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MyselfThe jar of tears has fallen to pieces, lost are the memories from within the creases.
They've all abandoned me, my silent friends, our bonds have withered beyond their ends.
So predictable this scene truly was, the girl who fell from not a single cause.
Twas my own fault, for I banished all help, rotted to pieces within myself.
Though alas a mark has been etched within stones, "My soul lives forever without my bones."
ItPorous wastes of rotting flesh, its stench and puss bubble within the mesh.
Gaseous acid oozes down, peeling tissue and obliterating sound.
Slugs and maggots feast and crawl, their sticky bodies cling to it all.
Diseases and growths replace its eyes, the thing only lounges here, nevermore it flies.
This vulgar blob of continuous waste, has at last become a bucket of paste.
Groaning and bleeding for a soul to eat, remove it quickly, dispose of the meat.
Empty it into the Lake of Storm, witness it shrivel and painfully deform.
It's flesh shall crease and bleed to dust, once you leave it, forget its lust.
YouThe pours of your mind, diseased and left oozing; droplets of configurations spun in a line.
What was forgotten in the space between your knowledge, there's not a damn thing left except for time.
Years and years of unsolved reservations, crooked and creaking like your bloodshot eyes.
Examining the past with a magnifying glass, I doubt you'll realize anything for your life is mine.
I stole your soul with a simplistic vine, one brought from the restless pastes of time.
When your steel-blue eyes locked my mind in the corner, I patiently waited, for your soul would be mine.
You kindly pranced over and asked a little favor, I simply stabbed your neck and took your time.
And there you are, dead in the wasteland, blood on your jacket; say good morning to grime.
Such heartless creatures, who learn to lie.
They do not care if you happen to die.
Only focusing on what they like best, they either forget or shun the rest.
They disgust us, they do, with their pathetic souls.
As a matter of fact their souls have left, and all that remains is a simple brain.
A brain that allows them to simply stain.
Stain the planets who were deemed sane.
Alas, the race shall hopefully fall, for nothing lasts forever, nothing at all.
My DearestPainfully enslaved before the Shadows Lord, my dearest lost her ebony sword.
Her mind trapped soullessly beneath his eyes, it was given up prior to her demise.
Chained mercilessly to doubts and oblivion's mind, her being ceased to care if it ever became blind.
Turmoil and voices forever ran through her mind, they spoke of the sword and where it had been twined.
Twined of stitched ligaments, and never seen hearts, my darling ran from the dungeon to uncover their parts.
But alas during her journey she was brutally slain, her blood boiled in her eyes, and never found was her brain.
The TaleFingers stitched together by misfortune and still sages, here lies a tale with unopened pages.
Few filled with reasoning and joyful endings of rhyme, the majority fall upon stakes and grant their souls to time.
Phrases and fragments cast themselves within the lines, striking out and down the beautiful ones through a connection of ancient signs.
And alas none shall ever read it, this book so dark yet divine, hence I shall take it for myself, thus my soul is an unread rhyme.
EnoughI'm so very tired of your brainless children, writhing in their own spit and dirt, clogging the blind from attempting to see, attempting to see the meaning of "hurt."
As if serenity left the home of elegance; such turmoil has fallen upon me.
Unseen within the fog of elimination, your soul has ceased within thee.
Protected, nay, thou is not, from the deathly whispers and your everlasting naught.
For I am darkness without a rhyme, without forgiveness and sparing of time.
Our Simple TaskWe are deepened by our dark souls, sealed within the bloody and banished scrolls.
Damned by the morning and by the light, our eyes lurk gloomily in the path of night.
We whisper tears throughout your sight, paralyzing your intelligence and fear of flight.
Alas flight is what you truly need, hence why your fate is for us to read.
In the air your body is thrown, whisked upon the dead; let your soul hear them moan.
Thrust forth and forgotten by the stain of blood, absorb the monstrosity from within the flood.
Bested by glasses and long dark coat, your flesh reeks a stench; thou shall be thrown in the moat.
Left to freeze and burn from the flames, thou is forevermore forgotten; the end of our games.
ArrivalSlice through the eggs from pages unturned, rot in their casings from ancients' curse.
Breathe forth the magnetism of elegant damnation; thou shall never appreciate the preparation learnt.
Past years of initiation with bloodied clocks of telepathy, to forgive is not normality, it is only pure sympathy.
Of the births chosen to bind neatly, thou has defied their acquaintance; casted out into voids, never born to become famous.
But thou shall rule misguided waves of tremendous disfiguration, to separate and strengthen them; an immense preparation.
