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Novel Bound by Shoe StringsThe plot is unknown,
The future left untold,
But you won't write alone,
we'll just let it all unfold...
In this novel bound by shoe strings,
we will write only the best scenes,
Tear apart the suffering,
and carry ourselves into infinity.
Happily ever after is, in fact, real,
but happiness is only one thing you feel,
we must cope with how we must heal,
and strive for the everlasting serenity,
Love is but a fairytale,
A ship that will forever sail,
an emotion, that will never fail,
In this novel, I just wrote a calamity.
The plot is well known,
The future is now told,
and we wrote it all in stone,
a stone that is always hard and cold...
My Idea of PerfectionYou know I show my interest in the things that you say,
and everyday you greet me with a smile stretched across your face,
I like the color of your hair under fluorescent lighting,
and the difference between when we argue, and when we're fighting.
You put your hand in my back pocket as we walk along,
You tell me sometimes it doesn't feel right, but I know that it doesn't feel wrong...
The sky will never be grey...
so long as you choose to stay,
The sun will sometimes shine bright,
and the sky will never change to night,
so long as you choose to stay.
You think that your laugh isn't very easy on the ears,
you know I find it to be just about the cutest thing I've heard in years,
I like the way you say my name, unsure of how to say it,
You know your way around a guitar, and I love the way that you play it,
Remember the time that you slept in my bed all day long?
This is just my idea of perfection, and I know nothing can ever go wrong...
The sky will never be grey...
so long as you choose
I Need MoreMy love, why do you try to hide
the smile that keeps me warm?
I need more than just the cold.
Sweet love that has disappeared,
where do you go when you feel worn?
I need more than what feels old.
Brother that I think so dearly of,
why do you do what you do?
I need more than what I'm told.
Dear one that thinks highly of me,
why can't you tell me the truth?
I need more than I can hold.
Metaphorical AngelsThere's a color for every season,
A mood set by the regularity.
There's a truth behind every reason,
you just get it metaphorically.
You fly like metaphorical angels,
soaring high in the heavens,
yet you're so down to earth.
You're the mood of this season,
Sad, but happy to see it's you.
I'd call you, but I don't have a reason,
and I don't think I'd get through...
You're like the metaphorical angels,
when you're around, the stress lessens,
you're just so down to earth...
for any of it to be true.
You can't say that you don't
smell the smells of this season.
You can't say that you won't
give me at least one good reason,
for turning out to be better than I had imagined.
You're turning out to be better than I had imagined.
You say you're no metaphorical angel.
Tell no lies and ask no questions,
Bring me down to Earth.
I'm only speaking metaphorically...
Stylized PortraitsYou love him more than he'll ever know.
But didn't you say that about the other guy three days ago?
How emotions change when we don't really know them.
Oh, how it must be to live in a world
where one relationship only lasts a week.
I love you, baby.
You say the sky is my limit,
so long as I stay within it.
No one lives past the surface.
No one lives where we know they don't live.
But what else is out there?
I keep secrets closer than any enemy or friend.
I keep them safe inside, where no one can get to them.
You can take all of my friends and enemies,
but I've always got my secrets.
And you don't know them.
Stylized portraits that portray the evil as the innocent.
The quality of the art is not always a matter of opinion, but a matter of intent.
Did you make this to express yourself?
Was it as shallow as most? Or was it deep like some?
I never know what's really going on.
Just My OpinionYou're the curse that slips from his lips,
and skin against my finger tips,
You cloud my spectacles,
And forgive me if I say it,
but you are the being of perfection.
Just my opinion.
Sometimes I'd lay by myself,
to get the feeling of being alone.
I would randomly pinch myself,
to make sure I was alive.
I still don't believe it.
Just my opinion.
I never met anyone with the same name as me,
until I worked in retail serving the old women.
He was tall, skinny, and not too handsome.
Darker, maybe latino.
His name was written on his mechanics' uniform.
The "O" in the middle stared at me like an open eye.
He wrote me a check, which I needed his license for.
I got to double check, to make sure he wasn't a "fake",
Like the ones I'd found on myspace.
They want to be different.
All of them want to be different.
Just my opinion.
The decade that served me most was the decade I loved the most.
I like my years like I like my men:
Fun and short.
It's already twenty-ten.
I always hated the number 0,
UnderstandShe spoke in terms I couldn't quite understand,
She told me she understood the likes of socialism,
And how capitalism will make our classes more divided.
She spoke in terms I wouldn't quite understand,
She told me how everything is unfair under our "Conservatives",
And how they don't care about anyone but the rich.
She spoke in terms that I knew weren't right,
But she made me feel good to believe what I believe.
I didn't feel self-conscious, or the least bit worried,
I knew that somehow she couldn't quite understand.
Wendy Was My GirlWendy was my girl. She wore her hair in a bun. She kept her natural blond hair, and when it was grey, she kept it that way, too. She liked the cold, and she liked the snow. She never liked to get a tan. She took her shoes off at the door. She never asked for anything unless she was asked first. She was quiet, but she was polite. She never thought about herself when someone else was in need.
Wendy would talk about herself only when asked for her opinion. She listened to every detail, and would repeat them if asked. She never forgot a face, and especially their name. She always forgot her birthday, but always remembered mine. She could never forget our anniversary, though I did.
