" There was no response.
The lights dimmed.
Gregory tu
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Housemates - Chapter Two Part One
Holding the lamp up, Greg was able to observe the room around him. It was empty except for the now bare table, and a small door behind it. Greg rounded the small structure and reached for the doorknob, stopping for a moment to listen for the presence of anything behind the splintered wood. Greg turned the knob and pushed slightly. Its old frame had warped, however, and it took his entire weight to open the painted exit.
The hallway he entered was foreign, but there were familiar touches along the walls. Greg took a step into the dark hallway, closing the door behind him. He tested the wood beneath his feet, feeling it squeak slightly. He turned his darkened and focused eyes to the walls. They were lined with the very paintings he had so recently encountered. He reached out to touch one… the very painting that he had just been inside. Greg's hand faltered slightly, worrying that he might be sucked in again. He heard another doorknob turn, and heard the knock of somebody else frustr
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The Day We Close Our Eyes
The Day We Close Our Eyes
What if for one day
everybody closed their eyes.
Nothing observed or decided by us.
Nobody would know
if the sky were still blue,
or if the trees turned a fiery red.
Nature could gladly play its tricks
though sadly with none to watch.
We would be so confused, lost,
crashing our cars and our planes,
unaware of the buildings in front of us.
The butterflies would laugh, and
we would be free to mistake
their voices for those of our aunts long gone.
When our eyes opened again,
nature would be found back in place.
Skies of the same blue that all of us recognize,
trees in full blossom above our heads.
The butterflies, however, are always rule-breakers.
When your head turns,
you just might mistake their wing's beats
for voices.
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Housemates - Chapter One Part Two
When he opened his eyes, Gregory saw an acrylic world around him. The colors were all distorted, mixed, and beautiful. Just as he landed, what happened first was no surprise. He heard a scream. Turning around, he saw a couple behind him, their faces distorted in the brush strokes. Gregory ignored them, however, as he knew something Greg really didn't: he would be in a lot of trouble if he didn't win.
Gregory walked quickly along the path, checking the sides of all the trees along the seemingly endless walkway. The further he traveled, the deeper red the trees to his left became. Gregory paused, looking into the glare of the streetlight. It seemed fake, also plainly acrylic and not menacing at all.
Gregory's pace quickened, and his breaths began to come faster. Each foot fell one over another, the light sound of water splashing underneath him. Gregory continued, though, sprinting into the darkness. The river beside him sat still as ever, only making the occasional ripple as a few lone d
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Housemates - Chapter One Part One
It became inescapably dark in the main room once the spotlight shut off. Darkness found its way around Greg, a very familiar feeling. With the blinding light that once shone in front of him gone, he thought he'd need to pull out his newly acquired flashlight to make anything at all visible. In the corner of his eye, however, he saw warmth and light underneath a door, or at least what he thought was a door.
Greg approached slowly, taking care to place each foot. He almost tripped on the edge of the ornate maroon rug that covered the floor. (His eyes began to adjust to the almost-darkness as he approached). He still, however, felt vulnerable in his current form, which was perhaps why he was so drawn to the light. Light… it was something that, until entering this fearful mansion full of darkness and death, he would never approached with the same hopefulness.
His hand reached out, fingers fishing for a doorknob of sorts. Greg's finger barely tapped it, and in his surprise, he jumped b
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This is the New
Please excuse us for the errors we are about to make,
Our legs are weak and unused.
We do nothing but test the ground beneath us.
Patience and practice produce progress.
Let our first steps be without complaint.
Please try to forget all the stories; they're old.
Often abused, and often miss-told.
We aren't responsible for our younger selves,
What we didn't know, what we didn't tell.
Nothing can grow without some sort of care.
What've we been working to learn just to forget?
What've we been trying to fight just to accept?
What are the things that we've all been taught?
Of course we do not remember.
The memories of old are not the ones we wished we had,
The friends, the things learned, they fade in and out,
Never sure what's real.
The memories of old are those of the failures,
The embarrassing days where you said something rude,
Tripped by your crush,
Or did something else a bit trivial.
The things you wish were more poorly recalled.
But what of the memories and our younger selves?
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The Daydream of January
The Daydream of January
Where you can open the garage at just past 2 PM,
Roll a simple, used white bike onto the street.
Your jacket and jeans pressing tight against you,
Keeping you warm despite fresh, but dirty snow.
Where ten and a half blocks is no distance
To travel when friends lay just beyond the next hill.
Where in just a few moments he tags along, too.
The old park you remembered because you never once left town,
The swings are the same as when you were a child.
Where you sit down beneath rusty swing-chains,
The most memorable spot that you'll ever know.
Sitting on the left of three swings, you've told your life story,
You've had your first kiss with that girl you barely remember.
The best were the nights you spent there,
Where you pitched up two tents in the overgrown fields,
They blocked the playground from view. It made it yours.
You'd turn on a lantern (fires were too dangerous in that field),
