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Daunted ReverieI grab the sheets and feel with fingertips
A chilled fabric, testament of
life without you
This quiet sleep without dreams
While the night still holds bright stars
And I gaze out the window wondering
if you ever will exist
Where I can hold you close and
A chiding laugh and I close my eyes
There is a whole lot of sky between
you and I
Which to a dreamer is not so daunting
But my wings are papier-mâché
Tearing in the collected rain of
this brutal reality
In which I can only close my eyes
In RememberanceIn Remembrance
Therein lies this emptiness
That simply wades through veins, festering
And spreading to every inch of the body
Where no one can see but choose to
And I long for the words to find
A way to simply scrape the surface
But they disintegrate before exposure
To a mind so consumed and devastatingly
Vacant where we were meant to spark
And create this growing life
To bring to a world where most want to sweep
Embarrassments and difficulties under
No meter or rhyme can clean it up
When something is indescribable
As the flickering elephant in the room
But even still my smile is sewn, my lips
All I know is the patience for inevitability
Because the world is temporary and
To drop anchor here is suicide for those
Who cannot swim amidst valueless waves of
But as the minute hand skitters the time steps
And I feel it slip into an abyss of abstractions
The world stands still for a split millennia of
Falling tears and stilled breath as I feel you for a
Within the Drum Within the Drum
The copper crept from within, a slow oozing trail staining its way. The notion that something wasn't quite right startled her awake. It was dark out still and she felt it weighing her down, a claustrophobic blanket of restriction. She reached up with soft fingertips, confused to graze a sticky path up her neck. The rough trail on her skin introduced a precipice of acceptance and the recollection of the doctor's warning. A lightning bolt hit and jolted her body out of its sleeping fold and into a tense knot. Turning her head slowly she waited for the next strike as the rockets burst in her head.
A Teaspoon For DrowningI visit many deviant profiles for writers and think to myself, "That could be me. They are so put together. Their writing just screams I AM ME! So little words, so many emotions. Truly beautiful and wonderful in a sparkly blender of Hellz yes!"
Fuck. Testing testing .where is your voice?
Not over here.
Venom Veracity Venom Veracity
I drink a cup of coffee, the aroma of a sigh enveloped by my skin. A tranquil moment. Pensive.
Perhaps if I had known that he would drag her away by the wrists, I might have skittered along the time steps. Avoiding the sparkling stars, their sharp edges never to slice her forearms. The crimson congealing to my skin, so chafed. Bleeding rubies.
Some secrets scuttle into the cracks. And words cannot survive the violence of the mutilation. The clenched jaw, starving screams. I carried the naïveté of her in a pen, ebony splashes dancing. When the water refuted the stars, she lost balance. Catch her.
Held in splintered animosity, the grin of victory scal
The AshesNo one can touch us anymore. You must have not known or else you would be here with me. Right?
Our world is burning
The song is beautiful. It reaches out and grasps my dying fingers. Like a Polaroid, the emotions slowly come into focus, colors and details getting more and more brilliant
I begin to cry. How do I show you? My words have died and they are decaying within me. My tears are ink, and they drop to the burning world, stained and unrecognizable to any who cared to take a look. If I had been able to show you, would then you have stayed for me?
I screamed, the sky r i p p l e d
You didnt notice. You have forgotten how to look up.
You just never cared like I always did
Listening, watching, waiting
Dawns PreludeRetreat is quiet and swift. I sit up, soft sheets falling around my hips as I blink blue depths, ever staring in the distance. Like the sparklers' story, it is fading before my eyes with sparks dying, though I saw its brilliance but moments ago. Stumbling out of bed in a daze, I try to grasp hold of Times retreating veil. He is too fast for me.
I must find the pieces of my dream. Each spark of it slipped out of consciousness and between the cracks of reality in mere seconds. Tearing at the earth, I stretch and reach, longing to skim the tips of my fingers along their rippling frames. The ritual of it all consumes my waking moments.
But before I know it, the sun spins her dance among the clouds, finally taking her bow into the horizon. She retreats into the waking realm as the stars take their cue. They open the gates and the obsidian waters cascade over the sky, trickling onto my world. I look to the ground again, my dream faintly glowing as sparks crackle and leap in
Requiem A muted landscape sits beneath the dark heavens. You step upon it, a scream sewn into your lips. The thread burns.
You are running, but why? For what is it that you seek? What do you hope to accomplish?
But you cannot answer these questions can you? You were the one that took the needle to your lips.
The moon is solid, unmoving. You thank God it has ceased its descent of drowning in the water. Perhaps then you can catch up. The wind stumbles alongside you, losing strength, a frightening thought. Why are you running?