For the war is approaching, riding past the eyes of all, thou shall see the dead mist; I shall rule over all.
AfraidHave you ever been afraid of yourself?
It's the worst feeling there is
because no matter what you do,
no matter what you try,
you can never escape it
because you're trapped inside yourself,
terrified of what could happen next,
afraid of who you could hurt,
afraid of what you might do.
In dreams, thoughts are only amplified.
In wakefulness, horrors become real.
You tell yourself it cant be real,
tell yourself its not who you truly are.
But it is.
And nothing can change it.
Never ThereNever There
They never knew, they never cared
Never felt when you were scared
Never there to hold your hand
And never there to guide your dreams
Ever oblivious to your intentions
Captivated by their own delusions
Pained by their mental intrusions
Buried at the bottom of a bottle
Never there when you’re alone
Not a single place to call your home
Their fights are all you’ve ever known
Of what parenting can be
Why I DiedCan I tell you how I died?
Why it rhymes with suicide.
Not because, I fell ill.
Not because, I swallowed pills.
Soon you'll see why I lie still.
Not because, I have drowned.
Not because of, Russian Roulette's
Deaf words of mine,
preach no sound.
Not because, the fault of life
Not because, the sharpened knife.
Real reason, why, tears went dry.
Not because, I jumped to fall.
Not because, this body I mauled.
The more I remember,
the harder too recall.
The true answer is i'm,
But to me,
the meaning of suicide:
Something Wrong with me.I think there is something wrong with me.
Maybe its the way I walk
or how I smile.
Maybe I laugh a little funny.
or maybe I'm just 'different'
it might be that my hair isn't straight.
My shirt is not exactly the hottest.
I don't have the best skin
and my accent sometimes shows.
Maybe its because I'm too nice.
Or because I can be shy
is it because I'm not 'easy' ?
Could it be that I'm strange
I don't know the latest fashion.
Or perhaps it is everything.
Maybe its how I dress
or the way I tie my shoes
Am I too tall, too short
Maybe its my weight.
Is my smile crooked?
What if its my voice
or the way I say hello.
Maybe its the perfume I wear
or the way I brush my hair.
But something must be wrong
for the world to plainly see
that it is near impossible
for me to just be.
I am weakI am weak because
I can't swim,
I can't fly.
I can't speak.
Because I am afraid of the
I am weak because
I let my emotions in my way,
I don't stand up,
I just die.
I am weak because,
when I was called a
dumb birthday slut,
I just cried.
Because when I was bullied,
I just kept silent.
When I was thought of
having a disease,
suicide was my only thought.
But at the end I realised
that I am not weak,
I am strong.
I was strong enough to
not commit suicide,
to blossom from my cuts,
to speak for my own.
Because I was strong enough
to realise that no matter
I will always be weak.
Darkened eyes betray the lengthened nights
A pale face portrays tortured dreams
A fractured image
Tearing at the seams
Left alone in the darkness
Yet very much aware
Twisting and turning
It won’t shut down
It plagues the waking hours
And haunts the sleepless nights
No matter how many pills are taken
The feeling is never shaken
The mind is left forsaken
People Don't ChangeYou said people don't change
But I'd prove it's not true
Because I would change
And do it for you
You said people don't change
And maybe that's true
Cause the one who's not changed
Surely is you
DisappearWishing to disappear
never to existed in their mind
no reason to cheer
this is why I was designed
there's a cloud over me and its raining knives
all smiles are faked
no one hears his cry's
as he sits there shivers and shakes
doesn't even try to reach out because there's nothing there
only my own numb stare
no desire to fight the devils wrenches
would anyone notice if I could disappear
because Im starting to feel warm in these trenches
would they even shed a tear?
Sick of the acting
let me compost with the dirt
live????..... ill think Ill be passing
lets make sure this hurts
still wishing to disappear
lets seal this coffin with a drop of blood and a tear
DoughnutsSo soft and sweet, a pulchritudinous moment
Held together by the taste upon my tongue
An indescribably phenomenal happiness
Come on, let’s smile while we’re young
So soft and sweet, though we near the end
For this is where we belong…
This is how we manage to smile today
And we smile even after it’s gone.
To Beseech the Fallen StainTo Beseech the Fallen
Once upon a hundred years, the banished gather to recite the tears.
Such hymns of agony and foolish reign, their voices beseech the fallen stain.
Lament is thrust against its face, the stain pleads not to suffer the brace.
All those who perished for its desired needs, rise forth and against to annihilate the seeds.
One by one the seeds implode, their souls are frail, they cannot take the road.
And here at last the stain slips away, never seeing again the night of day.
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More