|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
C Chronicles, Pt Ii'm not sure if i can remember how to write, but i want to relearn, just for you. i want to have the freshest and happiest time of my life documented in some way, i want to write about you. i need to learn how to write something cheerful instead of all the depressed and heartbroken crap i used to slap onto the page. i want to capture your scent in words, your laugh in paragraphs. i want you to be pressed not only between my pages, but between my sheets, between my arms, my legs, even. i want your warmth to come through in my tone and your shy eyes, which have faded from a deep brown to a lighter hazel, to brighten up my words. i want to be daring for you, to go do crazy stuff and laugh the whole way through. i want you to see me as you never have before: silly, drunk, strong, motivated, outgoing, intimidating, naked. i want you to turn your head back for a double-take every time i walk by with my chin held high. you should be giddy
It makes me ill3rd grade, 4th grade:
A sickening drop in my stomach,
My head is in the lowest gear.
I know that they live such different lives,
And yet we are connected by blood.
I can hear my pulse stop from the beat of their music,
I can feel my abdomen shrink into my spine as they yell at their mother,
I can see my hands shake even though we have the same blue eyes and same round cheeks.
I am terrified of their reality.
8th grade, 9th grade:
Strangers produce this physiological change in me:
Those with dark eyes, dark hair-
Those who are obviously different from me.
I am scared of realities I know aren't mine.
12th grade, 13th grade:
The reality I came to love is what frightens me the most.
The 4th grader within me is trembling in my palms,
She is crying in my ears,
Trying to cover up the sounds of your hiccups,
Trying to cover up the feeling of your tremors in my arms.
I trust you with my life,
But I don't trust you with your own.
I am frightened of a reality that I cannot protect.
14th grade, 15
'you can tell me anything, you know that'what i have to say is
"i'm feeling pretty sad right now"
but it can be illegal to let
negativity sprout in the crevices
of support structures and tear ducts.
what i want to tell you is
"i miss what i left behind with him"
but it is not well looked upon
to tell of misfortunes with old loves
to those who could be new.
what i wish i could say is
"the healthier i get, the more i want
to go back in time"
but those words would fall upon
full hearts, heightened expectations,
and lost connections.
i set ablaze every bridge
i came across, and there is no way
to travel back now,
and there would be not a single soul
waiting there for me.
what i do say is
"my shoulders are burning today,
my back feels broken this evening,
my eyes are dull tonight"
because physical ailments
are tangible and have permission
to exist, but, indeed,
they are the easiest pains
to cause myself.
flaws in composure are flaws in armorrepetitive two- or three- word phrases
are the outer limit of my vocabulary
when all i can hear is
my pulse in my throat and
my hands and legs rattling
against the floorboards.
my back is spiraling into itself,
searching for my stomach, for my lungs,
searching for a reason for this
suffocating pain and imminent death.
my eyes can't settle on any single object,
because everything is fragile
and i'm afraid to watch anything break-
maybe it's because i watched you break,
i watched my words break your trust,
i watched my actions wreck your beliefs.
a few minutes later, when the attack passes
and i'm alone on my bedroom floor,
i detach my arms from around my knees,
shove myself up with whatever strength i can muster,
and scrub yesterday's makeup
from the bags under my eyes.
someday i'll look back on this
and i'll see that i was a warrior.
a warrior with holes in my armor.
a paladin without a proper breastplate,
lacking the internal systems
that offer refuge during something as simple
as a p
looking for danger at 3 amcracking you open,
right there on the street,
would give me the satisfaction
that i've never asked for.
you offered me your wrist for me
for weeks, for months, for years,
wishing i'd hurt you just so your tears
could be "justified".
don't you know?
you didn't get the memo?
none of us have the justification
that we feel gives us permission
to destroy or be destroyed.
we're all wandering the alleys at night
that someone will stab us in the gut,
just because we wouldn't flinch
and wouldn't give up our wallet.
kidalmost every damn day
i halt words that are about to spill from my throat,
i hiccup over sentences that i can't bear to speak.
three letter words can serve as a trigger
that launches a full fledged attack on my nerves,
which in turn launches me out into the street.
and every time my heel hits the pavement
all i can hear is "get out. get out. get out."
all i know is that i need to get out.
and i need to get out fast.
but almost every damn day
i spit out terms of endearment
for all of those who
i hold so dangerously high.
i almost collapse under their weight
when that short, seemingly insignificant word
almost sneaks past my lips.
the soles of my sneakers
can barely hold me aloft
when i run with such panicked purpose,
hearing nothing but
"how could i almost- how could i almost-
how could i almost say-"
and knowing that
indeed, i almost said it.
and almost every damn day
i lash out at the memories
that i've cut into jigsaw pieces,
trying to throttle the
panic-prone girl i've grown from
it's true - i'm leaving youconvincing a child that someone is now
from their life is a matter of
saying goodbye, wiping up tears,
and never seeing a trace of them
as an eighteen year old,
i would have appreciated the child's version
of this ritual of persuasion.
instead, i got two-month intervals of
delay and lingering,
times of remaining identical
to the stale soul i had become.
i could count the intervals
exactly to the day -
two months was the longest
anyone could go before shattering
into insignificant shards.
as a twenty year old,
i have become skeptical
of the idea that someone could
leave at all.
i might not speak to them,
i might not see them,
i might not notice things around me
that used to define my vision of them,
but the absence of habits
gives absolutely no validity
to the claim that they are
forever gone from my world.
i have spent four point zero two percent
of my life with dulled senses.
