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Honest"How are you?"
"I'm good, how are you?"
" Oh. I'm sorry."
"I know you probably don't want to hear about it. That's fine, I just couldn't lie again. I'm sorry. I should go."
"Oh uh okay."
"It's just am I the only one?"
" the only one? One what?"
"Who feels this way, who is this way. Like I'm just a container for this ocean of feeling that I can't get away from. Everything I do, every step, every little decision, rocks the ocean. It's like I can't even breathe without having complicated feelings about it."
"I um "
"You're confused. Social protocol dictates that you dismiss me as a lunatic and walk away. But you feel it, don't you?"
" I don't go around talking to strangers about it."
"Do you consider yourself a stranger?"
"To me, you're a stranger, but you've known you your whole life, just like I've known me my whole life. Doesn't that mean that deep down, we're not really strangers, we're just people. People who haven't met before
My Black SwanLast night I was strong.
Now, fragile, I step hesitantly outside.
It's a blustery Sunday afternoon
It's overcast and there are ravens in the street,
The sky is overcast.
Last night I was a goddess.
I find a step in the watery daylight,
Sit down and hold my pen above paper like it is a weapon:
Stab down, come up for air, repeat.
My movement is mechanical and I feel nothing.
I was on fire, an ethereal beast.
Funny how so much can change so fast.
I won't eat anything unless it's going to make me sick also.
Sickly, barren tree branches reach for me where I'm sitting.
I like it; they complete my mood.
Prowling the dark, I felt powerful, alive.
I don't know how to hold my body right.
I can't even dance.
There are a hundred black ravens above my head,
Backlit by a moody sky.
I'm not even making this up.
I could have done anything in the dark.
She scares me, this midnight girl.
I pace the empty house,
I could have been anyone.
And now I am me, here, and I stil
How To Interpret the Colloquialisms of Depression"I'm good" actually means: "I'm never, never, NEVER okay, but I'm sick of thinking about it all the time."
"I'm fine" actually means: "I only hurt myself ONCE today."
"I'm okay" actually means: "I just spent my entire day wandering around in a choking grey fog of despair. The only reason I'm alive right now is because my heart hasn't quit beating yet."
"I'm not doing the best ever" actually means: "You should probably hospitalize me, but I'd never admit it."
"I'm great! Seriously!" actually means: "I now have the tools, space and time necessary to implement my death, and for once I don't dread the future because there won't BE a future."
I'm Not Sure Who I Am Today"Excuse me," she said. Her eyes were brown and her hair was red, and I pretended not to hear her.
"Excuse me." Persistent, she was looking straight at me. I turned my head from side to side anyway, to see if she was talking to someone else - but I knew she wasn't.
"Can I help you?" I sounded reluctant. I was.
"Please can you help me find something?" Her hair was cherry red where the sun caught it, and she wore a long, stylish black coat.
"What did you lose?" I asked, grudgingly. This was a fair, after all. I'd driven a long way to get here. I didn't want to waste my time helping strangers
"Me." she said.
"Me - I lost me."
"I don't understand." was this a joke? A university student social experiment?
She could tell I didn't care. Her face turned away from me to watch as a throng of people passed by. She watched them closely for a moment, then turned back to me.
"I just don't know who I am today," she said quietly, almost to herself, glancing down. "Do you ever feel
PublicationOh what joy;
Wondrous feelings of elation!
Ten days 'til my book comes out!
According to my
Nine more days of aggravation
I must find a place to pout.
Eight more days!
Is no mere exaggeration:
I've tacked the count down to the wall.
Of this rabid adoration
Is apparent after all:
And close relations
Gather mounting hesitations
As the fifth day rolls around.
Coupled with intense vexation -
Four more days and counting down!
Three days more
Full of vig'rous animation
Now nothing can placate me
Is it my lifelong
To stew in this unkind frustration?
Two more days - how lovely.
ONE MORE DAY!
Had best be worth my aggravation
(I wish it would come early).
It's here! Out of
Or meet my fearsome wrathination!
'Till some new writing calls me.
Cassius The ZombieThe first thing he noticed was the cold. This was no chill of the skin; as soon as Cassius awoke, he knew something was terribly wrong. The taste in his mouth was horrid, his eyelids scraped unwillingly along his eyes, not wanting to open, and it was dark. Utterly dark, with no hint of moonlight or candles. Not even the faintest stirring of air.
