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EtherealI rest nearest the platforms of arctic air.
Motionless, and without remorse.
Upon doves of grey feathers, my spoken phrases glide.
A plentiful silence graces the frozen soil - tranquility.
My ashen palms emit auras of depth and demise.
Furthermore, my placement progresses.
Rains to cleanse.
Glasses to gleam.
Patience swallows its pride.
A PonderingIf one's progression issues forms of extermination, are they to move forward, regardless?
Salt, seeds, and endless evenings are details which brew writings of certainty, although, such are not received as perceived.
And if the curtains were to silence themselves, and the pests retreat without a publishing, would I ensure tranquility?
Ponderings present themselves adequately; wisdom.
Such is drawn with impossibility's red ink, my child.
A permanent, pleasing thought of opposites lingers pleasantly among the eyeless cattle.
Polishing exists eternally - cease not your composition, my dear.
ObservationEyes of my own engulf frozen soils.
The lingering poisons disrupt a common thought.
Salvation encrusts itself namelessly and without praise.
Similarities peak formally, and also without doubt.
A Constructive KingdomArise from the dusts, my child.
(Compositions reign highly in your favour of trust.)
String along your tattered visions.
(Ponderings of certainty shall play fairly in your court.)
Wishful bliss shall construct your jester.
(Tattered, prideful, and negating a conscience.)
Gluttonous proportion shall construct your king.
(Ignorant, lustful, and without hesitation.)
Desire and irritability shall construct your queen.
(Sociable, liable, and turning from dreams.)
And you, my dearest, shall initiate a cause.
(Tallest, purest, and with termination of flaws.)
Ponder your being, and grasp tightly your claws.
For I rest as the damned, and thrive as what was.
Contentment of rosewater.
Such blend amusement throughout one's veins.
Quarters of fabric.
Solace desires puss, as do noiseless rains.
.Beauty.Collagen dresses marketed through mirrors-
Of bubbles and acceptable measurements-
Supplement my spreading titles-
As I ensure beautification-
Throughout oceans of creams-
Toxicities of stitches-
Powders of plastics-
HellDance with the soulless bleeding needles, and thou shall discover a clear way into Hell.
To damnations elegant and skulls of blackness, a door to beyond the wishing well.
Eternities of bloodied fire streaming across the ancient skies, seconds with pain and separation of organs, thou shall lose all except your lies.
To voids of panicked tears, to voids of lost exclamation, your patience shall waste here as will your concentration.
Stencils deep of reigning powers, stencils bent of quieted sound, elimination and survival are key; prepare your voice for the coming ground.
Her voiceI hear her voice
She screams my name
She is angry against me
I pray to relieve my pain
She punishes my mistakes
She wants my suffering
I pray for my forgiveness
She wanted a true love
The only thing that I have given is a lie
Talk to me.
Tell me what shattered your heart inside.
Your heart is beating, yet, you're not alive.
You're hearing, yet, you're not listening.
You've become a black shadow.
I can see the demons in your eyes.
Your eyes have glazed over.
Your life is coming to an end.
But yet, you're still healthy, still alive.
You smile to hide your pain.
But you're slowly dying inside.
You keep saying 'I'm fine', when I know you're not.
You tell me 'it's just a phase. Don't worry'
But I've never worried so much before.
You're like a leaf
Your beauty slowly withering away, unbeknownst to everyone around you.
Soon, you're going to fall from the tree, and hit the ground.
People will walk over you, ignoring how much pain they've caused your heart.
But hold on.
It gets better, I promise.
Your heart will beat once again.
I'm hoping for a sign of life.
I'm watching for those eyes to fill with joy, like they used to be.
I beg you with all my heart.
This Is For YouThis is for you.
This is for you, who would always say that you weren't 'good enough'
This is for you, who would always wish that you were as good as them.
Sometimes, you throw your pencil across the room in frustration when you realize that you'll never be an artist.
Remember when you told yourself that art was a passion that you would never let go?
But yet, it's slipping between your fingers, right now.
You want, so desperately, to be an accomplished artist.
But you never believe in yourself.
It's painful, I know.
But isn't art worth it?
Maybe you just don't know the meaning of being an artist.
It doesn't matter what you do, or how skilled you are.
The fact that you love art, is all that matters; and that's what makes you a true artist.
Don't you remember your art bringing you so much joy?
Now, it seems to do the complete opposite.
It seems like demons are haunting you, telling you that you're 'not good enough'.
You want to know what I say to tha
Is a blank canvas.
The dawn and dusk,
Express their emotions daily.
With pointy shadows,
To guide their paths.
The time's true colours.
PurpleBeats now soft, a thudding in my chest, a heartbeat intensifying.
Beating faster, embracing the environmental cataclysm sliding down the back of my skull.
The world collapses into pixels, crashing down in an electronic funk.
An orchestra of mechanized beats feeling ferrous fluid warping through my veins.
Upon my skin drips water, a holy water from the angels,
remaining now as a metallic taste that tingles the jaw.
Toxic portals captivating, intoxicating,
deep majestic caverns of ink spraying like the ocean’s waves.
Carefully now, catalogue my movements and translate them into sound.
Translate them into thought, translate them into action, translate them into words made to dazzle and destroy your perception, words to overwhelm the unreliable senses, to leave upon the mind a fractal scar of remembrance, capturing language into a pill bottle and releasing it to float freely to the ears, because those are my words.
And once we’re finished, all which will remain are beads
The Waiting-RoomTime heals all wounds...
What a load of crap.
Because from what I've seen
When someone dies
We sit there with fumbling fingers
Trying to stitch the gaping hole in our heart.
And when we finish we look down and lie "I'm okay."
Because not even the most skilled doctor
Could erase your pain.
Even in sleep you can't escape their faces,
Maybe a good knock out
In the fighting rink
I've heard you don't dream
when knocked out.
And maybe the only reason we die
Is because we miss the ones that left before us.
Even the loneliest man has someone he misses,
Maybe that's the only reason he's lonely.
Also, I've been thinking lately
about what comes after this?
Is this life just a waiting-room for the next?
Or are we deemed to an infinite line of waiting-rooms.
Maybe there's just oblivion.
An oblivion where we're all thrown into,
Regardless of our deeds.
A place were you endlessly search for those that left before you.
But as soon as your fingers touch,
Or your voices
Eyes ,windows to our soulI saw her at the Carnival ,
her eyes tell the truth;
they tell stories of her unfulfilled sadness.
Fairer SexHow sad is the existence of women
For from the dawn of time
Our only greatness determined by how many sons we bear
Our minds considered too weak by men
Our sex considered frail and delicate by men
We who endure the cycle of womanhood
We who endure the pain of childbirth
Doubted as leaders because we are too emotional
We who listen before we speak
We who sit silently waiting for our moment we have patience
While men cannot stand waiting
How sad is the existence of women
We who fought for rights and equality
But are still beaten down by the male sex
Men who always see us as weak and bubble headed
The women of this generation no longer stand up
They no longer up hold what their mothers and grandmothers fought for
We who know we are strong but play weak for the mans ego
The Way You Want MeThe way i send electricity down your spine
when i kiss your neck
The way you jump
when i blow into your ear
The way you arch your back
when it is carressed by my nails
The way you close your eyes and breathe deeply
when i push my pelvis into yours
The way you giggle
when i gaze into your eyes
The way it sooths you
when you suck on my finger
The way you taste
when i kiss your sweet lips
The way you want me
when i want you.
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More