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The WayfareI trod broad hill littered with skyward trees
Beyond which lied the roiling, raging sea
There was naught that I could not see
For in my heart a wayfarer did sleep
Until upon the day the night did creep
Where stars had glittered in their depths so deep
And a lust for the world awoke in him
So he fared the world and sailed on its brim
Flew under the light, be that bright or dim
And I was he, and we gazed upon the stars
We saw the endless ocean high and far
In all the world our way could not be barred
That was until I woke from my slumber
Yet I knew that when I felt a shudder
Like great waves my sheets did pull me under
The Winking HeavensNever forget that which follows the sun's depart
For they follow as well your sleep and the beat of your heart
Like glistening eyes may follow you and keep you sound
They make your night living as day and ensure the earth is round
Take them with you wherever it is you may go
For they will always bring company when all lights seem low
Let them make your wishes true and real as the moon
Such a wish may bring the world to behold its salvation soon
Yet never forget what importance forever lies in day
For always may you remember that our sun is a star against dismay
A Good Night's Sleep A Good Night's Sleep
Jack finally laid the pencil down. An entire night's worth of sketching, and nothing to show for it. Dozens of lines and characters lay sprawled across the sheet of paper, dancing either impassively or violently. They all trailed off into different sheets, most of which were piled into the bin. The metal bin was full, balls of sheets bouncing off the top of its pile, and the floor littered with the rest of the trashed sketches. The desk careened to one side, near to subside. It was a wonder that it had not collapsed yet, and even though it seemed clear a new desk should be bought, Jack refused. Procrastination was his best friend, something which he depended entirely. That showed when it came to his art. As of late, very few finished pieces could be seen in his portfolio. Otherwise, works-in-progress lied about the room in constant slumber.
The Lily both Dying and LivingWhat makest thee dream?
Art thy worlds not spawned of them?
What hast been wrought of thy realms,
Whilst thou art beset?
Whilst thou rot in thy watery grave,
Hell bringest thy harrowing
Or is it not this that thou hast dreamt of?
Is it that thy heaven shinest upon thy face,
Bringest light for thy dreaming shrine?
Nay, not one be so
Aye, for both be so indeed
For thy dream makest thee bleed
Yet makest thy tourniquet
And bringest a lily both dying and living
Alas! Thy hellish realms come
And those of rapture blighted,
For thou art overcome by thy fears
Lo! Pay not heed of these
For what wroughtest these is but a sojourn
Lo! Thou may sodden these realms with heaven and awe
And thou may wake from thy slumber
Yet dismay not of what dream comest on the morrow
Out from the Gray EveningWhile morning pushed me drearily into noon, I passed the smallest window of my house several times before finally stopping to observe what lied beyond it. I had done this from time to time for weeks, perhaps too often: standing before the smallest window, staring into the same spot though the slouching tree-limbs; the very spot that caught my eye each time, the spot that had no concrete form or obvious potency. There was no reason why I would have to gaze into it, whatever it had been. I knew no other feeling it gave me but curiousness, be that good or bad. And with each day passing, my curiosity grew. It had begun to form an itch that eventually sprouted a tumor. I ached.
Yet I couldn't know what I ached for. Was it to know what it was that stared back at me? Or to know what intentions that would ensue these encounters?
Still I waited. Perhaps I could have been building up to something, an apex of my dull life, something to give the least form of livelihood for which I long yearned. D
Wistful"I am the boy who wants to love
your misshapen words,
your broken hearted pieces,
your ink split fingers.
I am the boy who wants to kiss
those scar tattooed arms,
that tear stained face
mend what has been broken.
I am the boy who can
make your heart
sing poetry again."
If only he would say it
like he had
In My DreamsI met her in my dreams.
She tells me she’s lonely, I told her I’m similar.
I tell her everything; she whispers back
“It’s okay. I’m here, you’re alive. You’re breathing.”
She’s the reason I picked up all the pens I did.
The reason I don’t want to sleep most days anymore.
My tears fall every time someone sells her out.
I hate that people use her for the fame & the wealth.
And act like she would give herself up for free.
And act like she would give herself up for free.
My text says “I need you more than ever.”
But wait a minute.
What am I thinking?
Why did I send that?
I’m not ready for that.
Not ready to commit.
‘Cause I’d be really bad at it.
‘Cause I’m only thinking about me.
I’m only thinking about me.
The more honest I get, the weirder you get.
And I’m fine with that.
The more honest I get, the more they hate you.
Are you fine with that?
Friends ask all the time,
all of your lives have been addictsmy cat
my front porch
into a graveyard
as if to say:
this is what we need
she tried to lick my claws
back to hands
& I said to her:
"I do not have 9 lives
to spend on the bathroom floor
with 13-hour insomnia
can't we just kill the mockingbirds
pull the concrete
out of our throats
& get this dying
she's got 8 lives down
& doesn't answer questions twice
Sometimes..Sometimes things don't work out..
Sometimes you want to see the sun but
the clouds beat you to it.
Sometimes you want the rain when the sun is
burning you alive.
But the sun burned it all away and now you're
Sometimes you feel like walking to the end of the plank
but when you've but one foot left on the edge
he pulls you back and you remember that you're loved.
Othertimes, there was no love.
No one to hold you, and nothing to anchor your soul to hell.
Sometimes things don't work out.
And sometimes they do.
And sometimes it seems like they will work for the last time
and always will.
Until they just come back and in the heat of desperation, manifest
as your nightmares
and consume you
you're back at square one.
Sometimes you're stronger than othertimes..
and you pull through like you know you always have, and will.
sometimes I think you could do well to know that I'm here too.
And you can always give a little of it to me
Insanity Has Firewalls TooI want to set fire to
all the voices that
dance their way into
No Breathing AloudHave you ever felt like...
their empty sorrows
Was showering over You
From a heavy cloud ?
What will we do ?
If we can't breathe,
Rotting inches beneath
They haunt me in my sleep,
Like monsters they are locked up
In my closet
I can hear them through blocked ears
Their suffocated cries...
As their lungs die
Everywhere I go...
They taunt me
I know I'm breaking
they know it too
"Why are you smothering us?"
Their lungs choked down in their
I don't remember his name
He asks ...
"Who are they?"
"The ones who torment your mind"
Can't you see
They are me...
They are me
those Who cry out for help,
Because deep down
This world has rotten my oxygen
And squeezed out my last breath,
Leaving my lungs for death...
and now I cry soundlessly
for an eternity
In loveI think I'm in love
With someone I don't deserve
To me she's just perfect
In every possible way
The white of her skin
The black of her hair
The shadow in her eyes
All together make my day
Much easier to endure
We only talked a few times
But she could be the one
The one who will save me
From my life of misery
But how will she react
When she sees my scars?
When she knows about my demons?
When she realizes I'm broken (beyond repair)?
Will she accept me for who I am?
Or just walk away?
I only want her to be happy
If not with me
Then in any other way she wants
2 Cold 2 BleedOn frozen nights when it is too cold to bleed,
Those are the times I am afraid to dream.
When conversation brings unwanted memories,
Tears flowing in streams until I can finally breathe.
The truth is that getting over things
Is what I do best sometimes it seems.
But how the sun shines when he speaks to me!
And I find myself wanting to know everything.
I want to look through his eyes, to see what he sees,
I want to know if he ever thinks about me.
In the end though, I shyly retreat.
I can't allow him into my reality.
I know I could love him, most certainly.
But we all know what happens...
when someone is loved by me.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much sought after model. ^... Read More