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writer's blockyou can cram yourself up with monsters,
build a zipper into your spine,
fill your days with darkness;
or take a bow (and exit) -
or shout until blood slides off your throat.
though some of us may take Suicide PillsTM in our dreams,
or wrap up in secrets,
out there it's much trickier. reactions, a cry of responsibility,
interactions, responses. traction, sponsors. attraction, absconces.
you can fear the telephone
you can fool yourself with old hopes
(i hope you can all serenade your own damn selves to sleep.)
i'll be here in my secrets,
surrounded by a fancy gate
with a "no trespassing" sign made of solid gold.
back in business, baby.
and icy looks
and an equally icy demeanor.
and DRINKS ALL AROUND -
days when the entire universe could be contained in a single cigarette.
i was a fountain of empathy behind a rock wall,
with the occasional dusty and cracked window
i was a pod of memories, legs and arms sprouting
flailing, sometimes grasping a pen.
HELL IS IN A METAL FENCE
UNMOVING AGAINST THE WHITE SKY
with the occasional icicle to remind us
of the fragile sensations
roads sometimes wet, mostly icy
to be stepped on
an eternal search for something to break
without the courage to break anything at all.
SLAMMING THEIR HEADS AGAINST A WALL
six hours a day
a curtain of hair to show how goddamn bothered we (i) are (was)
a coat to use as a temporary cocoon,
cushioning the unanticipated changes.
BOOKS DROPPED TO THE FLOOR
thunk. thunk. thunk.
RAPIDLY BATTERING THE DRUM
silence, counting up, and then A SNAP.
this was my winter.
sonarsadly, my ears drip sonar.
if ever there was a signal to hit its target,
my telephoto brain was deprived of its saccharine reverberations.
my eyes strike like darts
and my ears drip sonar (sadly)
and wafting through the air is some kind of scent
but i've never been what you would call a decent smellist.
most shockingly comes the sense of togetherness
that manifests with the touch and links it all together
the sense of togetherness that is the image
of her tragic visage.
many. it may change, and it does change, and i change with it
but as i change i forget
that i am still the same.
at times, the walls breathe -
other times, they don't
but if you think about it...
if her lungs under her visage and behind her chestplate
then something's gotta give.
walls contort; they suck in and fluff out
like a belly
and in doing so, let her breathe.
my ears drip sonar.
they can distract me for only so long
and they are at war with my eyes, who themselves are crust
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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