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Fading Shades of GreyDearest reader, please think twice before you try to speak
Words can be like knives that cause the victim to grow weak
Thoughts can be as bullets shooting freely through the sky
Injuring the innocent with every spoken lie
Please forget my laughter, please forget my broken heart
Please do not remember how you tore my life apart
Leave me as a memory that slowly fades to grey
Spend your days as usual, and I shall fade away
Listen to my cry for help, although it is too late
I've become the monster that you struggled to create
Trying to be perfect was a wonderful mistake…
Now I mustn't worry about which chance I will take.
Please erase all memory of who I tried to be
Please do not remember how I tried to be set free
Please do not be saddened under any circumstance …
What's makes now so different from when you still had a chance?
Her Silent SuicideSolid oceans, liquid skies, a silent suicide
Close your eyes and hold your breath so you'll enjoy the ride
Drink the vodka, drink the wine, and drink until you're dead
Hush the others, let them go, and love yourself instead
Bathe beneath the alcoholic's secret wonderland
Medication in your throat and whiskey in your hand
Solid oceans never beat the sand among the shore
Liquid skies melt through the wind and slowly hit the floor
Silence drowns the universe as all does fade to black..
Through a silent suicide… now there's no turning back…
I'm Fine"Are you okay?"
No. I'm dying. I have to push myself to wake up in the morning, and when I finally do, I want to go back to sleep. Even my best dreams are becoming nightmares. I can't taste food, I can't stand the things I used to love. I'm breaking. I'm fading. I'm dying.
Losing a FriendDreams, no.
Spinning, spiraling, chasing you everywhere you go
"It had to happen."
No, it didn't.
Turn off the light.
Stop breathing, it's not worth it.
Play a sad song in your head
"Are you okay?"
I miss you.
I miss your voice
How could you be?
"It's not your fault."
Slowly, let it poison you
Let it sink into your mind
"You'll get better."
No I won't.
"It was meant to happen."
No it wasn't.
No.. he's not.
... "I know."
The DollhouseAn old wooden door, set into the brick,
Cracked dirty glass, the panes very thick.
The rusty brass knob turns slowly with a groan,
You realize it's turning completely on its own.
You can't stop now, your interest has peaked,
You walk inside, each step with a creak.
Shelves line the walls, dusty and old,
As the door swings shut, you shiver- it's cold.
Glass eyes all around, do they move? You can't tell.
Each doll stares down, each doll smiles still.
You glance all around, and as you look,
You don't see that one little shelf has one empty nook.
You soon turn to leave, there's nobody there,
You won't come again, not even on a dare.
You suddenly find that the door is far away,
You're looking down from a very high place.
You cannot move, except for your eyes,
And then suddenly, you realize.
The other dolls' eyes are moving, it's true,
And now there's one more doll. It's you.
Poisoned LullabiesCradle me with bloody hands and wipe away my cries
Hush me into my sweet sleep with poisoned lullabies…
Canvas Is The MirrorA canvas is a mirror
The paint drips down with my reflection
The canvas is my mirror
But only because
The canvas is me.
The canvas is your mirror
As the brush tickles its surface
The canvas is our mirror
The canvas is a mirror
The depth of the artwork stares back into my
After all, I do not paint a canvas
Because the canvas
Liquid ChainsLiquid chains hold onto me like darkness of the night
Armor, swords, and helmets from the times of death and fright
Paper used to save me in the darkest of all times
Letting out my anger in a silly mess of rhymes
Damaged by the memories of all I've never done
Ruined by the echoes, for the torture has begun.
Capture me with lies and tear me down with words of gold
Platinum and silver hold the stories left untold
Armor made of paper, as the moonlight fades to black
Liquid chains hold onto me, and I cannot fight back…
Poor Man's GoldHush the youngest children, for the demon in the skies
Treasuring the very thought of anyone's demise
Glitter fades to black and shining moonlight fades to dust
Every cruel man's wonderland is built of poor man's trust
Tragic, empty melodies and blood beneath the air
Fearlessly escape the wind and drown without a care
Treasure death as platinum, as silver and as gold
Every cruel man's wonderland is built of poor man's gold...
Why I Stopped WritingHere's a little story about me,
about my skill to paint a grim little scene,
to make the mind creak,
to talk of those things which we don't like to speak.
I was a girl of sixteen and I had a dream,
to exist so broken hearted that I would know,
know to the core,
that love was as real as I thought it should have been.
I was dramatic to say the least and wrote poems spanning ages,
wrote of crashed cars and seeing those eyes again later,
FEELING that stare,
knowing that though time had passed,
he'd not actually gone anywhere.
English class came,
seemed so lame,
most days in the back with the boys,
getting out of work with the most clever ploys.