for ten months
my vision was blurry,
my hearing was garbled,
my sense of smell was pract
you wonder how you ended up herewhat am i doing to myself?
that surge of panic
a heart-stuttering, mouth-opening, clenching-of-the-jaw
the realization that my hands are to blame
for the strength of my bones
for the confidence in my eyes
for the smile that comes so naturally now-
how do i take this back?
how could i be such a stranger to myself
how could i let my dreams fall away
how could i pack it all into a single shoe box
how could i leave her behind,
after all she's done for me?
this line is much too thin to walk
and my bathophobia is making me stumble
one side of the fence houses
fruit, sweat, strength, genuine laughter, newness of life
and enough self-worth to inspire
the other contains
blood, tears, collapse and destruction, a lack of sleep
and enough regret to drown everyone i've ever loved
and yet, in my eyes, it is comfort
how do i choose between health and safety?
why am i making myself destroy one life to start an
you will never feel quite cleanempty bottle resembles empty heart
and empty head,
and empty bed
every song is a punch to the gut
reminding her that she must
be better, be stronger, be confident
and yet relapse is on the road
to the imaginary land of recovery
she develops an intense relationship
with her lonesome bed
blanets reach out to keep her pinned
-with tear-stained cheeks, chewed up nails,
swollen shoulder blades
her mattress is desperate for the kisses and sighs
she gives it night after night
Blood Regent: FaithfulThe beads were cold on his fingertips. The old brick of the church smelled of mold; corroded by the decades of winds breezing up from the loch.
“O my God, I am heartfully sorry for having offended thee,” he rolled the bead along the edge of his finger. The words spilled from his lips, memorized but still genuine. He lifted the stick until the candle finally breathed flame.
“- and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishment, but most of all because I have offended Thee my God…”
“Garrett,” a voice called from behind him.
“- Who is all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve…”
“Garrett, haven’t you asked enough?” Garrett felt a hand brush his shoulder. His scar rubbed against the cloth and the feeling was unpleasant.
“That is the point of repentance, Duncan. It will never be enough. Leave me to my prayers, please.”
Garrett watched Duncan’s shadow dance across the walls. He p
SethEn la oscuridad del origen del mundo definí mi destino
La llave de la verdad yace enterrada en lo profundo de mi alma
Mi sangre inerte clama por el conocimiento perdido.
HauntedAs the apartment door shut behind Melliene she turned, looking back at it. It was difficult for her to leave that apartment a second time in such a rush but it had to be done. She knew herself too well to know that if she stayed any longer that things wouldn't have gotten accomplished. A sigh left her lips as she breathed into the white scarf that was drawn over her face, and neck, concealing her identity, as she tore herself from Nallaen's door.
Descending the stairs of the apartment building she passed one fellow, nodding her head in greeting. Dressed as this, hidden, and garbed in white silken robes of the Light she was no longer Melliene. She was Greer Rosach, a woman of the Cathedral. A kind woman. A good woman. Everything Melliene was not. Sometimes she wished for Greer to become a reality for her, to put an end to her hazardous ways. It didn't matter how much she hid behind the mask though. She would always be Melliene. A selfish woman. A woman who knew no bounds. A woman who wo
anythingHold on. No, wait, a little to the left. Smile. Moment captured. We'll hate it later. We love it now. You don't use enough exclamation marks when you talk, birdie. I know. I don't like them. You are too close for breathing. Hold my hand when we are not together. Hold my hand through walls and fallen trees. Let me live in everything you see. Let me jump from every object you glance at. Let my name ring out as a ghost when you see someone with hair like mine. Let the memory of my hands graze your mind when you see someone else's. Let nothing else be enough. And my shadow hovers over everything you are. And my voice still makes you jerk your head. And you are my first experiment, and let the sound of typing make you remember me. May the blurred silhouette against the kitchen window at 10pm when the light is long remind you of me. May you miss where your head fell against my collarbone. Scoop up burned charcoal with bare fingers and cry. Dip your guitar string calluses in the ocean and cry
RescueThe sound of the screams was the worst - horrible shrieks that cut off into gurgles when the Old's plasma cut through the lungs of its victim and reduced their vocal chords to wax. William watched, 6-year-old eyes wide with horror, hidden under a table as an atrocity against nature, a metal-and-black-flesh creature, stomped past, making no noise except for the soft hiss of its plasma caster. The humans did the rest.
The smell made him want to vomit - he did, but only when he was sure that the Old were gone. William crawled out on his hands and knees, looking around the resort that used to house 2,000 souls - now but one. The recreational world he lived on was mostly waterfront property, through incredible terraforming efforts, and was shot through with as many rivers and oceans as veins in a beast. The sirens had come only a moment before the Old ship seemed to appear in the sky, so far away that the atmosphere colored it blue. William didn't know what had happened next - rain started
all of itall i know is that my body is trembling from how angry i am, and i refuse to
cry. my body is bruising, and i love it. my fists are twitching with how
much i want to punch you in the face. i want blood. i want blood on my
all you do is lie to me. it doesn't matter if it's something important or
something insignificant, you lie regardless. you lie about yourself, you lie
about me, you lie about others. you're just a liar.
all people do is take advantage of me. you did, he did. everybody does. you
say you love me, you try to keep me from falling to pieces. all you're really
doing is fucking me and holding me in your tight grip so that i can't be loved
by anyone else. i'm sick of this.
all i've been thinking for the past year is that i need to take a break,
figure my life out. my life will never be figured out, and any time i think
i've got i
Keep in Touch!
Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More