Wendy told me all the stories of her childhood, the ones I wasn't there to live. She told me stories of her high school, the one that was our rival. She told me stories of right before we met, in college, Junior year.
Wendy met me in a coffee shop in town. She was the one that I knew I wanted to spend my life wit
In The Middle Of EverythingI'm as sure as your sailboat floats,
that no one suspects or even knows,
the ground on which I have walked.
I'm as steady as an old bridge,
loosely fastened to the old ridge,
that no one has ever walked...
in a hundred years or so.
So high in the house of your ghost,
that I can see the east coast,
And see the angels coming from beneath.
I speak like an old machine,
not so clear or pristine,
But I beckon for you from the east.
Forget how to tie the ribbons in her hair,
And let's go get some fresh air,
It's the shortest songs that hurt the most.
I've sent a message to you from afar,
But I can't see you where you are,
but we're in the middle of everything.
The Boy Who Wouldnt EatIf you can flutter
I have failed you,
for you were not forged
to be so insubstantial as that
You were writ
to be an epic fable
of endings ignored,
of outlasting your body
through the sheer will
of a writers starving heart
through a broken, bowed
but bravely abiding body
that fights the soul
to comprehend Beauty.
................written in a frenzy and run-on
and exclamation points
used in rapid succession
words all blurred
so bare bones it's bloody
strung out and on display
in a frightening combination
of paragraphs and stanzas
punctuation gone mad
ellipses my new black
used and abused
then spit out
in gratuitous repetition
there is no word count here
no hearts dotting the i's
just a string of letters
done up in cursive
but not very pretty at all
Five AMPre-dawn darkness again, seething, quiet
A monster hugging the city
How heavy, how suffocating it is
The clock has run down on time for dreaming
A void between night and morning
Ready to swallow everything up
A time for old men's reflections
On love, and loss, and sorrow
Oppressive black sky, you eat everything
But the all-night diner
Where lonely old men sit
Drinking coffee at five AM
From Your 'Secret' AdmirerHeaven,
this is not a love letter
I will swear to God,
with a halo on my head
and a hole in my heart.
But the fact is I revere you
more than I have any right to.
After all, we are nothing except
who have awkward conversations.
So why is it that every time the line
falls silent I panic, worrying that your shadow
will make my efforts nothing but a distant memory,
when every word you speak strongly marks my mind?
Simple: I fear having something to lose
and losing the nothing I have. You are
treasure to me, and this note becomes my confession.
Sincerely- I typed this, but I'm sure you'll recognize the handwriting.
QuicksandYou trapped me
Dragged me below the surface
And held me there
You chained me
Put brass around my ankles
And left me struggling
You broke me
Beat me with whips made of hate
And hurt me more
You changed me
Made me who you wanted
And killed me inside
You hid me
Stole me away from the light
And made me blind
You crushed me
Blew my dust in the wind
And danced on my grave
surrounding my body
And now I'm twenty feet under
With no chance of being saved
Sound PoemIthrumden, ithrumden delsum
nith mul thruss elmrissull.
Eth rut mundelliss
Curmiette dessel renrin
irme trell ithrumden.
The partyFlashing lights
Smoke all around
About to pass out
My head starts to hurt
I can't take this anymore
So without saying anything
I find the exit
And escape that place
"How can someone have fun in there?"
give me a challenge, give me you.i have grown
the blood in my veins
have become more
than plasma, and i
am now trapped
within my own hollowed-out
this haze of
has to be transitory--
i can't let it be anything
Coming HomeComing down the ramp I spotted you in the crowd
Your tenderloin skin always stands out
Your aura was particularly bright that day
Whirling dervish colors in the pale sun
You wore a chauffeurs cap and held a sign that said “Anyone”
I knew that I wasn’t anyone, so I walked away
“Strange days,” someone said, and I agreed
I hate crowds and old garbled memories
Arriving home, my wife and cat didn’t recognize me
I looked in the mirror and noticed that I was someone else
Still carrying my old baggage, I turned away
I should have taken your limo
I Like ItYou ask me what I like with those blank eyes,
But I can't get through with any amount of tries,
But here it goes, just one last time:
You know I'm a sucker for green eyes,
A sunrise, cloudy days, and her old ways,
I like the storm clouds, thunder sounds,
Underdogs and morning fog from a mountain top,
When I'm laughing and just can't stop,
Green trees and bumble bees, smiling from ear to ear,
Those three little words that I almost never hear,
I like choclate bars, compact cars, and shooting stars,
Neon signs and all straight lines, silver spoons and afternoons,
I like the tunnel lights, and grander sights,
A colder place, and warmer days,
Video games and funny surnames,
I like foreign lands and foreign tongues,
The feeling of being forever young,
Kite string and the left wing,
Cold soda on a dry throat, pine wood and maybe oak,
Or a nice place for my feet to soak,
Rock music of almost any type, the feeling of creating life,
I like wood smoke and anxious hope,
I Belong To You I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another coat like her. Yet here I am, blundering through the elements in my vain search for the acceptance and warmth I found wrapped in Valentino’s woollen sleeves.
Thud. My body slams into the door, making the ‘open’ sign quiver and the bells tinkle in offense. I fight for entry, the door’s assault doubled by the stale funk of
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More