Then one day the teacher said,
we could share our writing,
with all the others,
to my in
Definition of a Writerwrit•er
A writer is a person
Who sees the world differently
From a high perspective of understanding
To an easily balanced imagery
They stand at the edge of the cliff
And run that extra mile
To gain what a normal person cannot see
And to obtain the hope that they wish to cherish
A writer is a person
Who buries their ego and places boulders upon it
They learn the rules, follow the rules, and will break the rules
And make writing their own
They lay upon the dusty old ground of a graveyard
And do an annual ritual to free the inspiration that has been pinned down
They want to show their abnormality to everyone around
And make this journey an unforgettable experience
Writers are masters of inspiration
And will set aside whatever may ruin the ecstasy of their writing
Which they will forever embrace
And will fight to claim the title author
In their world of words
Their stories are set free
Some are killed to b
Let Them In.With my back to the door
I can’t help but fall to the floor
Out of breath, out of time
Out of sight, out of my mind
They’re tempting me; they lead astray
They mark my words; I am their prey
I can’t fight them anymore
So let them in and end this war
Leave me to my demons
Let them have at me
And strip me of my reasons
To ever be happy
I am broken enough
So that they fit in the cracks
I never wanted to be this
But now there’s no turning back
Let them take control
Because without you in my life
This is how a person like myself
Can ever become whole.
I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.
I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.
I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat
I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.
Suppressed BrillianceAm I insane or philosophical?
Are my theories minute or astronomical?
Irrelevant or significant?
Are the machinations of my brain,
Foolish or magnificent?
Thank God that I am resilient,
Because you have been suppressing my brilliance,
All this time telling me that I am crazy,
But you were wrong all along,
Failing to see that I fit the pieces,
Of life’s puzzle together differently,
To compose a unique song,
Just because you don’t understand,
My thought process,
Doesn’t mean that you are smarter than me,
Watch me create a wonder,
And you shall see….
ConstructDelving into the origins
Of what makes an individual
Who are you? Who am I?
There’s a lack of understanding,
Yet we jump to judge
And claim to know
That which we could never understand
Attempts are seldom made
To investigate the unknown
To strive to discover
Those we claim to know
From the inside out
Extract the innermost thoughts
In place there is an idealist mirage
To which our beliefs shall cling to
In desperation, or disbelief
It’s the construct of our mindset
That leads us all astray
Check The MeaningIn barely legible handwriting
Scribbled on to the medicine bottle label
Is my name Grayson Oliver Dowd
And two letters printed in ink of bold sable
In haste I didn't check the meaning
It makes sense now that O.D. stands for Once Daily
But I took it to mean Over Dose
Oh how my rational mind once again fails me
Soon after I see the weathered words
Inscripted deeply on to the granite gravestone
Here lies Grayson Oliver Dowd
With an epiphanic epitaph ‘he died alone’
Waking from my sleep I check the meaning
I realise R.I.P. stands for Rest In Peace
And not Recovery Is Possible
So my dose of dopamine I shall decrease
In barely legible handwriting
Scribbled onto the medicine bottle label
Is my name Grayson Oliver Dowd
And two letters printed in ink of bold sable
My shaking hand struggles with the child lock
Let me flush these pills away and out of sight
Oh Dear reads the letters on the label
It appears that you
Sleep ParalysisIt is suffocating. This force, a nightly visitor, watches over me. I’d thought I’d gotten rid of it, but there he is, crouching on the ceiling above me.
My eyes are shut tight, blocking out the dim streetlight streaming through my window like the great wooden doors of a fort. My hands are clenched on the blankets I’m pulling in tighter, despite the sweat beginning to mat my hair. The world around me begins to blur away as I focus something, anything, to take me away from this darkness. His presence intoxicates me momentarily, for he wears the mask of sleep, but I recognize soon recognize him and begin to panic. My mind races, frantically searching for a happy memory, but these peaceful visions only leave me open and defenseless.
He seizes the opportunity, and swoops down towards my face. I don’t even feel him land. This ferociously graceful beast, now hunched over me, lets his jaw drop. The piecing drone of five sleepless nights is echoed in his cry. He sits on
Death of a CutterIt broke.
Inside every man there is something more dear to him than life itself. A man may lose his head, his arm, his eyes, or even his life, but he is still recognizable as a man. But a man must never lose his soul, lest he become no better than the beasts he once hunted. A traitor to his beliefs, crushing that which makes up this inexplicable organ, is doomed to live the remainder of his days hollow, no longer living but merely undying. Men with broken souls are biological clockwork, rusting out their days until they break down into wet cogs and gears.
So cherished, and yet so fragile.
It happened while protecting the corrupt government from another rebellion. There was always good money in protecting bad people, and with such occurences happening every few months, it was easy money, too. I was the greatest of all cutters, the damned mercenaries hired by those totalitarian bastards. Having given myself over to the bloodlust, I tore through enemy lines, only to find myself facing
DisintegrateFaceless shadows bathe in blood, the knives rest in their hands
Secrets spill from poisoned lips, they'll never understand
Feel the voice within you speaking words you cannot know
Let the venom sink into your veins, into your soul
Feel the silent murder as it takes place in your mind
Think of all the innocence you now have left behind
Whisper in my ear the sweetest lullaby of all
Watch the world disintegrate and watch your planet fall…
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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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