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MorticianCarefully, he peels back age-stiffened skin
the last skirt a lady has to be lifted
and knows her little grievances, the aches,
the smoker's lungs, the ribs broken years ago,
the little scratches on the leg where she picked
and picked, when nervous.
He takes the too-large heart in his hands
her heart in his hands!
He knows her, although never acquainted formally,
her calling-card affixed to bluish toes
still coated with clear polish.
Amidst smells of formaldehyde, stiffness in the air,
he adds color to worry-bleached cheeks
and tells her not to fret, reassuring
that she'll look lovely, regardless of tobacco teeth.
Outside"[Poetry is] honest, raw, unapologetic."
Unapologetic? My every word
is apology, in some context; an apology to myself
or to the reader, to everything else, to the mewling thing in my guts
that cries and cries and
Stop. Is this free verse? Is this blank verse?
Does my psychodynamic stanza have a rhyme
that can be identified not once, but all the time?
If this is my honesty, my rawness, why
does it have order at all? If I am honest
I am a scrabbling thing in the dirt and my thoughts
my thoughts are like moles in the sunlight
squealing and blind, flailing for cover.
But that's not the case; my thoughts are clean
and cold, produced by the mechanical pulsing
of the light in the bones in my head, collected,
and for that I must apologize. I don't have
the rawness, the honesty
to pry bittersweet beauty
from seventeen years of crusty cloth
without a pattern, without a pattern.
exists as trap-lines in sand
I lay mine carefully
never to be broken
pulled, they break
back, contingency cracks in veneer
in bulletproof glass
in my parlor
in my Oval Office
in my back-alleys
in my boardrooms
And You Will Lead Me ToIt has been one thousand eight hundred forty-nine days since the beginning of my sentence began. This is the one hundred eighty-fifth time that I have been placed into extended segregation for the good of the general population following dangerous and uncooperative behavior.
I have been in here for two days four hours, excepting thirty minutes for a shower and sweep of the solitary confinement cell. Three thousand ninety minutes. The room is dark. One hundred eighty-five thousand four hundred seconds, three seconds ago. Time progresses, as it always does; I have been placed here following a confrontation with the prison psychiatrist. They are calling it a confrontation. I am calling it survival.
Square peg, nonexistent hole. They ask me why I chose to do this. Why I chose to do that. Why I chose to be the "villain" in all of this, as if the world is a shape with definite sides. They continue to demand an explanation for my crimes. For my justices.
Animals, filthy animals, all of them.
Advanced Science ResearchAdvanced Science Research
I have a problem.
I have surveys to solve the problem.
The problem, though, is that I have surveys
to solve the problem.
One hundred twenty-two surveys
and, so far, none of them have any solutions.
To get my solution, I have to state my problem,
except I can't state my problem in the surveys to solve the problem
because that's biased.
Likewise, I can't wait until I'm done with the surveys to state the problem
because that's biased.
I'm biased against surveys, I think, but that doesn't solve the problem
because I still haven't clearly defined the problem I'm
trying to solve because the surveys aren't evaluated.
I should evaluate the surveys
to define the problem
to use the surveys
to solve the problem,
but to evaluate the surveys, I need a problem to solve.
The only problem I have at the moment
is the problem of having surveys,
but that's biased.
Advice to a CaterpillarMy dear, what they told you is true:
everything will be alright, in the end,
but what they didn't tell you
is that the means will be terrible.
The world will be cold when you escape yourself,
and when you
the cucoon, when you
the skin, when you crawl free? You'll be doomed.
That's the truth of the matter, plain
You'll be soft, little crawling thing; you'll be naïve,
and the wings they promised you
will be limp, and wet.
They will not work when you need them most,
clinging horrified to the gnarled edges of the world.
Every breeze will remind you
of what you thought you could do,
of what you must do,
of what you cannot even hope to do,
and hanging there, bedraggled and raw,
you will stare out unblinking
and know that you won't make it if the rain comes too soon,
Re: ModernTo the urns, to mirages that hover close
with talk of Dickenson, and Hughes, and Kerouac
Be quiet. They cannot hear your loosening screws.
For what would you want the breakup of all wondrous things,
the fractioning of personage?
Be quiet. None are listening, but
for the guttering of a candle flickering,
no audience is audience all the same, having lived at both ends,
The world shrinks, and I am not
the child of ghosts, of powdered glass reflecting
brightness and green glowing things, immaterial
and sickly. The ozone stink of burning cord,
the tired plague of heavy gold, of lead,
are me. My alchemy has run dry, and, brittle,
I resign myself to analysis
and am disassembled.
