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On HolidayDon’t ask me why I feel the need,
Don’t tell me what I should believe.
Don’t stitch me up when I bleed.
Don’t ask me why I want to leave.
I’m visiting my old friends.
Agony, hate and cruelty.
They’ve known me since it began,
And down the road so grueling.
Laced words, written in calligraphy.
Spaced out, Lost within the bigotry.
Hate all, indoctrinated by the ministry.
Love none, defining it by chemistry.
I embrace all of that which is dark.
Built the depths of my personal hell,
Led to a place on the map unmarked.
But I can tell you just where I fell.
Here I am, here I lay.
Here I’m dying today.
Here I was, Here I’ll be,
Hell of an Epitaph to me.
Where are you, wandering?
What kind of gift, did you bring?
Costs are up, Stocks are down.
And I’m here underground.
God is dead, long before,
In a box, nothing more.
Caustic sounds, Toxic play,
It’s a brand new holiday.
And I’m visiting my old friends.
Agony, hate, and cruelty.
Kill the ShepherdFolded hands in proper laps,
Wait for the speaker to conclude.
Rumbling audience and roaring claps,
Or silence, when verbally nude.
Exposing thoughts once locked up,
Truthful and too dangerous to touch.
Venom poured into a paper cup.
Or so, they will tell you as much.
Forge a word, hammer it down.
Display your fabricated passion.
Hear their cheers shake the ground.
Then exit the place in an orderly fashion.
A mask of words and costume designed,
Sheep are so easy to beguile.
Subtle promises seemingly benign,
Grow malignant after a while.
But an honest man is a quiet man.
Spotlights seem to elude him.
Microphones taken from his hand,
The media will only exclude him.
It is the unplugged words spoke,
So quiet they’re barely heard,
And then gone like a wisp of smoke,
That are the very best for the herd.
Sometimes it takes a wolf’s howl,
To stir the minds of wandering sheep.
The shepherd dead and wolf obeyed now will,
Shake them from an ignorant sleep.
Lifestyles of the Broke and Nameless.They look down at you from their pillars.
Stone canopies full of the colorful and gilded.
“You can’t come up here, you’re not the right kind.”
“Stay on the ground, no sun for the wilted.”
They stand on you. They live so high.
On the broken backs of the working class.
Hold them up, work til you break for a shot.
To climb up too and sit on your ass.
We hold these truths to be self-evident,
But denied to those south of the canopy.
That all men are created equal,
And have the right to be happy.
Something is terribly wrong here.
Where the spoils go to the spoiled.
A lifetime spent on the ground,
A lifetime spent on the work toiled.
Never enough to get to school,
Never enough to afford to retire.
Barely enough to window shop.
Barely enough to even aspire.
From the pillars, they look down.
As the pillars break and the broken stand.
Since all men are created equal,
Let them join us here on the land.
SignatureMemories of yours
Objects in my room
You sold me gloom
And all the lights.
Are you a fool
Or a blind mind?
Believing my lies
Soon you will die.
I have the rights
Of all your stupid life
Any kind of will
You read the chain
Embracing your neck
You signed it anyway
I am so lucky
I own a soul
I’m lord of its world
My wealth grows.
There’s no escape
My hopeless pet
Be my slave
And try to obey.
RustyMy heart is of rich, bright copper old
And in it contained love and happiness
It's not my smile or eyes that are bold
But the joyous soul shines its goodness
And then I met him, a mysterious guy
Of high status, an aristocrat if you will
He's charming, majestic like the sky
His grey eyes always gave my spine a chill
I don't know what lured me into him
Perhaps it was the danger that he emits
Little did I know he was nothing but grim
And he sucked out my life when we kiss
Heart and soul turned cold, a hard metal shell
I couldn't repair it no matter what I tried to do
The love was replaced with something from hell
Anger, sadness, misanthropy only grew and grew
My tears, like rain, touches my metal heart- now red
It's rusting away, until one day I must dispose of it
It is no longer beautiful, no longer pure, just dead
I'm broken and tainted with vileness of an evil spirit
Like a rusted robot, I need someone to fix me, a repair
Please clean me and help me rid of the painful memories
first kissThere is no equality in love
Who willingly wears the tightest glove
All must give what few can take
Brave heart dares bend far past its break
No casual chance not to be bored
Give to get true risk reward
No one can win this dangerous game
We all play still the same
While at the door pause reminisce
Only to remember that first kiss
Take these drugs and feel the fun,
smile once and then you’re done.
Click our ad and try your luck,
elation-fit, and then you’re stuck.
For just another little dime
be happy, happy, all the time.
