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Waiting With StrangersYou know what blows my mind? Strangers. Well, not just strangers, but the contrast between strangers and friends. I notice it a lot more when I'm forced to be around strangers for extended periods of time. It happens hundreds of times every day. Bus stops, elevators, restaurants, waiting rooms. I start to wonder about these people, these strangers. I'm not too great at reading faces, but I still try. Its hard not to wonder about them. Why are they here? Where did they come from? What are they really like? In a certain way you start to know them. You begin to recognize bits and pieces of emotion in their faces, emotion that you go through each and every day. A grimace, a half-grin, eyes that stare listlessly at the ground, their owner clearly lost in thought. Its the kind of stuff you hide from anyone that you consider a friend. No one wants to be friends with someone like that. Someone who lets their pain shine through, someone "troubled", someone "depressed". Someone who has the intel
Milo Milo stood perfectly still. It seemed almost a crime to upset the silence of the landscape that surrounded him, a landscape that seemed to listen closely for even the slightest disturbance. Standing at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere and and trying to decide which direction to head, the trees to either side seemed to close in around him, muffling even the normal sounds of nature. Milo looked up to the dark gray sky above him, just as the first drops of rain began to fall. He reflected on the long journey that each drop rushed to complete, only to shatter to a million pieces upon reaching its destination. Suddenly his own journey seemed much less urgent.
Slowly, he turned right and began to walk along the road. Shortly the road became smaller and eventually it turned into a dirt path through the woods. Today marked the fifth day since Milo had left his familys farm. His father had
Clotho's Danceand the song
as the stars
all fell in time
as intended to fall
and so we danced on
in crowded dancehall
new dancers appeared
and old ones departed
the dance stole partners
with whom we had started
and some times the beat
was decidedly off and
Rooftop SestinaOne day as atop my roof I sat
Upon the street below I looked
And beheld the people as they went
From atop my private perch
How small these people seemed
All in haste about their tasks
All caught up in fleeting tasks
Not one beheld me where I sat
Too engrossed in life they seemed
To see from whence I looked
They spied not my favored perch
And as quickly came as went
Wondering where the time went
They rushed to their silly tasks
And I laughed from atop my perch
Almost falling from where I sat
Like a swirling sea the ground looked
Higher had I gone, or so it seemed
Ever so small this ground seemed
That quickly fear came and went
How unreal the ground looked
And the people about their tasks
I was tempted to leap from where I sat
Just to prove the truth of my perch
I stood halfway off my perch
And halfway upon air that seemed
Real as the roof on which Id sat
And down below the people went
They and I content with our tasks
I closed my eyes as no one looked
Ground grew close and up I lo
Making Lonely Little StainsI spilled wine on the camera
And it got drunk with me
It took pictures of a time
That I have yet to see
So unlike my memories
Are these photographs
They look just like my book
Filled with foreign autographs
I spilled wine on the banister
And it got angry with me
It let me tumble away
Because revenge is easy
It left me sore and crumpled
At the bottom of the floor
All on behalf of spilled wine
And I just wanted more
I spilled wine upon the floor
But not from within my cup
And no longer could I stand
Nor tell which way was up
And as I lay there wondering
Just who would come and save me
I came to a realization
That continues to amaze me
I spill wine between my lips
To make my world worth taking
And I have lived for many years
Content with inebriation
And as I lay upon the ground
I feared not being forgot
I was renowned within the city
I excelled in the dark
I spilled wine on the camera
And it got drunk and shot me
And someone followed suit
Their face too dark to see
And out of deafening da
Spring, RebornThe wintry ash disappears from the ground
And a phoenix is born in the east
Its less mythic kin are all northern bound
Their internment down south having ceased
Their voices call out in harmonious song
No voice out of tune in the least
And the beautiful song reaches very far down
And awakens the slumbering beast
The beasts and the birds have all come around
To sing and to dance and to feast
In warm springtime air their voices resound
"Til the phoenix once more is deceased
HolesHoles in my clothing
And holes in my mind
And holes in the ceiling
That raindrops will find
They fall from the heavens
And slip through the holes
Right through the ceiling;
My mind; My clothes
The liquid, it pools
Collects in my mind
It coats every crevasse
Or cracks it can find
But my mind works better
When something's not right
Raindrops won't break it
Or decrease its sight
And my clothes fit better
Once they've been drenched
They cling to my arms
Like fists tightly clenched
Little fists with little holes
Their knuckles dark and bruised
Beaten and broken and beaten again
From years of heartfelt abuse
Rain continues to fall
Through the holes in my ceiling
It slowly pools on the floor
The linoleum is peeling
But a house that's gone to waste
Seems just about right for me
It seems to match my person
Or who I've been lately
Yes, holes in the ceiling
Are really right for me
These holes are like theatres
And this show is for free
At night I just look on up
When the stars all shine on throug
Words UnspokenWords are stronger than blows
But silence is stronger still
So throw your blows at me
Like we both know you will
And I'll maintain my silence
As you maintain your pride
But you're throwing away your dignity
When I don't dodge or hide
But in a way you save me
With every punch you throw
Pain at least makes sense to me
In fact its all I know
So set me free from this debris
That was me once upon a time
And show me how to know me
When to be me is a crime
Its no blunder to make some thunder;
Break asunder my outer shell
There's got to be some truth to me
Underneath this wretched hell
And words are stronger than your blows
And my silence is stronger still
So throw your fists, throw your life away
Like we both know you will
Creations Of The SoberA smirk crawls upon your face,
As the pretty bright blood leaks down your arm,
Part of you is whispering,
"what have I done..?"
