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Deaths Last Drink
Another day another cut,
another wound I cannot shut.
The taste of eternity lies upon my lips,
another glass of death to sip.
Released upon the fallen I weep,
droplets of blood, they slowly creep.
Leaving a tale of woe behind their masks
slowly they fall to the forgetable task.
Just another dream in a sea of pain.
Just another wail in an endless scream.
Another puppet for you to call your own
ever lonely, yet never alone.
The decadent voice calls out for me
as hands entrapt me whilst I try to flee
Their embrace a cold and haunting cell
a place where I can call my hell.
What is left but wasted lies,
all I hear are mournful cries.
The dead they dance until sunrise
where they disappear from human eyes
And now I am one with their kin
The Rain CameI dug around for you for days, unhorsing
worms from clods of earth until I found the shine
that meant you lay beneath. You came
out of nowhere, you grew, you wanted to leave.
All I had was a shovel and a packed lunch, five pence
of foreign money, and all for you.
But i ran out too quickly and you wandered
off with nothing - not even flowers
from another tomb, not even stones
or the prayers hanging over long-rested
earth. You just went, in the way
that you do, and now I wonder
where you are and what you do for food
and succour. You mustn't worry.
I worry (who pulled you from damp earth) but you,
you run free. If there is anything you took
from me, know that I was always afraid -
for how you would know I loved you.
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More