TheMaidenInBlack's avatar
wants your souls.
614 Watchers126.6K Page Views342 Deviations

Winter

W

Winter

I remember winter in the old stove we huddled at, an audience of shivering limbs within cold walls. There was a desperation to this closeness that love could never inspire. It glowed within us, a common flame we dared not feed, and through the night we curled in embers and burned ourselves to sleep. I could almost remember summer’s cotton arms, the playfulness of ocean waves in August. Those dreams wished to drown us beneath memories and wishes, but in the moment before we awoke, as the tide cried for me to stay, I always always swam to shore. Every morning, I breathed snow-capped mountains in the air. They were nothing more th

Ripley's Escape

Brother

B

Brother

There's a method to missing you, a step-by-step process on tying the knots of distance. And I follow the instructions, twist and tighten until blistered and bent. Sometimes, I can feel their pull as I stretch; it speaks of your growing up, brother, of the new things you get excited about and the new people you tell that to. And over time these knots will dry, fossilizing into shape; until we wake one day calloused, weathered and estranged.

Contracts

C

Contracts

"Will trade flowers for water" - we strike a summer deal, renewable each spring.

Alfred aus dem Schwarzwald

A Drop Of Your Blood, Please

A

A Drop Of Your Blood, Please

It's been a year since they found their "humanity", and I made a small fortune off of it. "I barely escaped it myself. The curtain must have malfunctioned, or I'd have been cut in half." I press a button, refill his glass; a few weeks ago, a robot would have done that. "I have no trouble believing that. How many are we talking about?" It seems incredible now, but we loved robots. In a technologically-advanced society, where method and practicality were everything, the idea behind them embodied the essence of the future man. Maybe we underestimated how much they actuallty were like men, though... "Hey, get it together. How. Many." I ask aga

The Celery Murder

T

The Celery Murder

A delicious smell hit them as they walked in, making them exchange a look that said "Someone might have died, but god I'm hungry". In the kitchen, a big saucepan boiled happily over the stove. Clink, clink, clink - its lid went, until Mrs. Potts moved it a little. She was a lovely old lady, the kind that brought her neighbours baked goodies, went to church regularly and made amazing dinners for her husband. Yet somehow, the dead body on the sofa with a knife through it disagreed. He was gripping something in his hand, hunched forward in a final bow. "I'm so sorry, officers. I just couldn't take it anymore!" Hoyt looked at Mrs. Potts in di

The kitchen trials

T

The kitchen trials

Cooking keeps us from breaking, a routine recorded and repeated to make it memory. Soft chatting, a cascade of flour and words; strawberry softens and fills up the cracks, and the mix actually turns out well. I love the crumbly texture of baked memories: a soft crunch will tear them, and sugarcoat the senses. They all unknowingly eat our secrets, and compliment us too.

Four-Letter Poems, take two

F

Four-Letter Poems, take two

We sought a permanent recombination, a final overwriting of the double helix that defined me, but I wasn't enough of a geneticist (nor of a writer) for the art of four-letter poems. So we hacked to pieces my nucleotide bonds, we attached and removed strings of memories from my life's album as if undecided on what to wear - but, my love, we never had any sense of beauty.   My chromosomes, carved as a testament to all of our surgery sessions, became a festival of restriction enzymes' reactions, of when we tore my consciousness' nucleobases away from their seats to fit the new occupants of my old self. And I see you now, my love,

Memories Journal Skin

See all

Winter

W

Winter

I remember winter in the old stove we huddled at, an audience of shivering limbs within cold walls. There was a desperation to this closeness that love could never inspire. It glowed within us, a common flame we dared not feed, and through the night we curled in embers and burned ourselves to sleep. I could almost remember summer’s cotton arms, the playfulness of ocean waves in August. Those dreams wished to drown us beneath memories and wishes, but in the moment before we awoke, as the tide cried for me to stay, I always always swam to shore. Every morning, I breathed snow-capped mountains in the air. They were nothing more th

Ripley's Escape

Brother

B

Brother

There's a method to missing you, a step-by-step process on tying the knots of distance. And I follow the instructions, twist and tighten until blistered and bent. Sometimes, I can feel their pull as I stretch; it speaks of your growing up, brother, of the new things you get excited about and the new people you tell that to. And over time these knots will dry, fossilizing into shape; until we wake one day calloused, weathered and estranged.

Contracts

C

Contracts

"Will trade flowers for water" - we strike a summer deal, renewable each spring.