He opened his eyes as wide as they would go, felt the gasp of his breath coming in, hollow-sounding and very loud. He tried lifting his right arm first, and it obeyed him with reluctance, before jerking upward abruptly and hitting some kind of ceiling above. A rain of dust poured down. Coughing dryly, Cassius lifted his left arm with similar results, and pressed both hands against the surface above, feeling for a way around. It lifted, and with a surprised gasp, Cassius let it fall back down again. Coughing some more, he pushed upwards, and the ceiling -or whatever it was - lifted right up, letting in absolutely no light, but a lot of welcome a
Take Your Revolutionxvii.
She is seventeen and she is going to change the world. She's doing her part even now, as she puts all of her rejection letters in the recycling bin instead of throwing them out or ridding herself of them by way of her father's industrial-strength paper shredder.
Since she has her heart set on changing something or other, every night she sacrifices to Microsoft Word, spilling everything to her screen: her hopes, fears, dreams, words, and lukewarm cup of tea. She doesn't like tea, but she is training herself to drink it.
She is seventeen, and one day she has an epiphany.
She is twenty-one and done with school, a diploma on her wall and the world spread before her like a blank document. And, as she always has done, she writes.
She is going to change the world through her words. She has always known this. Maybe her offerings helped, because one day it is not a rejection letter she receives.
Her agent's name is Claude. He is going to sell her revolution.
Claude is a nice ma
I don't hate youI don't hate you, but sometimes I want to rip your heart out from your chest and hold that pulsating organ in the palm of my hand. I want to see your eyesyour bright blue eyesstaring up at me fearfully, filling with shiny, graceless, pointless tears. I want to hold your heart in my hand forever, knowing that you know just as well as I that from this point on, you are mine, and mine alone.
I want to tear apart your chest and grab that beating heart, feeling the warm blood pooling around my feet, the delicious red staining my shoesand my handsfor the rest of forever. I want to stand in that crimson pool until the end of time, knowing that you will never be able to look into anyone's eyes other than mine, that you will never be able to hold anyone's hand but mine.
I don't hate you, but sometimes I want to kill you and lock you up in a room somewhere far away, knowing your dying eyes will be staring into mine forever, your limp and lifele
I'd always leaveI am tired and hungry and cold and alone
because today I learnt that freedom is nothing but missing you.
One day you'll wake with tears dusting your eyelids
and you'll realize that stars don't stand at your door anymore,
the birds can't snatch your dreams from cracked windowsills
and fly you back from the heavens to your bed;
you'll know counting stars won't get you anywhere
unless you want to know how many are dead.
[no matter how many times you told me to stay, i'd always leave]
One night you'll sleep with silver stains on your cheeks
and copper spilling from your chest like a crimson waterfall,
the gold of your heart and your hair growing duller
every day and night that passes;
then i'll know that you have become
everything i have always been.
I am tired and hungry and cold but not alone
because today I learnt that Freedom fills the hole i ripped you from.
Without chainsi. Nightmares fall from my eyes like a thousand tiny stars, glittering like silver doves at four-in-the-morning, when everyone should be asleep and yet no one really is, and there's nothing I can do to stop their fall
there's nothing I can do to stop your fall
ii. In the darkness, I can hear you breathe.
"Just close your eyes," you whisper, "and everything's going to be all right."
The nightmares keep falling, crashing on the sheets like the lies from your lips.
You loved lying more than you loved me.
The Cold Days of SummerDo you remember the cold days of summer?
Days of running through fields of dappled sunlight,
And watching kites
Soaring like chained birds above the hill behind my house.
Do you remember the days of sunshine?
Days of spinning through sprinklers,
And eating lunch on checkered blankets,
And lying, fingers entwined and breath held beneath the juniper tree.
Do you remember sweet summer nights?
Nights spent strolling arm in arm,
And laying in the hammock
Pretending we were sailors guiding our ship by the stars.
I remember those days,
The days of our youth.
Days and nights, those were once ours.
Once ours alone.
As I stare at the unforgiving marble slab in front of me
The chilling autumn breeze freezes the single tear
That leaks over the wrinkles covering my weathered face.
I remember those days.