I am The PragmatistI am The Pragmatist, criminal mastermind, nemesis of the League of Crimefighters, supervillain, genius, monster, prisoner. This tale I pen is not for my own benefit. I stand only to lose from telling my story, and I know that I will lose terribly. I am writing this because I am compelled to, and I can only hope with what remains of my faith, and of my sanity, that some good will come of it.
I remember the first time that the true nature of my world was revealed to me. I was in prison; I had been apprehended once again by Apex and his league of masked heroes and left to rot in a cell identical to ones I had been in before. Fool that I was, I thought that it was due to my error, a flaw in my plans, and as I lay on my cot I reviewed my actions, vowed to finally realize my goals as soon as I escaped. Then I set to work, crafting an escape route out of the prison; materials came to me as they always did, unknowingly gifted to me in the furnishings of my cell and the implausible technologi
Reminiscence of a Postmodern CriticOh yeah. Preach it
We are the children of a thousand racketeers
with wheels strapped to our feet
and wings to our backs
and stars burning the palms of our hands
so that we let go and fall, whooping, back to the ground.
I can't forget the smell
of ozone and bones, like a gasoline fireplace
and the sound they made when they hit the dirt
like birds against windows:
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Political refugees from the stratosphere
we failed our road tests
and had our heels revoked for being too round
even though they were really too flat, like busted tires.
I can't forget the look
on their faces, like a lightbulb burning out
and the sound they made when they tried to walk
like cars without chassis:
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Crazy scribblers, trying to write the billion names of God
we traded feathers for dollars
and dollars for feathers
so we could pen our tales with politically-correct quills
although our words fell heavy on the pages
like acid raindrops, bitter:
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Fantasy Films Adventures - Red Waters (3)
Throughout the remainder of the day, the trio ventured into fishing stores and boat sales lots. The afternoon turned to evening and after they completed their purchase, Palladon accompanied Alex and Vitaly to a local bar for some cold root beer. As they drank up, a crusty old sea-dog who had been sitting on a stool next to them took notice.
“Not every day a lion, a tiger and a panther walk into a bar,” he said in an old raspy voice. “It’s a crazy world we’re living in.”
“Tell us about it,” Alex responded. “One day we’re running a circus, and the next we’re hunting for a shark.”
“Shark hunting, eh? What kind of a shark?”
“I suspect it’s a great white, “ Palladon responded. “Sea lion is a favorite meal among adult whites, and the shark went after Stefano like house flies on rotten leftovers.”
“Why would a shark be in waters around here anyw
The Amulet: Chapter 2"So he appeared to you as a child?" The woman asked.
"Yes. He looked innocent and scared. I felt obliged to help him!!" Ty said, his voice cracking from fear and pressure.
"Ty, calm down son. We're here to help, not interrogate. What did he ask you to do?"
"Well...nothing at first. But then he started doing things that were getting to be harmful to my friends. He became to get more and more threatening, and I got scared. Then he started appearing to be about my age or so, and he didn't look as innocent. I finally told my friends about it and they said to just ignore him. Act like he wasn't there. I tried, but I just couldn't. I was too scared! But I didn't do what he wanted, and he got really mad. Every day we'd come home to a wrecked house, and a threat written on the wall. It wasn't until Jason was up in the middle of the night that got us the courage to call you."
Jason was up doing a project for college. With all the ghost crap going on, he hadn't been able
Tanya Becomes Plant FoodAfter a long week, Tanya lay down her blanket and set down her umbrella for an afternoon of lounging near the shore line. She picked a spot close to the stone wall protecting the coast; there was a tree for her to lean against. She changed out of her business suit into more comfortable attire: a pair of pink flip flops and a tropical-themed summer dress, featuring green leaves with red and purple flowers. After she reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, she noticed something strange in front of her: she could see a camera sticking out of the sand. She snickered; first she thought it was a child playing a prank. Then she thought it might be a pervert. Only when it was too late did she realize it might be something more sinister...
The distracted Tanya failed to notice the vines with orange flowers began moving and crawling towards her. Like a predator, the experimental woman-eating plant had caught her scent in the wind. Its creator - Tanya's boss - did not exactly kn
Akemi's Diary Page 3Chapter 1: Leaving Home
Diary Entry 3: December 31, 2014
I am so very sorry about this I have been busy for the last two weeks helping my Mom and Daddy get everything packed up and ready to be sent over seas to our new home. I have just finished pack up my room and my Mother said I could do whatever I wanted to I decided to write another entry into my diary. However there really isn't anything of consequence that I felt to put down except that I have this really weird feeling that I can't seem to shake. Its like I am being watched or something. Whatever the case I think I will take a look at those photos my Mother had taken of our new Home. I pulled them out my backpack I had put them so I could carry them with me when we left as I wanted to study the pictures as much as possible.
