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Literature
Phases of Compassion Pt. 1
It is funny how at our first taste of blood we react with glee. How with fiery
eyes we ask how it formed and where it lives as if getting more doesn't
mean reestablishing a wound.
It is offered meekly but it is bright and no one can look away once the
sweltering heat touches your face. You sit down, you hold their palm,
you cry into their shoulder as they spread it across your forehead like
it's some kind of fucking ritual. Which maybe it is.. at least at first.
This is how eyes are lit and tacked to a chest. At first we find peace in
the massacres that ride someone's back. We watch the gore with shock
and absorb it as ours in order to know them. The pressured pit of their
stomach makes them yours. It is yours because you kept it at bay first.
But it becomes a riveting spiral and it swarms things. It is not taken with
gratitude any longer. It is a disastrous and longing hole.
Don't be weak and take it.
Don't look it in the eyes.
Don't carry its fears or ride its horror.
We are not happ
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Literature
Sacrficial
I own a pulse that is beating
my eyes through the sockets in
my skull.
Nothing but a silent name with a
twitching chest laid out on a stone
slate in a foriegn place. Ignoble but
somehow meant to catch a God's eye?
This land is arid and my body is
too dirty for your cause. The wild
cheers appease his sibilant chants
but my face is forced to watch his
tempestous eyes as a fist plunges
through me.
I am empty.
Watching myself throb in his palm.
This is all futile but how it
riles up a crowd.
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Literature
Drowsy wake
You skimmed over your loss while we were in the ocean.
Asked if I was a good swimmer and without waiting
for a reply swam further. I followed breathless,
but confident straddling the ocean with my thighs
smiling as the salt whipped up and licked my face.
I didn't fight it but instead leaned into it.
You said the best you'd ever swam was three miles.
Threw up afterwards. You seemed comfortable here
in the water as I flopped around happily but with
less ability beside you so I didn't question it.
Apparently she died in a car wreck, your brother was
driving drunk. He didn't make it either. You didn't
look at me as you said it but instead swam further.
I followed surprised but not overly shocked (I never
really am I guess).
You smiled at me drunk and said a few other minuscule
things I smiled back and asked you to tell me something
in German. You told me you wanted to fuck me in three
different ways I laughed but didn't reply.
I watched the sun lower its sweltering body towards us
losing i
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Literature
Composed, eyes closed.
Reeling tongues may rip up
sentences instead of
completing them but what
really matters is the
teeth that finish the job.
Steal a temper from a drink
to dissolve a chest that matters.
I am reminded most nights that
you're waking more and more softly.
Breath barely trails its way
out but you get there.
You make it to my mouth which
is what matters most days.
I don't sing your hymns or
swell in the same light but
fighting for it hurts more
than falling for it.
I have sunk my lows and lost
my length to simmer in your eyes.
An ashen figure is dull enough
to scatter yet warm enough to
swallow.
An ashen figure is dull enough
to scatter yet warm enough to
swallow.
Measures caught stirring in
fire drill right through you.
They tighten your skin to a
point where you're leaking
their wistfulness through
your pours.
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Young blood. by Blessfullyshocked Young blood. :iconblessfullyshocked:Blessfullyshocked 5 3
Literature
What matters
Miss the things that only appeared
to hold you hostage; they will make
you humble.
Eyes large but aspiring , crawling
from their sockets like livestock to
a food source.
Starve the uglier parts of you
and feed her temper.
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Literature
What a fever.
I can't keep fighting for a tunnel
refusing to be drug further. I watch
your hungry eyes carve fuller. All
I feel is blood spilling faster and
my heat losing reverence. You treat
it like stagnant bath water.
Eyes glazing over when traveling
lower. Dreams tend to fight the
progress my presence beside you
once held. We are too far to
trim back the plague.
Let it darken your struggling
limbs slipping through the
cracks collecting in the pit
of our bed. Keeping our breath
held too frightened to spare
each other much.
Lips unraveling as you travel
lower. You drill me to my core.
Stop stripping me
unless you plan to fill me.
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Literature
Harder
Ask for softer faces and you'll find teeth
hugging your jugular. Ask for a clamped mouth
hinged on your sinking breath and you'll get
a whimper stretched over your cheeks.
I drew up conversations, buried my knuckles
into the soft tissue of your back, but I never
asked for more than the existence of your reality.
You read my curiosity as a humming heart when it
was simply the distress from the heat of my hips.
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Literature
More than lashes and hips
Is it so ridiculous to reverberate between your skin and their words?
Allow their lips to hover above you hoping their breath will bring forth
relief. Coddle their warm body and remind yourself again and again that
they’re there.
Is this allowed when you’re aware that there is more? More than
their sleeping figure draped in shadows. More than their curious eyes
darting around the room. More than humming words that dress you up in
fitted compliments.
You think I drown in these. My wrists locked together with with ripped
up sheets. My tongue catching the back of my teeth when I try to speak,
the soft tissue leaking red.
You imagine me dizzy headed, chest rising and falling with exaggerated
excitement. My face forming practiced expressions awaiting replies in
the form of discerning stares. My lashes lowering, hips sashaying forward
as if beckoned, and nipples erect of course. But my hand in the shape of
a fist with my nails biting into my palm.