And there was nothing that sounded too stupid, too young.
Where everything's rem
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Formatting by SHWN808 Formatting :iconshwn808:SHWN808 0 0
Name Poem
There is the day
There is the night
He came as a traveler
Fragments of stars and the sun in the sky,
Not quite together, not yet apart
Always is seen by piles of the broken
The glass and the clutter,
It never cuts his fingers.
He somehow belongs,
And people who are broken, with fragments astray
Send him your broken,
Send him your tears,
To piece together your fragments,
But never his own.
He slips in too-nicely
Though not fitting at all,
Too afraid of breaking – Too afraid to stand tall.
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Mixed Emotion
He felt nothing as the world washed over him. The emptiness of being the only man who knew himself. There wasn't a time or place where he had before known this.
Though the above isn't entirely true.
He felt calmness as the rain poured down around him. It cleansed him. His even thoughts were gone, and his deep breaths brought sureness and stability into his mind, and into his life.
Though the above isn't entirely true.
He felt irritated as his large clothing stuck to his body as the heavens opened up. The people who passed him by had no meaning, neither did he. Their mindless ambitions made him grit his teeth.
Though the above isn't entirely true.
He felt elation, as he knew where he was headed. For the first time he steered his own life, beginning a path that would lead to redemption. From his parents, his peers, and himself.
Though the above isn't entirely true.
He felt insane for having to go through this. He was the only one his age going through this counseling. While being told it
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Housemates - A Prelude
Just a night like any other. That's what Greg told himself as he edged closer and closer to the pills. The knife was already tight in his other hand. He'd done it many times before, but still felt the perspiration loosen his grip… His eyelids drooped, and his consciousness began to flicker. He felt his fingers brush the bottle, knocking it over and spilling the pills across the ground.
Greg's body sat heavily upon the bloodstained sheets. He barely found the strength left to reach to the ground and gather a handful of the small blue capsules. He brought his hand to his mouth, and dropped them in. He swallowed, swiftly slitting the veins in the wrist of the same hand. He barely had time to bid farewell to the world before he lost consciousness.
The room stayed silent for just a few moments. His body began to twitch back to life again, sitting upright quickly. Gregory sighed deeply, looking down at the knife wound in his wrist, which had already begun scabbing up. He opened the draw
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Greg the Zombie by SHWN808 Greg the Zombie :iconshwn808:SHWN808 0 0
Greg the Zombie
Greg, a 16-year-old 'Hapa' male (it means he's half Asian, half white), approximately 5'11" and 150 lbs, is highly suicidal. His wrists are scarred deeply, as is most of his body. He enjoys long, dark novels, silent walks, and finding new ways to kill himself. He dislikes sleepless nights, which are plenty in number.
He is the son of a prostitute, whose husband abandoned her the day she learned she was pregnant. She raised Greg alone, who was constantly oppressed against as a child. He will have spent the majority of his life fearful of anything that would hurt him: people, knives… anything. He could never avoid the people. Public school drove him insane, and he was constantly admitted to the counselors.
The other source of pain was introduced later in his life… Rather often, he found himself pushed to the edge. The taunting, the teasing, the not fitting in… it became too much. When his razor blade failed to comfort him, one day he turned his thoughts to suicide. He stab
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Time and the wounds it doesn't heal
Time, and the wounds it doesn't heal
So late at night, the hospital seemed lifeless. Each night, the harsh fluorescence of the hallway slowly subsided. The nurses would make their final rounds, closing drapes and dimming lights before returning home. One of the younger nurses, a curious girl, always wondered about the dreams of Mr. Simnis, a man she had never once talked to, yet saw every night.
Eight years prior, long before she came to work at the hospital, the same Mr. Simnis found himself lost and misguided. The day of his accident, his wife had been pronounced sterile… his dreams of becoming a father ended abruptly. Eyes clouded with tears, he got in his car, trying to drive away his thoughts. The distraction proved near fatal, as just minutes later, Mr. Simnis accidentally ran a red and was smashed by an 18-wheeler.
His surgery took 6 hours, his wife crying in the waiting room the entire time. The whole time, his condition continued to change, more unstable than most. Prior
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Yellow Balloons
Yellow Balloons
Looking around from his low position on the bench, one young boy saw the park before him much differently from his mother, sitting beside him. He clutched her hand tightly, feet swinging back and forth just barely brushing the soft grass. He glanced upwards towards his mother. She was always so beautiful, with long blond hair and eyes just a little bit brighter than the sun. Not a strand of that hair was out of place: each strand carefully tucked behind her ears. Her eyes were turned down towards her book, which contained words much longer than the little boy knew. His eyes wandered elsewhere as she wiped away a tear.
All around the park, he saw the little men that held him down to earth. Standing around each and every person were hundreds of invisible little men with strings, holding all of us down to the planet. They moved quickly, keeping pace with the biker, ensuring he didn't float away. The boy looked at his own little men, keeping him on the park bench. His mo
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Getsuga... by SHWN808 Getsuga... :iconshwn808:SHWN808 2 9

