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UnspokenThe three most beautiful words
You left unspoken
In this shattering silence
Im left heartbroken
Tears trickle down
As I share this token
Of appreciation, thank you
For leaving those words unspoken
Blank ApologyI sit here alone
And stare mindlessly
At the blank pages
Of a letter you never sent
The smooth ivory pages
A reflection of emptiness
Stare back at me spitefully
With an undertone
Of bitter revenge
As I try to read through
The transparent ink
I am sorry for what I did
A Writer's BlockA sense of pending doom overcomes a writer
Consumed in a frustrating inability
To construct a poetic sentence
For one is trapped in an exasperating moment where
So many words cannot be penned
Thus so many emotions that cannot be expressed
And so many insights that cannot be shared
All to blame on the burden called a writers block
A writers nightmare diagnosis
But one must let time heal
This temporary feeling of wordlessness
And one must let inspiration reopen
This blockage of poetic emptiness
For a writers next epiphany will soon come.
drifting away.Let the melody play.
As I sleep, forever.
I am happy in this,
State of understanding.
My final bleeding.
This has to end for me someday.
So as I sit and cry,
I try to remember why,
Remember my reasons for this.
On this dreadfully beautiful winters night,
a hint of death, works into the midnight chill.
Do not remember my desperation.
For I will still be with you, in heart.
And This is my dying work of art.
The truth about love...Love is a veiled trap.
Its easy to fall into it, but difficult to climb out.
Once weve fallen, it uses up all our strength to get out.
Whilst the other person, watches us fall, laughs and then forgets us, leaving us there trapped in the bitter fallacy of wonderland.
Worst of all, we spend all our time sitting there tangled in our wounds, wasting tears over the fact that we have fallen into a deceiving trap, rather than pursuing our emotional survival instinct, and taking the route to climb out, escape and save ourselves.
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
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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