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The Creamy Dream of Sadhir AkeemThey’ve got us sailin through the clouds and America is proud
Engines roarin loud, drownin out the world o’ sound
Crowdin round the plaid couch, watch impossibilities found
This is when we found out, innovation is never bound
We’re all king and queen clowns wearin round, jeweled crowns
Plowin at the ground until the Earth’s no longer round
Take a look round the town you founded, see the dirt’s no longer brown
And we’re wearin sad frowns and wearin gowns from mad cows
Make a bout for a loud row, yellin out sour nouns
Take the flower like it’s ours and build a house for the powers
Make cowards out to be stout, oust the worms in their bowels
Neath the towel where world grew proud of its power there’s a rope unwound
Now beneath the sweat of your brow, the only word renown is a pronoun
And we’re makin cowards out to be stout, oust the worms in their bowels
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
You Belong to MeWarning! This is not necessarily a love poem.
I can take you over the rainbow
Unearthly holy labyrinth
Where my heart's an open blaze
But my sanity is absent
Flagrant scent which you emit
Such lovely, gracious musk
Forever love you, I do
Forever possess you, I must
For you, my passion is rendered
Let this be a night to remember
Sing to me, you are mine truly
And give yourself to me
Beneath sky, it's you and I
Watching the stars of night
But I feel you slip from my side
And slowly out of sight
But how, my love, could you do this?
I thought I had given you bliss
I'll seek you out, take you with me
To a place you cannot leave
* * *
Arrived at your bed, slipping into your sheets
Singing in your ear, "You belong to me."
I hold you closely just let you see
That the one for you, only I shall be
Plead to me, plead to me, just to let you breathe
And you scream and you scream, falling in too deep
There is no mercy now, you've already left me
But never again will I let that be
* * *
Mental Disorder Discrimination"You said you've got depression?
No you don't, you attention seeker.
You're just an average teenager with the perfect life
Desperately looking for sympathy."
Stop crying, you coward.
You're just a childish "scaredy-cat".
Blaming your problems on a mental disorder
That doesn't even exist."
"So you're schizophrenic?
Grow the hell up, and stop acting like a child
You're too old for imaginary friends
You callow, juvenile, little twit."
But if we're attention seekers,
Why do we try so hard to hide our feelings from the world?
Why do we isolate ourselves in our rooms,
Desperately hiding the cuts on our wrists
Trying our best to live a normal life?
And if we're simply "scaredy-cats",
Why is our fear so vividly intense?
Unlike simple fear, our anxiety will stick with us forever
A severe long-lasting feeling of powerful panic.
A feeling from which we'll never be free.
Suddenly we're childish for having a mental disorder?
Schizophrenia is not something we can control.
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 breathe 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
PainParalized by the suffering
A shiver down my spine
Images of my past haunt me
No one can save me from this hell
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
poem for borderlinesif i could concentrate over
seven hundred thousand eyes
at the roof to the numbers stepping
from the nicities & rows
to go back
to the shattered surface
& the ripples beating over the hang
halfway between shallow
biting lips. maybe--
she couldn't have known
that it takes a whole three minutes
for the lungs to
well, maybe she
who, oh well
the white; the haze--
the booming over
the spume and spray
me get out of my head
just pull up the shutters
my tongue the weight to talk
but that's all we'll ever be:
a match burning itself out for
under the backspray of someone else's wheels
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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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