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When the Mind Plays Tricks
The wind was music enough while stars that would someday die, stood still in dark skies as an audience sitting in the black and blue. A few lights stood out...a kitchen light left on with the blinds open, a doorbell, the car alarm lights that flickered red just under the windshields, and the automatic street lamps that would open and close their eyes as if they had always been awake and were at last drifting off like recovering insomniacs.
A man sat upon an uncomfortable porch during a gusty summers night, just after the birth of morning by nearly two hours. The trees would sing their parts in unison with the lazy gusts from south to north and north to south. Another light was near to him, just inside of his hands, while he typed. A phone, with a warped screen...its face beheld a bubble that was to it like a transparent blemish.
Off in the distance drummed the rubber of spinning tires over late night roads beneath more yellow street lights. Whether they were drunks, cheaters, teens avo
Actors in the Flesh
I'm rather good at playing the role of a man in pain. God gave me some noticeable baggage beneath my eyes, and bleak look that would have had victims of some great disaster asking me of the burdens on my shoulders. Funny thing was, that I had always been a little angry about that...never really got me anywhere but in a world of unwanted pity.
"Time was a mean old bastard to this face," I thought, "or was it choice?"
It didn't matter so much half the time. A walking, talking corpse seems like a good line up for a good punchline to some twisted joke. And that's the thing, is it not? No one likes a frown in that world of pity, they just want smiles, even if only for themselves. If they're just shy of the right size or temperature of heart, they take a swing at that joke, just for kicks...even if those kicks were really sucker punches below the belt. Took me years to realize that it couldn't be helped, but when it came to me, it came. I don't really remember when or where, and I don't thin
Things to Take on an Acid Trip
Several matches for each plot of land in a phase of suicidal tendency, and perhaps gasoline for the sake of a better show.Glasses can be for the brightest lights on the older towers before implode and fade into dust, leaving themselves in clocks to in & around time, disintegrate. A topless thinking cap, for the open mind required by a chore of listening to raving schizophrenics that may have a point or two, depending on the voice whose behalf they speak on.
A vacation round the world in matters of time and variety, in store for our future, so I encourage all to pack accordingly. It is only a vacation in that you will deviant from what you think you know.
An old paper fan for the heated debates of distractions and attractions. Different eyes for every sight to behold so as to spice the convolution. Grenades to open letters from loved ones and old friends. Magnets to toss deep into clouds for purposes of entertainment. Gargoyles for the nightmares outside every wall you've built up. Sand
Please Wake Up
Trapped in a fantasy whom harbors the
echoes of the voices that love, the false smiles
spread wide to blockade the hell forming within heart.
Yours are the eyes that will see what the senses
adapted will force them to see.
The rain buries every drop of liquid salt
from the swollen wells of brunette,
who blink bloodshot from the nightmares still
continued beyond the place of bliss, that woefully
small world of ignorance that only sorrow can create.
Small quakes come and go from the outer reaches
where mountains dwell, and they creep over your
shoulders as you run across reality,
trying your damnest to maintain that smile.
And the plants, how they wither and die as hope
becomes a fleeting miracle, and the flowers
discolor and become ash as faith becomes
tested day by day by year.
The world is collapsing, and I pray that you
just take my hand to bring up the words
we should say in heart and aloud so that this
dying world lives as some reality within reality.
For the love of our own love a
The hands press, filthy and shaking as the knees
have lately greeted the cold earth for a beggars perspective.
Silence has become the loudest reply from the
Heavens and the visions have left the ears ringing for the call to arms.
A war is traveling to a place in the times to come,
where man will hold the greatest sum of casualties and
beyond physical endings. Subliminal messages within
visions see to it to remind those see of prophecies foretold.
Seven serpents of false colors move with scales
made of all seeing eyes, weighed unevenly in ever
corrupt judgement, keeping warm beneath tarnished flags
dropped over the corpses of the contemporary river Styx.
How the river is grown from its many clots in
its veins spread out from the depths of Hell,
where the devil blushes in admiration of his work in progress.
Here there are no numbers flr the sins committed and to be committed.