Alfred aus dem Schwarzwald

A Drop Of Your Blood, Please

A

A Drop Of Your Blood, Please

It's been a year since they found their "humanity", and I made a small fortune off of it. "I barely escaped it myself. The curtain must have malfunctioned, or I'd have been cut in half." I press a button, refill his glass; a few weeks ago, a robot would have done that. "I have no trouble believing that. How many are we talking about?" It seems incredible now, but we loved robots. In a technologically-advanced society, where method and practicality were everything, the idea behind them embodied the essence of the future man. Maybe we underestimated how much they actuallty were like men, though... "Hey, get it together. How. Many." I ask aga

The Celery Murder

T

The Celery Murder

A delicious smell hit them as they walked in, making them exchange a look that said "Someone might have died, but god I'm hungry". In the kitchen, a big saucepan boiled happily over the stove. Clink, clink, clink - its lid went, until Mrs. Potts moved it a little. She was a lovely old lady, the kind that brought her neighbours baked goodies, went to church regularly and made amazing dinners for her husband. Yet somehow, the dead body on the sofa with a knife through it disagreed. He was gripping something in his hand, hunched forward in a final bow. "I'm so sorry, officers. I just couldn't take it anymore!" Hoyt looked at Mrs. Potts in di

The kitchen trials

T

The kitchen trials

Cooking keeps us from breaking, a routine recorded and repeated to make it memory. Soft chatting, a cascade of flour and words; strawberry softens and fills up the cracks, and the mix actually turns out well. I love the crumbly texture of baked memories: a soft crunch will tear them, and sugarcoat the senses. They all unknowingly eat our secrets, and compliment us too.

Four-Letter Poems, take two

F

Four-Letter Poems, take two

We sought a permanent recombination, a final overwriting of the double helix that defined me, but I wasn't enough of a geneticist (nor of a writer) for the art of four-letter poems. So we hacked to pieces my nucleotide bonds, we attached and removed strings of memories from my life's album as if undecided on what to wear - but, my love, we never had any sense of beauty.   My chromosomes, carved as a testament to all of our surgery sessions, became a festival of restriction enzymes' reactions, of when we tore my consciousness' nucleobases away from their seats to fit the new occupants of my old self. And I see you now, my love,

Memories Journal Skin

liii.

l

liii.

while i sit in my crumpled shirt, naked legs and bleached underwear i ponder about silence and solitude along with the brotherhood they share        they were the flat lines in heart monitors,        the shooting stars that happen behind your back        the budding flowers and sleeping children                the world that happens while you sleep                                and like the ticking of the clock                                they bear a loneliness                                that was either too loud or unnoticed

The Season Censors

T

The Season Censors

We don't have winter anymore. It was banned.     Human rights activists said it discriminated against the poor and homeless, who couldn't buy warm clothing. Environmentalists said that it was a dastardly attempt by the weather to deny the reality of global warming.  Manufacturers of flip-flops and bikinis complained that it was bad for business. Obviously such a depraved season could not be allowed to exist in a progressive country like ours.  You can see the proof of our forward-thinking attitude everywhere you go.  Look out the window of a rattletrap old bus (new vehicles are illegal; they were wasteful, and caused feelings of resentment

he

h

he

i wish i could tell you that every poem is about you, that every kiss drawn in adjectives is being sent your way, that the mysterious He who dances in every verse walks with your gait talks with your Jersey accent and i wish that you knew that your face, your smile, your name hides behind every metaphor, that every simile is like the first time we looked at each other is like the first time we spoke to each other is like the first touch, the first kiss and i wish i could read these words to you i wish that my stomach would stop churning long enough for me to feel safe opening my mouth i wish the fear would flee from every goosebum

Fool in the Rain

F

Fool in the Rain

I heard that summer was just around the open bend, cusped by the sparkling tears of spring. But, her hand, it had no ring, so she gave way in a rush. I guess that winter crushed the weedy, spurious hope we were on the brink, but spring’s gonna come around here again. I heard that summer came around rainless I saw that autumn stole away the trust. You know that winter always leaves her sting. Ever freezing, whirring, blurring, slurring, but spring’s gonna come around here again.

on mo(u)rnings

o

on mo(u)rnings

some days the church bells are like wailing saxophones, and then again, never the happy kind. it’s only monday morning and already someone is in need of flowers. or, miracles. say god took the week off yet the prayers keep pouring in like open wounds. what a cruel joke, that this ground refuses to grow no matter how many bodies we give to hold between its teeth; say we are all killing ourselves, some of us are just much better at it be baton or bullet or building but nothing after. maybe this was the miracle all along, this disappearing act. then again, maybe just the brass afterwards. and then again, never the happy kind. some

this Daisy is a Wolf in disguise

t

this Daisy is a Wolf in disguise

when I asked why wolves howl they told me Daisy, can you not hear it? can you not hear the moon howling first? "you are strong, but you could be stronger" is the mantra they burden me, a seven year old, with. kite strings embellished with blood keep me dependent they ask - "what is one more betrayal? one more death?" it is nothing when I am fourteen and twice as dead as the women next to me. but I am not dead. not yet, because they wrench back God's hand from my body. at twenty-one my waves spill into the bloodied ocean and I can finally hear the moon's howl.

