|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
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.
The Bloody End Chapter 1Flying Visit
A noise startles me awake. I sit up, look around, my vision blurry and clouded. My head spins and I put a hand to it, groaning. Allowing my eyes to adjust to the dark, I peer around my bedroom. The door is closed as always (I can't STAND it being left open- especially when I'm in bed), everything seems to be in place. I rub my head and reach out for my phone and use it to check the time.
I put it back down with a sigh, rest my head, close my eyes and attempt to go back to sleep, even though I can feel a sickening feeling of butterflies in my stomach that I try hard to ignore. Sleep. Sleep. Just go to sleep...
There it is again! Only louder! I sit up again, grabbing my phone and use it to light up my bedroom. I check the floor to see if anything has fallen off my shelf but can't see a thing. I listen closely to hear if my parents are up and about, but as far as I'm aware they are both snoring, sleeping soundly in their bed, blissfull
Ch 7 nightmare pt 1AN~I don't own any of the characters except for Amelia/Pandora. Also, I'm going with the fact that Tim/Masky has brown eyes like he does in the actual MH youtube series. I have this series over on Deviantart as well, so some of the characters belong to people over there as well. All new credit will be added at the end of each Chapter, previous credit will be posted at the top and bottom.
"Amelia," A voice called out to me. My...my head it pounded. I felt sick to my stomach as I opened my eyes. As my eyes adjusted to the brightness that surrounded me as I slowly sat up in a daze. I glanced over and saw a woman that couldn't be much older than me in a nurse's uniform, she wore a medical belt that I could see held glass vials filled with a blue liquid.
She caught my stare, she flashed me a pearly white smile as she chimed sweetly, "These are sedatives, but because you've been doing so good for the last few days here I doubt I'll need to use them. They're just for in case emergencies."
Jeff the Killer x Reader - Left Alone (Part 9)Jeff the Killer x Reader - Left Alone (Part 9)
[(f/n)= First name,(e/c)= Eye color,(h/c)= Hair color,(h/l)= Hair length,(f/c)=favorite color, (y/h)=your hometown. You get the drill.
You’re sixteen years old]
2 months later. . .
. . .Where am I? What time is it? What are they going to do to (Y/N)? Where is (Y/N)? Oh why did she have to come? Why. . .Why couldn’t she have just died a long time ago? Why did I have to like her? Why didn’t I kill her?
Offenderman was kind to you and your friends for two months. Able to spend as much time as you wanted, but you had to stay within the boundaries of Offenderman’s hidden cave house. Whenever one of the Slender brothers came over, you all had to hide. However, you were certain they were all on their way to kill you and your friends. Liu and Natalie had gotten closer and were now officially
A Case of Falling From Grace Ch. 10 [RusPru AU]The atmosphere was oppressively heavy as Gilbert and Feliciano stood in front of Antonio's desk, it was only to be expected considering there had just been a death. The other twin had been completely inconsolable for the last couple hours. Even now, his cheeks were wet and his eyes were bright red. Gilbert appeared to be the only one who hadn't been crying. Antonio had fared; little better, his voice was almost completely gone from crying. His face was completely red and looked almost swollen. All the same, he was trying to speak with authority, "I realize that we are all a bit shaken, but it is our responsibility to keep order. I have ordered all the patients back to their rooms with at least one orderly at each door. The three of us need to talk to each of them individually. We need to rule out the possibility that this was organized."
Gilbert immediately scoffed, although it wasn't completely genuine because he knew that it was organized, "Natalia is a delusional girl, she's not cap
Foxs Wedding - Prologue -The days of the past in Japan are not clear.
Either before, or more like, during the strife.
At the time, it was said that Yokai are like humans but not in this case, according to witnesses.
However, the truth is not clear.
They were worshiped as Gods or monsters in Japan. But not yet, this happens later.
As such this was daily life.
This is a story that occurred in castle town during a certain era.
A certain warlord reigned in a single castle.
