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Thought Dump #1I.
Could you prepare something,
that people normally eat for once?
Well we normally eat this stuff you know.
That is not what I meant.
never mind, false alarm.
I thought it was the---
I'm not sleeping in the tent this time.
My back has gotten all these weird pits and sores.
Don't sleep on the bones then.
Bones? you guys actually had bones put in there? I'm impressed.
What on mother rock do you mean?
the amount of detail for the camouflage....
y'know the elephant disguise!
Many people died in the process of acquiring the tents
by the time we managed to slay the elephan----
THESE ARE REAL?!!?!
That's it. Not sleeping in there again.
Don't worry the couple you met earlier rented it out.
You're too young to ask that question
I am not too young! We are the same age,
hell the same pers---
But someone has to save your innocence.
They'll only accept a pure mind.
Who says t
An Untrained Touch
An Untrained Touch
My fingertips take a spill,
covering your body, in your pockets they congeal
trace with pressure, I watch the blood resurface
daintily dangerous, and at the same time worth it
My fingertips take a pinch,
a rosy aftermath, almost similar to a singe
the color of your lips, now stand adjacent
subtly your body gives way, without misstatement
My fingertips take a break,
now I hold a firm grip, no longer I rake
palmed, static, to try and catch your heart
beats from beneath our chests tearing us apart
My palms break a sweat,
it's amateur hour, and I accompany a vet
this is not your first, and likely not your best
what makes it all worse, your rhythm remains at rest
My palms pinch a nerve,
myself stolen from movement, without a healthy urge
progressing sullenly, dare to seem brash
once was a thriving ember, now a single ash
My palms spill a way,
for me to get away, these goods are too used to pay
honesty's approach to life is something of a gem
with callousness it often opens up a void within
where insignificance meets a freezing desperation
a vacuum's symphony to a sophist generation
the primrose path powered by our decadence
said to have a cost but I laugh at the malevolence
rather us a hostage and convinced it's all a test
a coincidence is only miraculous if it's blessed
which leaves me at a standstill unable to contend
cause questions are a blemish and will lead to your descent
victim to the fear of death for it transcends existence
a guiltless trend to apprehend the lost and often witless
the extraordinary ability to comprehend
the ordinariness of which we are all condemned
the truth never hurts, not even on occasion
and if you're filled with lies, then this is your abrasion
Landmines and sexy slow jams
Landmines and SEXY slow jams
before or behind its time, existing in the present
it solemnly dances alone, the dance of death
hoarder of work unfinished, merely abandoned
unable to create whilst pleasing its audience
passion-stripped, with befuddled concentration
stripped of soul, left with phlegmatic impressions
unmoved with calm disregard for moral decency
no longer good or bad, knowing there only is
gripping the poison, with generous sips
creates an illusion of increased social ability
sensory synesthesia, juggles his taste and feel
a euphoria of stimulation, aided by incompetence
its moves first intricate, holding awareness
its moves now indolent, losing its steps
of the landmines that lay in wait for weight
a single one lies adjacent to the soles of his feet
time is the enemy, as is the sexy song's progression
one off beat slip and he will leave this cage forever
passing and existing only through the mouths of men
whispering amongst prodigally enslav
clash of polar opposites creates the balance
destructive construction that'll exude natural talents
the blind advantage give faint smiles fat pockets
to shelve creative freedom in return for profits
the exposure you hungered for is now in abundance
only problem is your forced to expose a lie to the public
the truth riddled and hidden behind tongues fencing
past identities too distant for memories to mention
only weathered grunts heard behind the media muzzle
to find artistic value is like fixing a broken puzzle
of a thousand pieces stretched across the holy nations
streets paved with gold only the peasant's anticipation
because they know not the masked burden of success
the hindrance mandated to please the general press
to be embraced with acceptance but only just to crawl
never fly and only allowed to stand if you're not that tall
forget your dreams and higher callings you face a decision
bend your image for the master or fly with the pigeons
two universes -
John-a-Dreams dreams endlessly in a dead dimension
remorseless to the time wasted on baseless perplexing
the subconscious universe expands to greater planes
of contrived existence unaware of physical disdains
when he awakes, he finds he's lost track of the world
it has heard nothing from him except thoughts purled
a burning wish to supply both with equal attention
but his conjured creation justifies his own pension
it outweighs himself that exists realistically instead
so long he has been invisible, its best to believe him dead
dead to the world because he fancies more the dreams
where he can wine and dine anything that he fiends
he cannot deny it, he would rather live vicariously
instead of handling his universes simultaneously
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
pencilsif life was a pencil,
my eraser would be gone.
all used up,
but the lead would live on.
it would make it's mistakes,
but couldn't take them back.
so the lead would live on,
until it cracked.
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.
hot to trotinside out
this years' toy
hot to trot
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.
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.
Rotting inside of me
To your lies
as my remaining adolescence divorces it's host
and my teen angst hooks up with sterility
I feel grounds for my future raising a toast
to all my dreams and fancies that'll never be
there's little time left for all these idle pleasures
and it's too late for me to design a better plan
I'm tying the knot to my noose with my own endeavors
and my procrastination is kicking the stand
I feel hatred for the people that led me astray
but at the same time I'm angry with myself
I know there's plenty more that feel the same way
open your eyes before you end up getting shelved
while the almighty ra continues to kiss the carrion
for more souls to follow a bitter lost passion
I hope they wake up to the heavy load they're carrying
and pick better goals that'll led a life without ration
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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