I cannot run, even if my desire were in the places of cowardice.
I beseech the Host to tear down the gates of Hel
Setting Fire to The Sword.
A mystery for dinner, to be spoon fed and ensure a scalded mouth to curl up the tongue. That scent that comes forth to greet the black sunset in the middle of a predicted eclipse.
Death to come and to leave, leaving behind the bread crumbs towards a better day, like a Message from God in the times when Gabriel was given other tasks for that process of fate.
A blade left in a stone beneath the open hole of the ashen skies through which a little light remains piercing through and throughout space and time shining bright off the metal.
God help them, they only see a sword and its perfect edge. They know not how to wield this glorious tool to even the odds and clear the air, as never was it intended for bloodshed.
I have seen the fields beyond that stone that burn and build the smoke of those skies. I hear the call to put them out for all of time to come and go, just as you intend for this war of ages.
Would not it a tale to tell to eager ears? The flaming blade that consumed those fires,
Signs of the End
Smoke on the rise, where the moth flies low,
Collecting ash where should be dust.
An old structure fades with growing flames,
Until the moth is choked from its bowels.
A tree melts into the wax earth,
Sinking into the heart cracked open ajar
In many an area, round the broken tendons.
Those tendons were of the lush grass of green that somber,
never did get to see the real sun.
Let flow from the basis unto though purging flames,
that smoke on the rise, as the crazed moth
counts the specs of ash and dust amidst its collection.
Its fixed eyes would have not seen the spreading fires,
nor would they ever until the eleventh minute of
so short a life span for the creature that
could have easily been mistaken for the creature
that brings life to flowers...
the room of the model and artificial kingdom go
ablaze from a moment out of nowhere, as the brewing
flames became more from their source and blackened
the model and room and home to just some charred carcass,
as was that first old structure t
What Feels like Damnation
January was a first within which I quickly lost track of time, when the year began in a ninth circle developed out of treacherous fear. A convoluted scheme that wrapped away my freedom for a man of ill wealth that took fancy to my unfortunate name.
I was a gift, and show such love that I did indeed question in that following February. To and from like a breathing Valentine, walking with bare feet, cross country to be presented as god given property to the fiend that I called master against the laws of choice.
Free will was suffocated in the wearing of shackles whose rust gave new color to the skin that they met. Marching in March, the road carried on as I lived as cattle for the monsters whose humanity had been consumed by the circles of the Hell in which I was misplaced.
A fool did I think myself to ever pity a man who had allowed his humanity to be robbed from in front of his own eyes, whilst my humanity was given the treatment of beast worth a fraction to the rest of my fellow man.
Let's Destroy Beauty A concept that becomes monotonous in the face of humanity loses value.
Another video demonstrating the horrors of photoshop won't curve your own thoughts
when you glare back at the mirror.
Which is why;
we must bleach the viper of a word with the toxic consistency we were to use to make our hair glossy like frigid sun rays,
gash our lanky flesh until our papery ribs jut out, protrude from it,
and instead of blushing our cheeks that fleecy pearly pink,
we shall oil our cheekbones so that prune colored disfigurations arise from it.
Shred it's vowels with our chipped teeth,
Squish it's loops under our thick thighs,
Shatter it's delicacy with our bulbous eyes.
Let's make it that the heavily-guarded frontier between shag-able and forget-able becomes blurred.
Where the 'ditch-able prom date' and the 'queen B' dissolve into a spectrum of sugared water.
Hero and VictimThe Hero grins – an awful sight
vengeance comes like a fettered beast
yoked and saddled we claimants ride
but if it’s so – who tames the rider?
an idol to the long oppressed
the line is then between dark liberator and sweet tyrant
it’s a line we know but choose to hide
for all have need of Heroes
few are those that lie with ease
and fake the passage of manly hatred
deceived of self the victim is
who through oblivion raises shrines
f r a g m e n t e//d
and my voice is
s h a t t e r e//d
and high-end lasers fling from my trembling fingers,
trying to scratch out all my m e m o r i e//s/
What kind of justice crowns the world that pats itself as it swallows its own tail?
