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NightmareIn the moment that could be forever;
I hold my breath hoping to surface--
And not succumb and drown,
In the pounding of my own heart
Set at a pace to break my ribs,
The scream caught in my tightened throat--
Voice shrivelled to nothing.
Chasing the chills along my spine
Immobilised by panic,
Locked in place by own fears,
Longing for something to wake me.
Just Sleeping...Powering down as the cogs stop turning,
Thoughts scattered like leaves on a wind.
Sand grains on a beach,
That very last sigh;
Breathing feels artificial.
Or something like it.
Being awake is a stranger for now.
Food has been like cardboard for....
...for what seems like forever,
I miss ice-cream
The colours and the noises...
Such a cacophony
Things were more pleasant once...
...once upon a time,
Like a fairy-tale.
Kisses won’t work as an alarm clock.
Only patience and time.
Make-upYou poured your make-up on--
A thick ,smothering, second skin.
Embracing that disguise
The person beneath no longer showing.
Artfully flawless in your mask--
As I scrubbed mine off;
Tearing my flesh if need be,
Unafraid to be unique.
Not wanting to be what you make me--
To remain singular.
Too honest in a gathering of frauds,
The Individual amongst the clones.
NowhereAnother day- another letdown.
Setting the pace for our relationship;
It’s a real place,
But it won't be found on a map.
It seems to be where we are heading,
No matter which other directions
I try in vain to steer us in.
BrightHold on to your wonder-
Let your imagination guide you,
Especially when the path is unclear,
Make your own path if you have to,
Just never let it fade.
Keep your fire burning,
If you must build up your protective walls,
Remember to add in windows
And essentially remember to add doors.
These things work both ways-- letting in and out,
You are a bright soul,
Never loose that--
Don’t imprison yourself.
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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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