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The March of LifeThe march of life
winds on and on
in a pitiless beat.
it was presumptuous
to think it would stop for me.
For a myriad of reasons
I stood by, rapt
while life marched me by.
I was seduced
By the little bubble of tranquility
but my serenity was not to last.
I had to shed my tattered dreams
and join the tumultuous march of life.
InfamyThe infamy of the golden age
and silver swords
crossed by brethren
and lovely ladies
in silver gowns
sliding across stone floors
awaiting their Knights.
The infamy of Today
and battle rifles
crossed by comrades.
And lovely ladies
in blue jeans and Grateful Dead T-shirts
pacing across hot concrete
awaiting their soldiers.
Reality T.VThe director signals for the cameras to start,
as I roll out of bed in the morning.
Makeup does my hair,
as Wardrobe picks out the cutest things they can find
in my excuse for a closet.
I pull in at school,
and the set is bustling with dozens of extras.
I head straight for the main characters,
and recite my lines perfectly
like a good little actress.
I walk into the hallway and the camera swings around,
I feel its gaze upon my back.
My interactions are perfectly timed,
not giving me a chance to mess up
and screw up the whole show.
The whole thing is so fake,
so scripted, an imitation of real life
To their credit,
the others play their parts perfectly
never missing a beat.
I look longingly over at the outcasts,
the ones who threw away their scripts long ago.
I watch them,
how the other actors shun and taunt them
and losing my nerve I return to my script.
I want to throw my script away,
but it's all I have know,
and I fear I would be lost without it.
The Knight's Final WordsThe noble knight lay,
on crimson ground,
breathing his final breath,
and he whispered,
to the world,
"So be it, that I mark this spot with my blood,
with my life,
Let my burial shroud,
wave proudly upon this hill,
so everyone will know,
that I died defending my country.
I swore a vow,
to protect her unto my death,
but now, at death's door,
I make another promise.
I vow to defend her even after death,
so that no invading force,
nor conquering army,
shall breath one breath upon her rich soil."
With those words,
he left this world,
and a country mourned,
their brave and fearless knight.
MaskThe music plays,
echoing in the ballroom,
as silk-clad figures waltz
across the floor.
I cannot see who they are
through their masks.
That could be my true love,
standing by the punch bowl.
That girl standing alone,
she could be my best friend.
This is a shallow, vapid way,
of distancing yourself from the world.
These people are like shiny baubles,
colorful and gilded on the outside,
but on the inside, they are hollow.
All I see is the gilded outside,
and even though we are only feet apart,
through your mask I am miles away,
from knowing you.
InconvenientHow inconvenient to be made of flesh,
one must do so much,
we must eat, and sleep,
and live with the pain
of everyday atrocities.
How inconvenient to be made of blood and bone,
so easily we could stain the ground crimson
with our very essence.
How inconvenient to be made of hopes and dreams,
and all we have could be gone.
How inconvenient to be so breakable,
yet isn't that what makes us
The High School ColossusNot like the beautiful girl of Prom Queen fame,
With bullying taunts awash from hall to hall;
Here at our mop-scrubbed, florescent gates shall stand
A mighty girl with a soul, whose kindness
Is a solid rock, and her name
Friend to all. From her heart
glows school-wide welcome; her gentle mouth smiles
The tile hall the twin rows of lockers frame.
"Keep, you jerks, your storied popularity!" cries she
With smiling lips. "Give me your nerds, your freaks,
Your bullied students wanting to be free,
The lonely refuse of your taunting word.
Send these, the friendless, dumpster-tossed to me,
I extend my smile beyond this classroom door."
?I dont want a perfect love,
I dont want the I-dos and the till-death-we-parts,
I want you through every mess,
through every argument,
every akward date.
I don't want the perfect life,
I want regrets,
because every regret makes each triumph sweeter.
I dont want to forgive and forget,
I want to stay awake and plot my revenge.
I don't want to play by someone elses rules,
I want to make my own,
scribble them down as I go along.
I am a MouseI am a mouse.
I am quiet, I am nothing.
I am a book that nobody has read.
I am an eclipsed sun and a cloaked moon.
I am irrelevant and unwanted, a broken toy in an attic.