If only your skin would slide off and let you fly. But you are contained, restricted: a mirror to yesterday. Now there is no time. She suffocated whilst fate outlined her neck in gnarled fingers. Dont watch, just run.
Denial is simply the façade of reality who ba
The WeakeningGrief of gray, the silent trespasser
Descends with splintered wings
Their beat a rhythmic epidemic
A scratching within my being
Once impassioned with yearning
The framework for our own lives
As we tread somewhere in the middle
Between the seasons evolving intellect
Now all is the mask of Façade
Through these drowning eyes
As desire and beauty diminish
Cutting oxygen of the souls language
Loss amidst the tranquil second
While the lifeless gray scars within
Severing lifelines to my passions
Oh sorrow, if I only
Jeff the Killer x psycho! Reader - part 2
A Lullaby wears White - part 2
When Jeff next woke up, he felt a horrible pain in the back of his neck and down the back. After his vision crystallized, he realized his head was bent over. Even bigger pain greeted him after he straightened himself up, gritting his teeth hardly. The next thing he realized was his current position – he was sitting.
The itching in his eyes reminded him to take eye drops. He tried to move, to stretch his hands and legs before taking them, but something blocked that action. As he tried again with no avail, he became suspicious.
Then he looked.
He wasn't home. He wasn't even in bed. Instead, Jeff was sitting on a regular chair with iron legs. It was wooden and rather uncomfortable for sitting and he found it absolutely ironic. But the last thing he wanted to think about was irony. The state he was in was what truly bothered him. His wrists were tied against chair's armrests and his legs against chair's front legs. He struggled against
Levi X Reader Zombie AU! Ring Around the Rosie
(Pshhhh!This is what I was listening to on repeat while I wrote this! It's beautiful!!)
Ring around the rosie
Life never lasts long. It's just the way things are. But when the plague came and whipped across the planet, life became shorter. It became a gift, a present given to you by the deity that was watching you. But by no means does that mean the deity will stay. The luck they give you is now limited.
Those who die shock awake, becoming nothing less of a monster. Biting into loved ones, strangers, children and their mothers, sons protected by fathers. They weren't picky.
Survivors of this disease flock from city to city in an endless chase of cat and mouse, having no clear purpose in life other than to serve as food for the creatures that roam free. Everything changes; smell being a big one. From smoke and sweat and the occasional lavender or other flowery scent to raw flesh, the sting of iron that pierces your nostrils, and pure garbage. Not pleasant, but to be expecte
Promise Me...It was the perfect opportunity. The time was set just right.
He could hear the assassin's light breathing from the other room, a shuffle of movement as he snuggled deeper into the pillows to get more comfortable.
There was a pause, and then no more movement and that signaled Malik that the man had fallen into the deepest part of sleep. For the next three hours he would not wake unless something touched him, and now Malik had his chance.
His sword was fastened to his belt, the feather lying on his desk was now being tucked into a safe place in his shirt. He rose from where he was sitting and walked out and into the room right beside his.
The man was asleep on the fluffed pillows that lay on the floor, arms curled underneath his head. His legs were bent so they ruffled the front of his robes, making the outfit look bigger on him than it really was. Lips parted just centimeters apart, it softened his face, making it look more innocent.
He...he looked like a child. The child Malik knew sin
Creepypasta: Number XCreepypasta: Number X
Alexander stared at the blackboard for a full five minutes before he had the presence of mind to look at the clock on the classroom’s wall. 8:08 PM. Great, now not only was he slowly going insane searching for an explanation but Alexander had missed his supper as well. Surely he had made an error, because this…this had somewhat grave implications.
The genteel math and English teacher called Alexander Phipps often doodled equations on the blackboard after the day was done and all his students had abandoned Ridgeview High to do whatever it was that kids did these days. He had been applying the mathematical concept of pi to non-Euclidean spatial geometry and stumbled across something most unsettling. Alexander had found a number which was like dada was to art. “Dada” was a school of art which sought to destroy all other art, and this was akin to it in that it was a number that seemed to disprove all other numbers. He had represented it on the
UntitledJohnny starts playing sonic.exe at his own risk. The picture says I am god and johhny screams and elsa freezes him. The end
Creepypasta: An Imperfect PanopticonCreepypasta: An Imperfect Panopticon
It had been two weeks, two days since Phillip Webber had seen the Slenderman while sequestered in his cabin in the woods. He knew what would come for him. He had heard the stories of how the faceless apparition always took those sheep who strayed to close, like the lunatic wolf it was. But Phillip was prepared. He had fortified his cabin and the surrounding woods into a veritable citadel of closed-circuit cameras and automated traps. He almost expected at first to catch glimpse of it again, given that the locale the siting had occurred at was not far from here at all. But the thing never appeared directly to those who caught its interest, not at first anyway. It always sent its paranormal proxies to do that. Its proxies, who were still human at their core. And being human they had a very human assortment of weaknesses and vulnerabilities.
