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If a lifetime,
Is but a moment
In eternity's passing,
A brief, few, fleeing seconds perhaps?
Then how long - or short
Are those hours that I miss you.
The measured span that we spend parted?
How tiny an expanse of that time?
It feels like forever.
Creativity pours...Creativity wells up and pours out,
Like spilled, bright crimson paint.
Ready to stain canvas or fingers
Poetry and literature dripping
With each and every heartbeat.
With sharp imaginations knife,
Like a well rehearsed surgeon,
I take up a brush, or inked quill,
Poise, to gather together thoughts
And start to cut in much deeper.
It has a pulse, a heartbeat of its own.
Always written in vibrant, bold reds
Of passion ,heated tempers, or pain.
Ruddy dyes splashed out wantonly
In a fevered and wild intensity.
Thats what many marks really are,
Designed to show the artists sight,
An echo, of what is the real world.
Life scribed hard upon a blank page,
Unable to staunch the flowing emotions.
A message to tell, so very urgently.
With each and every pounding heartbeat,
Another idea, or thought to try and capture.
So I keep bleeding out my creativity.
Until Exsanguinated completely.
Analysis of a break...I was the last person to feel my heart break.
In addition, I cannot say it was a sudden cracking,
It began gradually as a slow, strange numbness,
That I observed inching slowly - creeping in.
I watched it - in the fashion of a third person,
With a methodical and near scientific analysis;
Mentally stepping away from the scenario
And becoming just a casual observer.
It was all okay as long as I could think
That it was not happening to me - not really.
A degree of disassociation to the entire matter,
As I finally understood how this all worked;
That I would never be as important in your life,
As I dared hope or think that I might be,
Or as important as you truly were to me in mine.
I was the last person to feel my heart break.
For the brief time we were allotted in unity
I can say a last and conclusive thank you
To end this failed experiment of you and I,
And then I can say goodbye.
unable to hold myself together
like sand washing away in the seawater.
pieces fold inwards and break,
origami crushed between your palms;
I can only watch behind miserable eyes.
and the tears start falling
faster and faster and faster
and I can't stop
even when I place
my cold hands to stop
the flow of hot tears
and, and, and, and--
will engulf me,
and eat away whatever's left
of this broken, downtrodden
these sleeping handsit seems the rain is falling, love. but to where? where...
do you hide your heart? these sleeping hands can't remember
how to find you, so draw them a map on the headboard where
i'll see it. sleep, slumber.
oh dear, i'm
down to your soul, but i've always known
ships with holes will sink.
i lie to ghosts.it's late.
i don't understand things after midnight
like why i wear purple nail polish
instead of the popular funeral black
or why i live in a house with crooked floors
and a rotting deck
i don't understand why i listen to music
that doesn't mean anything,
music i don't even like. but i do.
or why i like to pretend i have pretty words
when i don't. they're all uglyuglyugly.
ugly masked in floral metaphors.
i don't understand why i type in lowercase
and write in uppercase. always.
or why i need sleep
when dreams don't exist.
i don't understand why i'm terrified,
my skin peeling away from my bones
in a distressed urgency
or why that makes me shiver.
the only thing i understand
is the feeling of drowning with the lights off,
in a world of varying shades of gray
and i know,
that i am just static between four walls
that don't stand a chance against this hurricane.
what did you do with my heart?did you:
throw away my love letter
after reading it? rip it up?
light it on fire? even read
it at all? wear it to school?
wear it on someone elses
sleeve? my sleeve? study
my graphology? forget my
excuse my handwriting
for being overly poetic.
feel shocked? feel confused? feel upset?
indifferent? curious? sad, mad, bad, glad?
feel my heart breaking? feel my emotion?
feel my cathartic release? feel my courage
in confessing? feel the pain in each cliche?
feel vicarious sorrow? feel anything at all?
no, no, no. of course not. i wouldnt
expect that much attention from you.
care? think about me?
bother replying to me?
even consider im real?
laugh at how goddamn
pathetic i am? tell your
friends? let them laugh?