I am the dust in your rear-view mirror that you leave behind.
I am the air that you breathe in and spit out as something different.
I am the palest white. I am the darkest black. I am the dullest, emptiest grey.
I am the old man with forgotten memories and the baby who has yet to make them.
I am a forgotten word, dangling on the tip of your tongue, hanging on the noose of your lips.
I am a dried up stream. I am a felled forest. I am an abandoned cornucopia of resolute nothingness.
And there is Hell burning in my eyes.
PainParalized by the suffering
A shiver down my spine
Images of my past haunt me
No one can save me from this hell
to me you are perfect
I do not know the reasons
for all those scars burning
against your bright skin
you've been soaking
a pain reminiscing from past
we both cannot recollect
yet you are so beautiful..
when night gets darker
and I am the one...
who's hungered to undress
the spirit of you
slowly revealing the layers
coming off from shadows
disguised in desires
craving to be fulfilled
I will caress every corner
of your silhouette
until I figure the true shape
of your heart
I will rub those blisters
softly until every nerve
of you gushes into a river
and you moan into a life
I had promised you
years ago when we began
to breath into each other
for all the truths
I must swallow
and lessons I must learn
you are the one
I am destined to discover
what it means
to love in perfection
A void within meAlone on this inhospitable night, once again
I let my memories guide my lost steps,
Wandering amid the ghosts of my past.
As I walk along the quay,
I stare at the feeble Seine flowing:
She's dying by the street lamps' hands
While the whole city asphyxiates.
Reflecting my own lack of humanity
Over the river's lighted surface,
Griefs come and go at the water's rhythm.
Once again, on this breathtaking night,
My feelings are sealed and my chest hollow.
Purple rain, chills of cold.... Or regret? I crave
My musical drug, my remaining salvation,
Spreading a sweet poison within me and
Eroding the remaining happiness I still have.
I plug my headphones...
A grin of relief appears on my weary face,
I flee to lenient lands, where a familiar Angel tucks me in.
These notes of violin split the immutable silence,
Fill the hole in, lit a bonfire to my soul.
This mermaid sings my dreams to me,
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
you talk like a travestyoh, mercury boy, you can't
write your way out of this
body or out of this mind;
you can pray like it's high-fashion,
insist you're only burning yourself out
(but tell me - do you feel like a god yet?)
if only for murky mirrors &
silver cicadas caught
in your ribcage, you've
got a knack for decaying
california wintersthe tears
I rationed have all
run out. Tuesday comes
up behind me and steals
my breath; my cat snores.
she can’t sleep soundly
since she lost her seventh
life. I’m like that, I’m always
worried someone will try to steal
what I’ve already given away.
I miss color. newsprint sobs
washed me out. I am a
blank canvas, I am a faceless,
I am one
of you. I wake up sweating
and it’s winter and I can’t
sleep because my memories
follow me between my sheets;
jake still won’t listen.
we never knew we were the
lucky ones, we scarred, too. don’t
touch me. don’t want
me, don’t bare my bones
when you think I’m not
watching. I’m afraid of
myself. breathing loud
enough that others know
I exist; you follow me,
needing, laughing, it’s
a game. who has lost
the most, we all want
to win; I’m so tired, so scared,
there’s no one in the world
who sees me. I can’t cry.
we’re in a drought.
Hold the HeartI.
Your heart is like the old wall,
at the end of the street,
filled with random scribbles,
of names and dates.
Though yours smells of wine and scented candles,
cluttered with faulty promises rather than garbage.
I watched you toss it so many times,
like a useless rag ball, but this time hurt didn't it?
She couldn't bear to see her name,
topping the list of a million others,
nor the lipstick print you forgot to wipe,
mixed with the scent of another's perfume.
She added a new smudge to your wall,
a line of black carefully drawn
across the memories and faces,
and firmly stated:
"No more littering allowed at all".
Then she took a hammer and ripped a hole,
wincing in disgust at the decaying flesh hiding below.
Hold your heart in your hands,
the patches can no longer sustain,
there are too many pieces now,
I think you're even harming it more,
with every sting of the needle,
while you desperately try to sew it whole.
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More