I realize I didn't mention that usually we do celebrate Christmas but
From Child to Animatronic (Part Two)I quickly rushed off the stage, moving as fast as these animatronic legs can possibly go, trying my best not to stumble and trip over the three-step stairs leading off the stage. I awkwardly shuffled through the abundance of chairs and tables in the dining hall, like an obstacle course in gym class. Moving too quickly, I've managed to get my right foot under one of the table legs, causing me to trip and fall to my knees. If I was able to curse under my breath, I would. I pushed myself back up, hearing the rusted screeches of the suit's mechanical limbs grind together as I bend myself back into an upright position. After that little clumsy episode, I immediately made my way towards the security office. I was expecting myself to catch the security guard by surprise, and hit that freedom button, where I would finally have the chance to escape from this wretched place. I scuttled out of the dining hall, and into the east hallway, hopefully ready to make one final pushed effort. However, ju
The Bloody End Chapter 12Blinding Vision
I set off, with no clue or even a hint of an idea in mind where I'm actually going. I don't know where Gary hangs out or stays. He did mention about going to the gym a couple of times a week but there's no sign of him in there. It's silly but as I stroll down streets and roam down roads, I start to feel more and more self conscious, bustling past people in my hoodie. I end up having to take the hoodie off in less than an hour because the sweat starts to drip down my back and I feel like I'm melting. It may be September but it's still pretty warm.
I have no idea really what I'm doing and how I approach Gary when I find him. If I find him. No, no, when I find him. What do I say?
"Hey, Gary! Just making sure you weren't savagely torn to shreds by this psychotic, serial killer I'm very close with."
Yep. Pretty sure that'd be my one-way ticket to the Mental Hospital right there.
Or I won't make out I was looking for him at all. The sweat, flushed face and matted hair
Hell...o...Hello~ part 2H-Hello?
...I was here alone, I really wanted go out... I started hit wall with my head... I felt better. I stopped care about darkness, hunger... Then someone come in... I don't know who it was... He kicked me in face and started shouting at me. He told me that he going to tie me up if I won't stop it. I started beg him, I really wanted go out from here... That made him mad... He started beat me... oww... owww... it hurt so much... But he go away. And left me here alone.
that was my brother...
Yandere~ 'I'll Kill You, Because I Love You'
"It's how I show that I love you."
"You've been bad, so you must be punished; it's how I show that I care."
"If I didn't care, I wouldn't hurt you to show you that you've done wrong."
"I love you so much; that's why you must be punished for what you did."
Each night, another line like that came from her father's lips. Saying she had done something bad, and had to be punished for it, because he loved her and wanted to teach her right from wrong. Why so hard? Why so much? Why so long? Hours would go by of being kicked, slapped, punched, beaten and whipped by a belt, randomly having her face bashed into something and then nearly being drowned. Her body was covered in bruises and scars; but her mental state and heart suffered the worst scars and bruising. She cried every night.
The little blond girl who was no more than 7 or 8 was grabbed again by her hair and flung into her bed by her much bigger and stronger blond father.
"You were bad again Abigail." He huffed, "I'm only doing this beca
|| Luke and Jade || Jade's Death ||Luke and Jade scenes from episode 4 - 5
"Quick!" I yelled, stumbling towards the gift shop. I turned back, Bonnie and Rebecca were gradually becoming faster as the walkers approached. Kenny and Mike weren't long behind us. "Clementine, come on!" I said as I nudged her onwards. We both ran up the old wooden stairs. Jane was here, she should've opened this place up by now, as Clementine and I turned to enter the gift shop I swear I could feel my heart shatter into a million pieces. I felt affixed in place as I saw Luke and Jane, "That's about as human as I've felt in a long time, I almost forgot-" Luke whirled around as soon as he saw me and Clem. "Clementine- Jade! I- Jesus it's not-!" Luke mumbled in a panic.
"What's going on?" Clementine asked.
As the rest of the group hurried in, Kenny's voice was what snapped me out of my daze. "What the fuck are you two doing up here?!" Luke stood up, nervously scratching his neck, "Kenny! What's going on?" He asked, pretending as if nothing
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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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