Melancholy’s for the saps,
put your boredom in our traps.
Once you need a stronger fix,
Give us money, get your kicks.
Hear our pitch, ignore the slime,
be happy, happy, all the time.
Real worlds do not exist,
lance that sadness like a cyst,
Make your own world, make it true,
Use our rules, made just for you.
Where sadness is the biggest crime,
be happy, happy all the time.
Illustrations of IncarnationsI know not what I say until it's there
Emblazoned and incarnate, soul as ink,
As heady as a garden. How I think
In pen, perhaps aloud, and words will bear
Those thoughts of which I suffer unaware.
They weigh upon a heart that's apt to sink
Heavy with a truth yet indistinct;
A challenge to myself of truth or dare.
Now cast upon the paper they are free
Where once they ran amok in charted space;
Now ordered on the page, all I impart
And I am whole at last in clarity.
O words of hope which set my heart to race,
You are incarnate now, in written art:
My illustrated heart,
For all there is of me is writ in you
And nothing I say now will e'er undo
The ink on which I drew
All my incarnate thoughts, now felt and seen
As every stroke of ink makes up my being.
Hope's Triumph I
Days Long Lost,
Bear the heaviest cost
To the heart's burden fixed
On memories' own Halcyon times.
Be it that Fate,
She for future hope nixed,
Hounds us still of unpaid crimes
Of which we serve, never consummate
Of the penance sentenced to each his due,
Paid in the brew of humility and rue.
Before the Fall,
Of his world, his grasp held it all.
But as sand slips through the fingers' crack,
Same had his all been dissipated.
His vanity disintegrated,
All his stewardship's domain.
Nothing remains save the mockery of lack.
Hope spirits on wings slow and broken,
Sped on the flight whose end unspoken,
Its receiver is ignorant of the imminent aid,
Dodges the enemy's swiping blade.
Before them, the path blearied,
Under their feet wearied,
As their tempests loom above never allaying.
A bell rattles within their ribcages
The knell the desperate resound,
When peace is nowhere to be found.
Hope's course tarries,
Its lagging herald carries
rustythey called me little iron-heart,
because i "only cared about myself."
if only they knew the memories,
that were rusting away on my shelves.
the feelings came along with the pain,
and back to the memories to start.
everything in my life led up,
to my gray, little, locked up broken-heart.
i didn't care about anyone,
because i was unable to care anymore.
i thought i wore my heart on my sleeve,
i thought my sadness was apparent, for sure.
but maybe they just couldn't see past me,
and see that my heart was a little dusty.
so that's me, "iron-heart", the big fat jerk.
well i'm sorry if my social skills are rusty.
Melody"Be proud of yourself",
the words rise and fall.
"Look at what you have accomplished!",
They hit against the wall.
"Be proud of who you are".
They sing to me and to all.
Hear the song,
and the reason to be alive.
To think it's warmth,
To think it's touch,
would leave me in cold,
and forever behind,
was far from my mind.
The melody brought me down,
taking my hands in it's chains,
never allowing me to reach and rise,
in the light of the sunrise.
That (Feeling)I think I'm different from you all
a little detached that's for sure,
I'm not so certain how it started
maybe the time I felt broken hearted,
or even the time after that
either way this feeling wont detach
itself from me.
Sharper than a branch of holly
with a dimmed mind melancholy,
the outside is colourful to me
but inside shades of grey I bleed,
frankly I've had enough of that
but still this feeling wont detach
itself from me.
A broken mind repaired a heart
yet no heat can fix a mind so scarred,
I've tried at least a couple of times
since the first and second time,
now I've lost interest in that
and yet this feeling wont detach
and let me be...
It's keeping me from being me.
By Mark Francis Williams - 19/09/2014
FreakI love the burning of bitter frost my bare flesh.
I hate the haze of a summer's sun on my back.
The sound of a harp does nothing but piss me off.
And I love the smell of a charring forest turning black.
Am I a freak of nature or just a natural freak?
Do I see you staring at me or am I staring at you?
What does it matter to you what I do with my life?
What kind of damage to you could my opinions do?
I want to spit acid in the eyes of every deceiver.
Everyone who says "How are you?" and doesn't mean it.
And to those vanilla liars, I am their hell's receiver.
And I will punish them whatever way that I see fit.
You don't care about me, you're just doing what's expected.
You follow the rules and can't handle anything bizarre.
Ask "How are you?" and I'll tell you "I don't know."
And you can't respond just because that's how you are.
You and the ignorant will get what's coming soon.
And it will make you all rethink your social position.
Do you smile because you're happy or because we want it?
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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