Phillip took a drag from his eighth cigarette this hour and clicked the monitor display on his laptop from camer
Shadow, Fog and Firelight
Shadow, Fog and Firelight
Weeeee-ooo! Weeeee-ooo! Weeeee-ooo!
Madeleine Hawthorne awoke to the mournful sound of the foghorn from nearby Hogan’s Gap. Faint streams of moonlight illuminated the foggy, rain covered panes of the large bedroom, revealing the walls of various posters and costumes, fabric and fashion accessories.
For a moment she lay staring up at the upper bunk where her sister Giselle, age ten, slept. Then she turned her head and looked at the round bay window opposite the bed. Wavering shadowy patterns glided slowly over the glass--shapes that didn’t seem to match any of the windblown trees or silvery rain trails. They seem more like a fantastic tumult of microscopic pond life rather than anything that could be visibly recognized from her backyar
Creepypasta: The Watch CollectorCreepypasta: The Watch Collector
Time is both a burden and a necessity. Five minutes are hellish to someone trapped in a burning bus, and dearer than anything else to a dying woman saying goodbye to her children. But mostly, time is something most people waste more than anything else in life. I have resolved not to be one of those people.
I collect watches. The others in my fair town of Alpenview like to think it is a harmless hobby, a fairly mundane one too, and I am not keen to correct them. I purchase them from the pawn shop, I buy them brand-new at the old strip mall in bulk, and sometimes people approach me and sell them to me directly. That’s just how well-known my unconventional but innocuous little hobby is known to others. Most eccentric young men my age would collect Magic the Gathering cards or My Little Pony merchandise or what-have-you, I collect watches. Nothing sinist-
Pfft. Sorry, I just couldn’t keep a straight face. I’m trying, really, I am. But when
The Letter in the SandThe Letter in the Sand
Sometimes we stop along a sunny beach to write letters and pictures in the sand. Sometimes, depending on when we arrive, we find one written if the waves haven't washed it away. That is indeed rare because we all know that the waves will come within a few moments. But I must report a rather strange case that I saw at the beach up in Rhode Island.
I was on a holiday there at the time. Usually I head for the coast around twilight and simply comb the beach. One mid-evening suing my holiday, I was combing the local beach and I discovered a strange image or symbol scrawled on the sand that, very curiously,the waves had not washed away. I noticed that waves swept up every five to ten minutes. However, despite this, the symbol remained intact in its place.
I photographed it and waited to report in the following morning. Then, I headed for Providence. I entered the city round noon the next day and searched for a studio to develop the photograph. I found one about t
My Dearest BetrayalMy Dearest Betrayal,
Along your spine I zip open your flesh, peeling it back from the muscle and bone. Breathing heavily upon your utter nakedness, I watch the uncontrollable quivering as my poisoning breath scalds as dry ice.
A screaming monster claws its way up your throat, tattered shreds of your gullet are left in its wake. Flailing in the putrid fumes of agony, your yellow eyes search. But there is nobody there for you anymore. A sea of writhing bodies bump and flop against your own, unaware. Encapsulating screams have carved themselves into your irises as the selfish world turns topsy-turvy like a drunkard consumed in his own self pity.
The hair stands on the back of your sweating neck. As the claustrophobic drowning dissipates, a frost crawls to the ends of the earth congealing the flow of your veins. Solitude is now the scumm
A Guide to Writing DialogueWhat is dialogue, exactly? The definition from Merriam-Webster’s dictionary was several lines long, so I shall summarize it in a short sentence for the sake of the readers; it’s the writing that illustrates conversations between two or more characters in a story. We read and hear it all around us, but creating it in your own work can be a challenge. However, if you find dialogue an obstacle in your writing, then don’t push the panic button. In this tutorial, you’ll find by analyzing what dialogue can do and how to use it, you can turn your greatest fear into your greatest ally in your story.
What dialogue is
Like I’ve asserted before, dialogue is basically what the characters are saying to each other. It can be found in multiple mediums such as books, movies, comics, video games, etc. We even engage in dialogue daily without even thinking. When you talk to your best friend, a co-worker, or even your dog, you create dialogue. It’s exchang
Keep in Touch!
Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More