did you know i have feelings, too?
did you know who hurt them? no?
did you look in the mirror? no? oh.
going to answer my question
Remember MeRemember Me
For who I am
Not who I was
For the jokes I told
Not for the LIES I spoke
Bearing a smile
Not fallen into shadow
what have you done to meyou're ripping my eyes from my sockets, parading around town, sullen identities melting from your sodden fingers. you're a pro creation, destroying eternity, practicing masochistic fairy tales i've told centuries
from now, under willow trees you hung dead children from. caressing tombstone head boards, we're lying with the dirt and breathing with the worms. i've sunk so low, the sky isn't blue, the grass isn't green, we're
burrowed in under a hundred years of mary sues and gary stus, i'm a suspender wearing, heart wrenching, grave digging
i'm cringing behind closed doors, spreading coffins like god split the grand canyon, like humans split the ozone layer. i'm burying you behind the taj mahal, beside the nile river, under the eiffel tower. this isn't
the fucking garden of eden. and you are devouring all the fruit of sin that
16 03 10when it is four in the morning and you are climbing up bedsheet mountains, i hope that you will think of me, because i have tried
to leave some of myself in the plane of your quiet hands, your quiet hips.
i hope that your eyelids will not snap up but smooth away from your pupils like flowers
unfurling in stop-motion, i hope that you will remember the rectangle that my arms and
elbows floated around your waist.
and when it is seven thirty in the morning and you are finishing your third cup of coffee, i think you'll realise that you're doing better than i am, because all i can remember is
the way your veins pulsed above your skin, and it made me think that maybe your beautiful red blood loved me more than you did.
and the way you would keep talking late into the night until your voice lulled m
asteroid catacombsit's late at night
and i am saying incoherent things,
my brain has stopped speaking to my heart
and my heart has stopped speaking to my brain and they
are functioning in catacomb like structures of emotions not
quite ready to handle two people not quite ready to handle
feelings not quite able to handle themselves.
my love for you is as vast as the universe, convoluted
beautiful meteor showers are rimming the corners of your
tear ducts, i am catching the haze of the milky way in your
pupils, from your lips pour asteroids, shooting stars and
creations ready to burst my insides and split my spine.
i'm a boy so lost in everything that i am stuck at the dead end
of nothing, but without nothing there wouldn't be a
something or anyone or anything at all.
i'm lapping at the shore of your inclinations, swarming at
the sign of beauty and romance and romeo and juliet may
be famous but here we go, writing our own fucking play,
this isn't meant to end in death, death of the word love
perhaps, we ar
may.time has made you fall through the cracks.
looking back, you had a magical quality. your face seemed to shine a bit, your words seemed to flow a bit. and something about the way you spoke, the way you thought just happened to move me.
i guess that's it; you just somehow always made me feel. and it was beautiful. days passed, and bags showed under your eyes. time made its mark, and people left scars. you came home weary, longing for empty spaces and quiet corners to pass time and find yourself again.
except sometimes you couldn't. and it was then i whispered, 'darling, you have fallen through the cracks, but mine.'
and sometimes you smiled. sometimes you understood, and the world seemed alright again.
it was the times you didn't that bothered me.
looking at now, you are nothing magical. a chapter in a book over and over and over, looking to find something new, something i missed. something that'd inspire me again and make me see the world a little differently. except i couldn't find it
hey newton, gravity's flawedi.
starting anew from the flutter
and the sputter of lungs.
a vacant sea filled with feathers
and tumultuous clatter,
ribs in a treacherous pattern
resembling exiting rungs.
i want to wrestle the angels,
your tendency is the ladder.
involved with full indiscretion,
trading lazy for lace.
unspool the curse of the long-
limbs in a languorous flexion
i like the stab of the ankles,
you need the curves intersected.
opting to cull my extents
with trans-dimensional vigor.
spent my dysphoric corrections
on reconnecting lax ends.
lips in a spurious accent
feign a passionate rigor.
i tie myself to the anchor,
you extricate and ascend.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More