ice queenShe takes you by the hipsbecause she's too hungry to appreciate the warmthof your hands.She transforms you with her fingers,bending every edge till you're just her ball, made of glass,that she shakes once in a while.She always preferred ice over sunshine.And I can't stand the sight of her,she chills me to the bone.Because she has my whole world in the palm of her handand I fear she might break it.
into the sea belowa lock on a door, in a place well-knownthe withered-windy-whisper wood, whickered-flickered candlelightsoft illuminations and hints of dazzling-decked, twin-leafed cardinal vascular canvas.a musical blend of blue and grey.--the lock on a door, in a place well-wornbeneath the melancholy-painted, cerulean-white cliffsand the tri-pigment, undertone-hued skynever can meet with its widow-burned key.singular musical drops unwittingly flyonly to fragment and fallinto the sea below.
moondust.we live in a world where our lungs are black and outlined with angry streaks of red. we plant diseases and destruction in the holes of our stomachs and watch them grow – they shoot up fast and clog up our throats with ashy leaves.our fingernails are ripped, jagged edges digging into pale skin and leaving white hot lines in their wake. our wings are crumpled, feathers bent and pressing into the expanse of our backs – they're the weights on our shoulders, and there's no space left for anything else.your tongue is cracked and so is mine. words no longer form, sounds no longer rise. dreams and wishes fall into the cracks as nig
Star SwallowerShe'san enigma.her head, a stadium drowning with applause. yet its seats are empty like the notebookswhere armies of words should be marching.instead she dismantles clocksthinking she can play with time.behind the mountains lurks a darker reasoninga twisted labyrinth of rationalizationshidden from the suns brilliance.Years alone beneath the bleached fluorescent reading those already dancing in the moonlight.she is living a literary half-life through themhiding from the symmetry of the writer.licking salty rocks of excuses.saving her secrets for posthumous excavation.decades of productivity left for moths to chew.you're throw
Write What You KnowOnce upon a time, a young woman was so in love with books that she decided she wanted to become a writer so she, too, could create loveable stories. She read everything she could about writing. Then, one day, she found herself in a book store where she bumped into an old man among the shelves. Turning to apologize, she discovered it was a venerable, much-loved author.As soon as she could find her voice to speak, she said, "Oh, sir! I know you are very busy, and so I would just like to ask you one small question: what is the best piece of advice you have for a beginning writer?"The old man smiled and said, "Certainly, young lady. In fact,
Writer's CPR.Stops breathing. Grabs keyboard. Inhales. Exhales.
ThinWhen I was growing up my mother never kept a scale in the house. I never noticed this as a child. I was accustomed to checking my weight visiting my grandmother's house; a monthly checkup just for fun. Yet every child reaches an age where the numbers staring back at them start to mean something. When I reached this point, I asked my mother why we didn't own a scale.She looked at me with serious eyes and said, "Because I know how easy it is to get obsessed over such things. I don't want you to have to go through that."I love you for preventing it as long as you could, Mom.Rarely in my life have I met a person and even so much as noticed
MeowThe feline within me wants to laze on your pillow all day long.She yowls and cries when locked out of your roomand demands the quilt on your bed as well.The feline within me wants to sunbathe on the window sill.She wants you to leave your plants there, tooin case she gets hungry during her nap.The feline within me is conceited.She is the most important thing in your lifeand she demands you know that.Pet her. Tell her stories. Cuddle with her everyday.If the feline within isn't your one and only princessshe will scratch your furniture and steal your socks.
Plz PLZSo could Deviantart add an "Icon Plz" category?It would cut down on the Deviantart IDs that people make just for the icon to show in someone's commentary. Why have blank pages taking up space when it could be a deviation that gets its own deserved attention?Just have it set up like the emotes, where people can link them in text and have them show up, but make them deviations instead of IDs in their own category. They would be just tiny little pictures that people could add to an icon collection for quick recollection, and the more of them you collect/fav the more you can use quickly without searching for them. It just kinda makes sense to
EntrenchmentsSomeday, we will come backWhen you walk among your fieldsThat lay peaceful in the pink sunsetYou will remember the bloodAnd we will be here once moreWhen the noonday sunSpecks the silent plow with diamondsYou shall think of bayonetsAnd screams that tore as they fellWhen your children run among the grassesShining ethereal in the twilightYou shall think of ghostsAnd of ghost children that never wereThe world has forgotten usThe earth will not forgetIn our memory, is our revenge
Between My Silent Sobs and CriesBetween My Silent Sobs and CriesTaken From meThe soul I vowed to keepNowSad perfidyFrom the man with whom I sleep.And he rails, he railsAgainst me AndAgainst me: But I vowed to love and keep him; And I meant it sincerely.This man I marriedWhen the blossoms were blowing sweetHas scooped up all the bugs and dirtFrom the fallen autumn leavesAnd guards the scum upon them So jealous, Jealousy.And I am terrified of a winterOf some snow piled crisp and deep In such a blinding whitenessI could lose what I would keep.Lover, oh LoverYou're missing the verdant springAnd I know there's still a soul in
strawberriesdrops of rain explode into colors on your outstretched hands,blossoming as roseslike bright ripe strawberries.and when you roam enchanted gardens,nothing is ever as it seems…one moment a blade of grassand the next one of many featherson the wing of a birdabout to take flight.no matter how you trygravity is wiser,and you are bound to come down from the clouds.millions of heartbeats like yoursall search for the same thingand will find each other someday.
Sta.sh
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