|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
The Whole StoryFx. Intro music Lapis Philosophorum [piano solo]
Fx. Fades into the sound of rain against a window
Why did it have to rain today!?
I was going to go play footy in the park, but no. I got the joy of waking up at 11:30 to the feckin' rain hammering on my window and mum going on at me about how "since you're not going outside and I'm not having you spending YET another Sunday lounging around the house getting in my way, you might as well do me a favor and go check in with granddad!"
So here I am. Spending yet another gloomy Sunday afternoon sitting on a musty old arm chair in granddad's sitting room, nursing a flowery tea cup and trying not to inhale too much of the old person smell and cat hair.
Fx. The chink of a tea cup and the sound of him moving in the chair.
I knew he was going to tell me one of his stories again. I just knew it. It's what he always does. [Pause] I wouldn't mind if they were actually interesting or had some meaning to me as his grand
To Write You Into LinesI promised I would never write you into one of these
whatever you would call them
I told you long ago that I couldn't
A self-proclaimed poet;
too full up with idealistic notions
and self-satisfying dreams
Entrapment - Dream catcherOnce upon a time dreams were thought of as merely a succession of images, ideas and emotions that occur involuntarily in the mind during the stage of sleep called the REM cycle.
And once upon an entirely different time dreams where seen as a way of obtaining sacred wisdom and guidance for life.
But every night in the bedroom of Valentine Rêverie dreams are a thing to be feared ever since her* aunt had brought her the dream catcher for her 10th birthday, saying it was made especially for her by a genuine Lanape Healer. All lies, Valentine knew, it had actually come from the back of a travelling salesmen's cart, but she couldn't be bothered to complain.
Unfortunately since she had hung it over her bed, Valentine's nights hadn't got any easier, in fact quite the contrary.
It was bedtime for Valentine and her younger brother Erin. This was absolutely unfair in Valentine's eyes, her sister was only just 13 but she got to stay up a whole hour later, where was the logic in that? It wasn'
A reason to stayI have just moved in to my new apartment, there aren't many other residents and I had only met one or two other people as I was moving boxes in from the van. My room is now just a mess of boxes each one labelled with their destination room and contents; I can't be bothered to unpack. The rain has started to come down pretty hard so I had to rushed the last few boxes, only bothering to unpack 'kitchen- kettle, tea, cups, cutlery, etc.'
And I'm now sitting in the window nursing a cup of fresh tea and watching the rain splatter the glass an inch from my nose.
It's pitch black outside apart from where the street lamps spill liquid yellow in to the street, pooling in ovals that ripple in the puddles of rain drops.
Nothing moves apart from the constant rain that glitters in the pale light coming from the room behind me.
And then the stillness below me is broken by sudden movement that slips past the corner of my eye only lasting for a second but long enough to catch my attention, I
Chameleon eyesLike molten lava
spilling from the abyss of his mind
sparks fling as he looks around
Taking in everything around him
consuming life itself
digesting it in that inferno
he operates as a mind
and then erupting with all the new
information he has gained
forming words like fireworks
and hummingbirds wings.
Then they are liquid silver
mercury and rivers of fresh melt water
tears like beads of moonlight
encompassing every emotion
in their fall to earth
blessing the air they fall through
calming the inferno, cooling its fires
letting mere mortals such as I
approach - but still only look
for now it is frozen, deadly
and now he looks into mine
my dull earthy green and browns
and stops crying, for in mine he can see
the life that he could never create in his own
and he learns from mine, taking on the green
and filling the cold with vines and leaves and
soft brown earth that warms the air and feeds
the new life that blooms in this new found
even ground. His flame and ice [his extremes]
Paper DreamsShe wishes to be that picture
ripped neatly from the pages
of that magazine.
The one she just taped up
on top of all those others
each one, perfect.
But that's not it
she doesn't seek their perfection
their beautiful skin or glossy hair.
She has spent years collecting them
lining her bedroom walls with their
Photo-shop smiles and glistening eyes.
She hides herself away with them
half believing that if she spends her life
surrounded by them and only them
not going out, not eating anything
never leaving her sanctum of paper
then one day she can finally
achieve what it is she sought
not their perfection
paper thin, curves and skinny bones
not bracing against heavy flesh
but the subtle under-wiring of tanned silk
Her paper dreams
torn from beauty magazines
Stunning, loved like each of the models
Skinny, thin like each page taped to her walls
She's a WriterShe sits at her desk
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
BetrayedI won't swallow your lies anymore
I can't stand your presence
You used to be my friend
But you're nothing to me now
And soon you'll be
Another bad memory
I won't be able to forget
Do you know what it feels like...To be lonely?