The warlord's castle was incredibly strong, he was never targeted while at the castle.
However, humans built Castle Town, the town where the incident of a mass slaughter happened.
Most of the humans that where found where in a incomplete tragic state.
80% of the inhabitants of that town where missing.
It is frightening to think that it had happened over night.
What is more amazing is that more livestock was found rather than human beings.
So what exactly happened in this town?
A dawn of a still chilly spring.
The faint smell of straw in t
A House Divided: Chapter 4We all followed Kenny's group and walked into the ski lodge. The man in the red sweater was telling us about this place. It was really big and spacious, cozy too. He told us they have a wind turbine and they get a little electricity from it. Amazing. Along the way Kenny started to mimic the man's words, me and Clementine couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. This was great, I've missed Kenny so much, the tears of happiness were still fresh in my eyes. I hope this is real. The man turned around with a confused look plastered on his face, "What's funny?"
"Oh nothin' Walt." Kenny laughed, "Walter here's one smart son of a bitch. Makes a mean can of beans too." Kenny said, patting Walter on the back.
"Well, why don't you three get caught up while I finish up dinner?" Walter smiled.
I turned around to see Luke and everyone else standing at the bottom of the steps. "Please, make yourselves at home, you can leave your stuff over there." Walter said as he gestured them to leave their
A Case of Falling From Grace Ch. 12 [RusPru AU]Gilbert walked with long certain strides to Ivan's room. He threw open the door with no pretense. There was no doubt for him now about what was going on, the pieces had all fallen into place. Natalia's death was the last clue he needed. Ivan was standing on the other side of the room looking directly at the door with his back to the window. The room was filled with golden light, which was flooding in through the window around Ivan. The man smiled and said, "You're here early today."
The albino planted his feet firmly and responded, "Natalia is dead, but you already knew that, didn't you?" Ivan's eyebrows shot up and his smile widened, "I suppose I did. It is a pity." The evasiveness stoked Gilbert's temper. He knew that this man was responsible for the death. Ivan had no right to act as though he had not been involved. Gilbert responded with a snarl, "Don't play these games with me, Lucifer." He paused before saying the name because it was his final admission that he believed. He had t
School Cheesecake and Blood (Cpt:2) Ace's story I sat down at my desk writing down what the teacher put on the board tuning out the other students as I wrote, my writing speed in sync with my teachers who admires how well I work but that's all she likes about me, I once herd her say I was like a living zombie, ever actually happy. witch is not true, monsters all monsters!.
I got up and walked out of class heading home, I walked along the road not wanting to talk, and I also wanted to buy something sweet, I walked into the closest bakery and looked through the glass at the examples of sweets they had there smiling mentally when I came across a new flavor of cheesecake they had out so I stood up looking at the person behind the counter and asked in the most up beat voice I could but came out sounding frustrated "can I have the strawberry today miss ??" I came here often to order the new flavors of treats they had, never thought they'd sell cheesecake here, let alone strawberry, she nodded leaving me to wait for my cake.
All Here For A ReasonI turned onto a shady, well-manicured driveway that, for all intents and purposes, looked harmless enough. Maple trees lined both sides of the street, and a parade of Canadian geese marched across the road to a wide duck pond with a flamboyant fountain. There were blooming crepe myrtles and rose-of-sharons, and as I grew closer to my destination, neatly trimmed gardens with neatly trimmed bushes.
I stopped to let the geese pass. They looked at me; one hissed. I honked my horn and moved around them.
At the end of the road sat a collection of grayish buildings and a number of signs directing me to the appropriate parking lot. "Welcome to Ten Creeks Hospital," said one of them. "Please enjoy your stay." I parked in the visitor's lot. Surely I wouldn't be staying.
I was shaking when I got out of my car. I had spent the morning getting high. One foot in front of the other, flip-flop noises, hot sidewalk. Mulberry and magnolia trees, freshly shaved grass. A bench and pan for smokers. A set o
Keep in Touch!