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Sean D.
United States
Hey guys, I've been pretty inconstant about being online, and it's kind of disappointing to me. I promise I'll get back once I find motivation again! For now, consider this page sorta kinda dead... encouragement always helps~ :D

Current Residence: Honolulu
Favourite genre of music: Rock
MP3 player of choice: iPod Touch
Personal Quote: When life gives you lemons, make grape juice and let life figure out how you did it
I don't think you know how disappointed I am with myself for this, but.
Follow ;_;
  • Listening to: Blinded in Fire - The Blaqk Year



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tanteiran Featured By Owner Aug 9, 2012
Your e-mail doesn't work, dude... I was going to send you quality writing.
omgninjaspazz Featured By Owner Aug 8, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Lol bro you don't even check this anymore but you're tagged D:< [link]
Whxyte Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Hullo, you've been tagged :D [link]
omgninjaspazz Featured By Owner May 15, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
You never, ever check this, but HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYYY :D Even though I've said it on like everything. I just like spamming c:
tanteiran Featured By Owner May 12, 2012
Happy Birthday for tomorrow!
tanteiran Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2012

I was stalking your page. Read your 'devious info'. Favourite artist: detective4869?!?!?!?

Extremely flattered.
SHWN808 Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2012
Of course ;) Hi there.
tanteiran Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2012
Hello, hello, dear sir. Long time no talk!
SHWN808 Featured By Owner Mar 26, 2012
Just recieved your letter. Havent read it yet though :c
(1 Reply)
tanteiran Featured By Owner Mar 23, 2012

'Tis detective4869's new account!
If you don't know about this go back to my old account and read my most recent journal entry, my dear SHWN808.
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