Unclear

U

Unclear

The picture is framed in lakeside mists, We're swathed in blankets And chuckling about how We look like Scottish immigrants, And groaning and grinning, Because we aren't morning people. The sun creeps over a sapphire hill And lights the water on fire We sit and sigh Our bare feet tucked up On the cold wooden pier, And I fit exactly beneath your arm. The scene is utterly clear Shining like the morning; I look up into your face, But I don't know what I expected Because that part Is not so clear.

Message Undeliverable

M

Message Undeliverable

I am the goddess of the Sticky Note. I long thrived on all of the words humanity would generously pour into me. I feasted on their cursive, their block letters, their chicken scratch. Penmanship came in many flavors – each one a fresh treat, each one an act of devotion. Each message as unique as the human hand that scrawled it in their haste. People never seemed to feel that they had enough time. But I had all of time to enjoy their scribblings. Messages to themselves. Messages to each other. Messages meant for the void. So many fleeting moments I enjoyed along with my loyal followers – soaking in their ink and their graphite a
  • Sep 25
  • Deviant for 11 years
Badges
Fancy Llama: Llamas are awesome! (1626)Fancy Llama: Llamas are awesome! (1626)
birthdAy '09: Enjoys birthday shenanigans
Paranoid: Wears a tinfoil hat
birthdAy '10: decade of deviousness
Half-Moon Cake: Half-Werewolves love it (3)Half-Moon Cake: Half-Werewolves love it (3)Half-Moon Cake: Half-Werewolves love it (3)Half-Moon Cake: Half-Werewolves love it (3)Half-Moon Cake: Half-Werewolves love it (3)Half-Moon Cake: Half-Werewolves love it (3)Half-Moon Cake: Half-Werewolves love it (3)
My Bio
Your friendly - but a bit of a troll, admittedly - next-door neighbour. I love cookies, gaming, Magic:the Gathering and anime; I love silence, music and nature; I love long walks, being lazy, I love silly things like earrings, jeans and nail polish (and I have tons of them all, beware). I love experimenting with my hair because let's admit it, it always grows back eventually.
I love smiles, cold weather, and I love when my toes are warm next to the fire. I love reading, writing, and improving my English thanks to both of those; I love #thewrittenrevolution and all that it lets me to for the community, I love the happiness it gives me.
I love the friends I have made, and those that I will make tomorrow. I love you.

Favourite Visual Artist
I think hellobaby. If I were to get another tattoo done, I would ask her to draw it.
Favourite Movies
When I have to think of these things nothing ever comes to mind. Currently "The Shawshank Redemption".
Favourite TV Shows
"The Newsroom", "Fringe", "Camera Café", various anime series.
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Jesus, so many I can't even start listing. Get ready with pen and paper, and come ask.
Favourite Books
"His Dark Materials" by Philip Pullman, the Harry Potter series, the LotR series (The Hobbit included), "The Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruis Zafon, "The Count of Montecristo", anything Agatha Christie and Stephen King, Sherlock Holmes' stories too.
Favourite Writers
I'm only going to list my deviantART ones. iamadem and jade-pandora.
Favourite Games
Hahaha. That's such a stupid question I don't even. The Final Fantasy series, the Tomb Raider one, the GTA one, but also things like Tekken or Dead or Alive always entertain me. Metal Gear, too and Monster Hunter.
Favourite Gaming Platform
Sorry, console for me. Any playstation-related thing.
Tools of the Trade
A computer, mostly, but sometimes a notesbook and a Ravenclaw pen.
Other Interests
Him, my family, my friends, all things chemistry.

Comments 2.9K

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YouInventedMeHobbyist Writer
Happy Birthday! :cake:
RaisedFistsHobbyist Photographer
Cake FOR Bday by KmyGraphic   Cheering Clapping by hano22  Blower fella (Party) 
RTNightmareHobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday!
JAOG-0001Hobbyist General Artist
FUCKED UP by GOD
JAOG-0001Hobbyist General Artist
GOD of LiFE Bitch because ALL your LiFE are ALL mine you just BORROWED it
SequenceNemesisHobbyist Writer
I browsed through your gallery and I found so many interesting poems! I liked all those I read. I'm definitely going to read more of your poems in the future.