But you can barely hear it over the demented laughter,
That is emerging from your throat.
Your whole body is shaking,
With fear or with excitement, still remains unknown,
You look down at the bodies around you,
Drowning within their own blood.
You clench your fist,
Digging your nails into your rough skin,
Until your royal blood starts to flow.
You begin to laugh louder,
Dragging your feet through the mixture of their blood,
You walk past them,
Leaving a murderous trail behind.
You simply pick up your weapon,
Licking off the remaining blood,
And tighten your grip around it,
Ready to attack,
Your best friend stands in the distance,
Eyes wide and mouth open,
He's too frightened to say a thing.
You flash a smile his way,
When you realize he's crying.
"T-Those w-were yo-ur f-friends.."
He trails off,
Silent tears rolling down his cheeks,
His Name Is Cackle~
His Name Is Cackle~
A new clown is headed to town~
Wearing not a smile, but a frown~
Fettered wrists, and his mouth stitched closed~
But why this is, not a soul knows~
That is until his bonds break~
And he's free from chain and shackle~
Nightmares wrought throughout his wake~
His name is Cackle~
Jeff the KillerThere is a boy by the name of Jeff
Who likes to bring to others death.
His face is white like a snowy eve,
But no purity does his soul conceive.
His eyelids are missing for he burned them to black,
Black as his heart and his need to attack.
He'll forever smile with his carved in grin.
The only lifestyle he knows is sin.
His mind is frayed from insanity,
A concept that causes others to flee.
But he finds it beautiful and helps share his art
Of ripping his innocent victims apart.
He'll climb in your window in the dead of night.
There's no point in even trying to fight.
Hush now. No tears. Don't you dare make a peep.
It's time for you to go to sleep.
Home AloneSay something, I'm giving up on you.
I'm starting to believe every word was true.
I can hear the sound of the dial tone beeping
And I wonder if it's the sound of your lies sleeping.
The phone line is calling my nickname,
Asking me to scream in tune with its game.
I thought home was where I heard your heartbeat.
But this house is empty, desolate, bittersweet.
Don't say another word you don't mean,
For the poor paint caught envy, it's turning green.
Even the plaster is curdling with shame
At the sight of your face in a picture frame.
This house, it was ours, thick with false flowers.
I've been tearing up perfumed petals for hours.
This place is perfect for a funeral bride,
And I can attest that 'us' has died.
Just point to where I sign,
And I write it on the line of Divine.
Hush up before I stay here with you.
I need to find some oxygen, my soul is blue.
I'm not interested in dial tone morse.
You're past due on your bill of remorse.
Say nothing, I'm getting over you.
It's time I call up
Nothing MissingIf I said I missed you,
I'd be admitting that I breathed
On a time where seconds slipped free
When we were two halves wreathed.
But something can't be missed
If it never did exist.
That knife I will not twist
With my own remembering wrist.
There's nothing missing from my puzzle.
Those silent holes grow content
With the splatterart guzzle
I smear across the rent.
It's nice to live in a blindfold,
Carefully glued to be whole,
Listening to the tale I've told
Of well mannered dirt in a hole.
I leave no mossy stone turned,
For I need no compass to pave
The weary headstone of brave burned
On the chapped lips of your depraved grave.
Masque of the Black DreadMasque of the Black Dread
From Mask of the Red Death by Edgar Allen Poe
Far up yonder in the remotest reach
Of the vast sands of the Sahara
Where few if any men have ever walked
And nobody dared to dwell
There stood a castle of dark stone
Maybe obsidian or black quartz
And within the walls
The inhabitants, under the eye of the lord, Prince Faisal,
Partied throughout the night.
They raved and ranted for many nights
But neither came a soul to stop them,
Nor did anyone think to stop.
Then, one late night in October,
Maybe near All Hallows Eve,
He wore long gowns as black as the walls of the castle
And long flowing locks of dark brown hair
But most outstanding was his mask
A dark mask of somber features
Like no face seen anywhere in the world
Stranger still was that whoever looked upon this mask
Went finally, utterly mad
Faisal saw his guests descend
Into madness's depth
And demanded to know the identity of that mask
The guest spoke just one word
From Ulalume by Edgar Allen Poe
Far, far away
Where the eye cannot behold
There stretched a land of mystery
Now grown silent and old
Years ago when Bethmora was still young
The people danced, and sang and played
Life was good to all then
Nobody sighed in sorrow or dismay
One sullen night, a low wind blew in
Its air was hard and cold
So hard was it that not a soul would move
And it soon took its toll
By late December, hardly a soul was left upon the street
Those who felt it claimed they heard
A whisper, like the voice of Death
So until this time of which I spoke
Now Bethmora deserted lies
CrusaderIn the one hand, a rosary.
In the other, a sword.
In his eyes, the fire of a man following God.
In his breast, the heart of a religious warrior.
In the one hand, a sword.
In the other, a rosary.
In his path, the enemies of his God.
In his wake, men who've met their's.
In the one hand, a sword.
In the other, a bloody knife.
In his eyes, the fire of a killer.
In his wake, a rosary, discarded and forgotten.
In the one hand, a sword.
In the other, a growing gash.
In his eyes, the glint of a man gone mad.
In his heart, a void in which God once dwelled.
In the one hand, a sword.
Of the other, naught remains.
In his breast, the cold steel of a foe.
In his eyes, the blank stare of the damned.
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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