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That Old Paved Road
I fear I am bound to the road paved with good intentions. That infamous empire awaits me, built upon the foundation of forbidden fruits and deceit. Each movement of one foot or the other raises the question as to why i do these things, to sell one's soul for a temporary world.
Enriched are the lies I tell myself through various voices in my head, so few of them being holy. Guilt keeps me from sprinting and humility keeps the pleasure of this mindset in fragile balance and the hairs of my flesh are raised to attention in the presence of watchful eyes.
I have danced with illusions and made love to deception all while the sickness in my stomach grows and suffocates any innocence that remains. I cruelly suffer this pointless endeavor for sake of avoiding that hideous strength the world holds over me, in the name of my fear.
What point is there in my continuation? I have already labelled myself the laughing stock of a crumbling mind in where my faith lacks, not in Him but myself. I dread th
A Rocking Chair in the Corner
Where sleep best finds me, is where the reclusive outcasts already reside. The terror in the rising sun comes with silent fires and carcinogenic rays that force the science into my fictitious nightmare. Introverted like the portrait of a good man painted inside out by the brush stroke of self pity and the colors of a self-proclaimed failure.
This is all make believe, the concoction of paranoia by the hands of demonic anomaly only explained by unwritten theory in the art of psychology. There are a trillion bread crumbs scattered over a surplus of roads that lead to dead ends in the middle of nowhere. Denial and caution are friends that are dying in the back of my mind.
The spider sits beneath the only flickering light, until I see that the bulb only flickers because of the crazed bird trapped inside. Myself has become separate from my mind, and no longer are we one in the same as a sentient being, but partners in reluctant and unintentional crime. This is the blackest comedy, where the
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
The Beginning of the Endit started with Greed.
She wrapped Her tentacles around their minds,
digging deep into their psyche and corrupting them.
it started with Lust.
He slipped unnoticed into their corrupt brains,
reaching down into their hearts and twisting them.
it started with Pride.
He appeared inside their twisted cores,
pumping His poison through their bodies.
it ended with Wrath.
She took control of their very beings,
forcing the gun to their head and pulling the trigger.
Keep It RealWhereas diasporic communities
Have to been attempting to separate themselves
From harsh sun and seasons,
Without reason, others have built their lives between
The cracks of statements such as:
“Keep it real”
Or, “This shit is dope”.
Motherfuckers better realize
Now, is time to self-actualize.
Daughters of SocietyWe are the daughters of the lost and the damned,
with black rings under our eyes,
both of which married without my blessing,
and don’t seem to be in any
position for separation soon.
We are the daughters
who were told and told and told
to cover our bodies
because we are moral distractions
and it’s all our fault anyway,
and taught that help will come if you ask;
then taught to yell ‘fire’ instead of ‘rape’,
or no one would bother to help you at all.
We are the daughters
who were taught to live a balanced and healthy life,
and that we were capable of anything and could do whatever
kicked in the back of our knees,
then thrown into series of three-hour-long extortions
to determine what we couldn’t ever do in life.
We are the daughters
who were taught to appreciate a man’s whistles and
encouragement to smile as we walk,
as if we were there only to satisfy their primal urges
and not because we needed to bu
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Not My Cross to BearNot My Cross to Bear
Who errs must ask forgiveness
Who sees will forgive
I walk this earth as he had then
I ask merely Let me live
The right is always mine
Their errors are ever theirs
Not ever my cross to bear
They haven't right to make me bear it
I have my own cross
And I wear it
To whom it concerns:
Bear thy cross by thy self
The Newspapers Tell Me Too MuchDoes it matter how much blood might've spilled
Over one mistake of which I still feel the guilt
Gamma rays got shot straight through my brain
Can I still undo what has made me more insane
I have never gotten silenced by the crowd
I do not shut up just state my mind less loud
Do you blame me for not wanting to get mauled
I've had a life of pain don't say it's my fault
Have you ever walked on a diverted path to see
The dead bodies along it blended in the scenery
I want understanding but on the other hand
Don't want everyone to suffer under that demand
Recently I've decided it's not what matters to me
From what I have read in the newspapers lately
Never was I this positive about such a negative thing
Out of my sight I know there's so much dying
Shaking my head to myself I strut onwards again
Looking up at the fireless sky now that I still can
I might sound hopeless or out of my mind somehow
But I honestly believe the world is fucked by now
The ReignDrip Drop,
Down the drain.
Oh the reign
The dew will form.
The Tear Of My StarMy Personal Life In A Poem.
It was me, i looked at the sky for an answer to my mental imbalance. I wanted to kill myself, wanted to die, I wanted to take the easy way to solve my problems permanently. But did not make sense. Made no sense to put a permanent solution to temporary problems. Discover the world makes me suffer, makes me cry, makes me sob and feel pain in unimaginable ways. It's a heavy load with which I do not want to load, but I'll force myself to charge it. I never give cult against my convictions. I will never give possession of my soul to death or life, Lucifer, the eye that sees everything, or God. I will not let consume by pagan influence and modest people who govern us, I'll look carrying the suffering of my soul become pain. I will drive the shame of the people who see my suffering in tears. I will not abide to the temptation to believe in things that cause destruction, war and sadness. I do not want to belong to humanity, humanity fight each other only by failed a
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...
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.
Keep in Touch!
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