To be bullied?
To be called ugly?
To be unattractive?
To be compared to other women?
To be considered unnormal?
To be unloved even though you give love to others?
To face issues that you don't in reality know how to fix?
To think that your goal you're reaching for, is unattainable?
To feel like the cause of many people's problems?
To be held up on a high pedistal that you can't get down off of?
To realize that people don't like you based on your personailty?
To at no avail, keep up your happy and upbeatness for others?
To look at happy couples and wish that you had someone to be happy with?
To stop fighting for anything anymore?
You AgainOh, it's you again. I must admit,
The crooning has
The lies have been
And mine are like swords
It's just you and me
In this sick game
I can tell
You're pulling me in,
And I don't have
To pull you down
Sometimes, I've had
And all I see is
Then it became
I don't know
How to escape
Dark to see.
And all I can
Wonder at every
Turn I make
When can it be
flower petalsi know that when we touch
that my energy is yours
that we are like flowers
because at our roots
we need water and love,
we reach tall as we can
to get to the sun
and stretch our leaves
to welcome it all;
and when we touch
i know that our skin isn’t skin
too soft for this world
when it grows rough with gravel
so i invite you back to our bed,
soft with the earth
where we can lie gently
and sleep until it is time
An artist (revised)
Staring blankly at a white sheet of paper
Can truly be an artist’s worst nightmare
An artist’s duty as its shaper
Their thoughts up in the clouds somewhere
Looking for bits of inspiration
Their eyes searching the skies
Nothing can break their concentration
Nothing can blow out the passion in their eyes
Being an artist does not always mean you are skilled
You do not need to be Picasso or Bach
It means you want to see your dream fulfilled
And that you will never give in to an art block
SightStars in the night sky
I see beyond that and through
Greatness into darkness, I can fly
Here above the earth I can see the truth
There is an angel that will love me until I die
jackal grinMy orange peel
lips split: the beams
a deck of cards
nana’s worn porch,
and fingers weaving
through grass blades
when the light is
soft and warm.
(have you f
I Don't Come with the Edgesi.
It cries the way dragonflies leave ripples
in the rain. On days I swallow
whirlpools for breakfast and
drown with libraries for fun,
I can almost allow myself to forget
And it doesn’t want to make
me kneel on my shoulders
or pluck the weeds
from my scars;
I can see it try so hard
to be my friend.
But if I could choose
polka dots over tail lights
and sun screen over
I wouldn’t think thrice
or even once
not to blow the candles
on my grave.
That’s why I keep
the colons of analog clocks
under my tongue;
so I could keep the
figures eight of cliché’s
as keepsakes for old age.
I like to think infinities
have loopholes; tree rings
that dissolve into each other
with exhales for a caress.
And just when the tones
of lyrics would enter the
eutony of names, only then
would I drift into love.
When I wouldn’t be holding
my blood in my temples-
when all I am is a thought.
The running footsteps
we’ve come to cla
Harmonious DiscordShe dreams
of making music
but it's not music at all.
There is no melody,
no rhythm to her song.
Just the repetition
of the same-
As if the orchestra is
tuning their instruments.
Waiting for the tap of the baton
to bring the mess to order.
hopes that the maestro never arrives.
She loves to loose herself in the fuzzy-buzzing
twanging confusion of it all
The busy white noise
that fills her ears like cotton wool
She knows she could mend it
with the snap of fingers
[bring the rhythm back]
the tap of a foot
[give it a bass line]
the rhythmic clapping
[Make a beat for it to follow]
Start something bigger
than anything previously experienced
In this small static word of
TV snow storms and dial tones
Of broken space filled with
empty frames and fogged up lenses
But she won't.
For this is her harmonious discord
filling the darkness in her head
Hath No FearGiving yourself completely up to fear is kinda like falling in love: You can't pin point exactly when it started and by the time you realize that you are surrounded by that sensation it's already game over. Just like the image of the person you are in love with starts creeping out from every unexpected corner, fear never leaves your side when you give it a welcome stay. After a restless sleep, it starts beating anxiously in your heart the moment you wake up in the morning and commands all your thoughts and actions throughout the day. It is nothing short of a prison, except you are the only inmate and the warden never takes a break. Ever.
I do not exactly remember when I let fear occupy my being but I remember the exact moment when I realized I was ruled by it. It was late in the afternoon, everybody was out there 'getting busy living' and I had locked myself inside my bed half awake, not particularly finding any valid reason to get out of it. Then I was awakened from a nightmare by my
Keep in Touch!
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