Days spent staring into your flashing blue eyes
And kissing your velvet lips.
I remember grasping those fingers one last time,
In cold desperation.
I remember watching your lips form words,
JourneyThe cogs aren't turning like they should be, and she knows it. They never do, at times like these. The times she needs her mind the most, it abandons her like yesterday's turkey.
She feels the need to create conversation but she can't find the right words or any at all, really. Her people skills evaporate on the spot, once the 'enter' button is tapped, just once.
She knows there has to be some logical explanation for this, yet she comes up empty-handed whenever she tries to find one.
Her attitude melts away and the stinging remarks she saves for witty moments return to their stored positions as she stares at the mocking line flashing before her eyes. It begs her, pleads with her, and then smirks as she fails to type anything.
After a time of frustrated silence, she lets her mind wander.
For a moment or three, it tests the waters, feeling for the tension of the always-present leather leash, listening for the zing of the long black bullwhip. Nothing comes.
Left to its ow
Baby Blues.Those undulating waves of baby blues,
soaking my heart in unpredictable riptides,
plunging into the unrelenting ocean,
into a splash of serendipity.
Delicate hands clasp around mine,
gently squeezing for reassurance,
palms radiating off fervent sparks,
fingers entwined in perfect harmony.
Spurts of frivolous laughter,
escape into round about fits of giggles,
chiming dexterously into the atmosphere,
swinging her around for pretending to fly.
tendrils of fluffy bangs...
covering mystery eyes,
running fingers over his scalp:
the touch of soft skin.
Steady hearts beating in sync,
two fragile hearts of pure glass,
sticking tentatively together like glue,
each other's half handled with care.
Tick-tock, tick-tock chimes the clock,
counting down the moments worth sharing,
leaving plenty more for cherishing wholeheartedly,
always edifying my spirits and making me feel alive.
Stealing a few precious sentimental kisses,
those captivating baby blues saturating the air,
Puzzle-PerfectBold. Beautiful. Shattering. Screaming. Open.
There's something tangibly, achingly desperate about you. Your words, your smile, your vivid dreaming that causes you to insist that I'm only another part of your imagination... that is, until the icy-sharp air bursts into your face and you remember your name, my name, the color of words. The truth. It's a little bit difficult to convince you that you're wrong nearly all of the time, that your reasoning is insanely driven by the misfiring neurons in your puzzle-broken brain that's malfuctioning half of the time and lost the other half of the day.
Nobody has ever come even halfway-close to figuring you out. [Nobody ever will].
Your imperfection is what makes everybody at once draw back and fall for you. Except. Except you don't really know that. You're much too distracted in your attempts to think in straight lines and make sense of the bewilderingly crazy world [you] we live in. You're much too absorbed i
I lost it again.
I promised that I wouldn't,
but here I am, just as I knew I would be.
(What a hollow promise... what would they do if they knew?)
It hurts so much just to do that.
I sucked all my energy away,
sucked all my life away.
(What should I do now?)
but really who else's could it be?
No one forced me, I did it to myself.
(But no one cared, no one tried to understand, or even notice.)
I know that is what I am.
I accept that fact.
(It makes dealing with it easier.)
Maybe that is what I should do.
Far, far away, where no one can find me,
no one can damage me.
Then maybe, I won't feel the need
to damage myself.
(If only, if only.)
How It Began"God, your two o'clock is here."
"I have a two o'clock?"
"He's been here since 7:45. I figured it's only polite to... sir."
God sighed. "Fine, send him in."
While He waited God cleared His desk of papers and blueprints; no need for outsiders to see His plans. Soon enough the door to His office opened and God stood, smiled, held out a hand towards one of the two visitor's chairs.
"God! Great stuff you're doing in sector 2-7-0! Great stuff!"
The man's hands were clammy, his handshake limp. Rumpled suit, porkpie hat, briefcase... oh Jes-- oh dear, a salesman. God's smile slipped a little but He soldiered on gamely. With luck He could shoo the poor guy away in a few minutes.
"So, what can I do for you?"
The man sat, briefcase across his knees. "Sector 2-7-0! Everyone's talking about it! What do you call it? Man and merman?"
"Man and woman, actually. And thanks. But we're pretty busy around here, and..."
"Oh! Right! No time for the wicked, eh?" The salesman winked and popped his briefcase,
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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