Newest Deviations
how to get byWhen I sayhow to get by
"I dont care" I'm telling you how I wish I felt.
The it's alrights are for when its not okay. I'll say I don't mind if I can forget.
When I have lost interest and the words their meaning. When your voice
has become a noise
cue the laugh track the sparkling eyes all thirty-two crooked and stained teeth
I know how to get by;
I know exactly what to say.
by ~100mg
ComfortI can still smell the curious, sweet and sour scent of your breath from time to time I must confess.Comfort
I don't know why it still haunts me at the most inopportune times
when I am finally distracted and alone with a clear mind, exposed,
unaware of all pleasantries and sorrows.
The way it soothes me
disgusts me. disappointment follows
Perhaps it has become the scent of comfort and I will never be comfortable again.
by ~100mg
PretendersWe are all pretenders in a never ending struggle to validate our existence.Pretenders
We are all in denial constantly filling in the holes where meaning doesn't fit.
We are all fools kidding ourselves to feel that we are much more than what we really are.
We are all liars preaching our unfounded ideas to be truths.
We are all pretenders acting as if we are something we are not.
by ~100mg
CigarettesMaybe I'll pick up smoking cigarettes.Cigarettes
They couldn't make me feel much worse.
I could light yours or loan you one, whatever it is that I have to do for some small talk. It goes a long way.
You might pass me by and never notice the way my cigarette dims while I hold my breath. I can't help it.
At least I won't feel out of place. another sigh, another drag Just another guy out smoking with a months old pack of cigarettes.
by ~100mg
Favourites
you were terrible at livingWrite a plastic philosophy stolen from hard hands you've never felt the potato fields on your face, bleeding oil stains and dirt But you pretend You pretend you know what it is to hurt.you were terrible at living
Write this second-hand poetry the words you stole from post-modern messiahs from Salinger and not Steinbeck and pretend there is some kind of tragedy in beautiful music.
by *SameOldSongs
Night WalkerA thing of certain ambiguity hood up, collar up, moving along paths paved with lead dark lights passing over funneled sightNight Walker
Taught to speak when spoken – bastard scions etched in stone that quell the fire within and silence the troubled Voice.
Yet, for all its trepidations the promise beckons the faithful acolyte innocent to the choice unaware of the consequence
Welcome home, to your sanctuary where light flickers without shadow and gilded mist hazards eye and heart a proposal.
by ~RBZilla
YouthYouthYouth
Back when we were everything we knew we were not, we faced truths born of honey-sweet lies, through the eyes of a masked facade.
Back when we knew nothing that we did, we climbed obstacles of false oppression, with limbs that we knew not how to control.
Back when we had everything we thought we needed, we heard the pain of lost innocence, with ears that knew nothing but lies.
Back when we lost what we did not know we had, we found what we were meant to be, with a heart of purity hidden by darkness.
by ~MuffinMan24
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- Current Residence: Memphis, TN
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