g r i n//d my g r i t t y mental flows and
d i s i n t e g r a t//e///
because the politics of this world are bleached
and the society that tries to run them are sunstroked
my 'political' concern for the planetThe world warming crisis
has been called all-natural,
but the skyline is covered
with haze. Exhaust from one
billion cars cause Chinese fashion
to include medical masks outside,
yet arrogant Americans still claim
“there is no consequence to mistakes
such as pollution.”
like cracked procelain
i'm living in between worlds
visiting and vanishing
can't decide whether we're effing the media
or falling in love with it's ignorant ignorance
there are few
That's No Moon
That's no moon. You may assume so, but, trust your feelings, that's no moon.
That's no small celestial body tied to the subtle influence of a larger cousin,
Not covered by the scars of millions of years of silent battle,
Not the exposure of an imbecile's bum,
Not an enormous ball of swiss cheese in the sky,
Not the gleaming Burger King logo behind the trees.
Perhaps this puzzles you, this redundant explication of the falsities of your accusation.
Why are you trying to turn this country into France? Weakening what we have worked so hard to protect.
Accept the dominance of our dark leader.
Embrace him and immerse yourself in the presence of our nation's most recent acheivement.
Once more, we play our dangerous game. A game of chess, against our old adversary.
This technological terror you've constructed, however powerful, is insignificant next to
the power of he who surrounds us and binds the universe together.
That's no moon.
That's Gabe N.
The Violence is aliveWe have no vaccination
for this fascination
rooted deep in our soul
planted firmly,yet,leaves hole.
Infection inflicting insanity;
injection: absent; no restored humanity
Cajoled with growth of green
Dole out violence never seen.
Dear HoldenA tide of blood has washed over
the nation. We’ve undone the holy
and unwound the wind. I don’t know
about you but if I see the ‘f’ word written
in playgrounds these days, I add my own
set of expletives.
Children were never children
to begin with. So there you have it, Holden—
you were borne of the era of lost innocence,
while the epoch of violence and vitriolic vengeance
bore babies like me. Kids can’t afford to be kids anymore.
Well, I guess there’s a twist— some of us have the
privilege of illusory innocence— it comes with color and class.
You have to understand, it’s like this— there’s a goddamn pyramid,
and we prop it up. We hold up the system that kicks us down.
And all these loathsome phonies make us feel less than extraordinary
even though they know they couldn’t function a day without us sticking
around to bolster their bigoted baggage. But I am sick of brethren being
beaten to death, I am sick of br
AmericaWelcome to America.
Where ignorance reigns true
As our naked patriots dance with the flag -
One that has been desecrated far too many times before.
Oh, yes - America.
Where tasteless bigots protest, wildly,
Claiming persecution where it has never been placed -
Please, tell me.
What pain have you really faced?
America the free. America the brave.
A phrase I've heard again and again for over a decade and a half -
Like a hammer, pounding nationality into the walls of my mind.
It would be nice to stop, if you'd be so kind.
America - what a glorious nation!
Where breathless banshees shout "Rape!"
To any man breathing near.
While newborns are dying with imprisoned mothers -
Isn't that something to fear?
Welcome to America.
Don't get me started on the treatment of children,
Or Hobby Lobby.
Just beware those like Rick Perry -
They're much like herpes.
Have you looked into the shattered mirror,
to find the subject of your exasperation?
Accursed hypocrites of the heathen reign,
"Make them suffer for the sins of their ancestors!"
What know you of history's bloody course?
Not a thing, not a damn thing.
Look in the mirror of this worlds memory,
let the record show that which is yours,
the folly, the choking arguments.
Evidence is all you have,
just and yet, the other term, of faith...
Yet again and again,
abased, abashed, by my shear hatred for you all,
Of what do you know in regards to faith?
Not a thing, not a damn thing.
You walk hand in hand with
the blind, deaf & dumb
whose names are covered over with genius.
Ignorance is fear, the blood that flows,
will bleed out to write your part of history...
yet what of history do you truly know,
repeated by basic word of mouth...?
Not a thing...
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More