|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
I cannot be the only one...I cannot be the only one...
...who listens to radio stations from other countries.
(Even though I cannot understand a word they are saying...)
...who dances to black metal as though it is dance music.
(Even though I know the 'dance' for black metal...)
...who stares out the window at people on the street just to creep them out.
(Even though I know that it is terribly rude...)
...who enjoys licking knives because it makes me feel cool.
(Even though I know that I might cut myself.)
...who runs around the house pretending to be a blind just to see how it is not to see.
(Even though I know that I shall one day fall down the stairs...)
...who pretends to be a lady from the 1800's.
(Even though I know it makes people stare and embaresses my siblings.)
...who gets bad English when I get happy, sad, or excited.
(Even though I know that I sound stupid and English is my 1st language.)
...who pretends to be a Celtic priestess and pretends to do rituals in the backyard.
(Even though I know my moth
The Strongest Man in Ikebukuro"The Strongest Man In Ikebukuro" Poem
Yeah, I know him.
He's pretty strong, I guess,
But I don't think vending machines weigh that much...
And lamp posts are always flying through the air.
You heard he has anger issues?
Nah, he just needs a hug.
Kinda like a grizzly bear or a wolverine.
No big deal.
He's a pretty nice guy overall.
Ugh, Kids.Oh dear child,
Thine shrieking pierces the heavens,
It splits mountains and shakes the earth.
I swear to the dwellers of the divine heavens,
That thine screeching hath made mine ears bleed.
Mine hearing hath been reduced to that of an ailing grandmother,
Doth thou not feel for me?
Ode to an EraserI love you my little pink eraser,
you are always there for me.
I love you little pink eraser,
you make my mistakes disappear so magically.
And when I have nothing else to do,
I grab my pen and draw on you.
I love you my little pink eraser,
but when you are of no more use to me;
I will not hesitate,
not one bit, to buy another little pink eraser.
But do not worry my little pink eraser;
I will not forget you so easily.
Fuck you~You pick on me EVERYDAY,
Shine light in my eyes with your phone screen.
God PLEASE shoot me now,
One day I had enough.
I stood up phone in hand,
I clicked on a song,
"What are you doing?" You asked
You blinked surprised
"By Lily Allen"
I skipped a head some,
Stopping just before the best part.
My friends looked at me,
Almost scared by the growing grin on my face.
I pressed play.
The bus driver glared at me slightly but let me continue,
Everyone was staring at me now.
Fuck you very, very much
'Cause we hate what you do
And we hate your whole crew
So please don't stay in touch
Fuck you very, very much
'Cause your words don't translate
And it's getting quite late
So please don't stay in touch"
I saw you lite up redder then a tomato.
Memento Mori'Memento Mori...'
Etched in blood,
She breathes, examining the long-forgotten caverns,
'I wonder what it means...'
Deeper roaming into the darkness,
The stench of decay,
A look of disgust,
Two skeletons covered in dust.
Hit by a busA flash of head lights
Suden screetch of rubber
A forceful hit of metal on my head
and screams of the witnesses
But I hear something strange
In the messy confusion
There is laughter
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
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