To you, I am a failure that bing
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Literature
Fluidity
In the bloom of my youth a mistaken footstep not
only meant ripping myself away as quickly as possible
(though returning seemed inevitable)
but also chipping off whatever remnants remained.
Cherished items and flawed memories were flushed
or burned. Thoughtful surges were relinquished
as if they were prayers to an expired god.
I was not good at letting go and only drastic
measures seemed to disguise this.
______________________________________________________________
1.) The most forgiving yet risky ledge I've known
left me whimpering and scribbling nonsensical
"I love you's" over and over. I wanted depth but
was too wrecked to express it. Rust colored
blood caked my neck and I decided I wanted out
One by one. Three by three. Four by thirty.
It was obvious by  the end that euthanasia
was never the answer.
The recoil taught me to live and nothing more.
2.) My first and truest taste of Aphrodite's fervor.  
I was a coward rippling in excuses and I ran away
every time I noticed myself sin
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Literature
To a girl,
I have a quick eye that stems from my veins 
and we all know where those lead. 
You're weak; not just foreign to my past. 
I am not swollen in "everlasting embers" 
 and yet the peak that bridges
by a meager brush remains a crater.
I can't blame you for disappointment
when I welcomed it. Or is it that you
can't disappoint when it is expected?
You are an experience unnecessary
and easy to attain. Your worth lies
in spontaneity and rarity for me.
You are too easily opened, too unsure
of where you stand or who you find
sound in. 
Listen to me drop my tone below you.
Watch me pick it back up when it's over.
Excuse me while I hide behind the stench
of old rum and a throbbing head. 
I am not above you, but we certainly
don't benefit each other. I could round 
your woes if I had not been rounded myself.
How do you remove yourself from
below a sleeping head? Carefully?
Abruptly?
Is it even possible or must you wake them?
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Literature
Patience in the midst of urgency
When you enter a room too quietly you
lose your momentum immediately.
You stall your throat without even making
a conscious decision and no one will
miss you in the morning.
When you are swollen but plated the only
thing people will notice is the space
taken not the flesh given.
When you are wary and they ask you
how you are doing it is not your
job to make them feel included.
When you are lonely never mistake
a cock for a helping hand if you
are too hazy to ask for it bluntly.
There are times when you enter places
without thinking. The atmosphere tears
at you but you assume it is just the
heavy intoxication leading your body into
obstacles carelessly. It is always vital
to pay attention to what and who you
consume.
I do not lend my body but instead devour yours.
I do not showcase you to appease my jealousy.
I will not fight for you if you are not worthy.
I am sorry for being limp in my own satisfaction
but it is a struggle to blend. I normally choose
to catch things and send them away
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Literature
Tired love.
You came to me in the morning your
hair knotted, tussled, and smelling
of cigarette smoke and liquor. I was
drowsy eyed but knew the words needed
to simmer down your sobs to whimpers.
I hated you all the while but you nestled
my chest and dampened my clothes
and sheets nevertheless.
I was calm enough to love you and soft
enough to quiet my alarm. My hands hung
over you like rain glazed over glass and
you were fine with that.
You are turbulent and so very temporary.
How do you care for something that only
exists in bursts of overexerted energy?
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Literature
Normalcy.
I knew the things that lived
inside of me with more clarity
when I let them rule my ravaging
hands. I strangled their growth
when I stopped punishing myself
for forming my first coherent
thoughts from something vapid.
Sometimes I forget the times
I stepped away to feed them without
myself knowing. Accepting what
perversely pleased me was simple
after ruling out my sanity as a
love interest.
I never wanted normalcy.
But I never wanted to praise
the beast inside me either.
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Literature
Things must be okay.
Weakness is always obvious; it is worn in
grappling defenses. Sometimes dressed in a
dry smile with legs stuck together gathering
sweat and flaking air.
Efforts are concentrated on filling in spaces
that were and ingesting things that emanate them.
You try so hard to keep the things you pushed alive.
You try so hard to stay awake inside this.  
You are smiling.
You are laughing.
Things must be okay.
You are hinged in the swing of an
arm and it is more important to describe it
than to be there.
Things must be okay.
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Literature
Feb. 13 2013
I am all too aware of the force that turns footnotes into stories, guilty glances become locked stares, and they are held breathing deep as if I am evaporating. While visible I am not always necessarily open. I cannot treasure what comes willingly without mention of the crooked parts of me.
My skin is thicker than its ever been and while loud they are not imploring.
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Favourites

Literature
In the backwoods
Now I understand
those half-serious faces,
kids in pharaoh death masks
and all the guns in the woods
clunkers on back roads
and tree marks and blood stains
and fully automatic snow.
Now I understand
cracks in the windshields,
shard ballerinas on rooftops and bones.
They dance like mothers
ripe and swelling
with things from eons ago.
This knowledge cuts you
and then the world seeps in
and then the guns in the woods
and fire and life in your head.
Nobody chooses this madness,
it just is and it eats and it sings:
lay your head down ever too slow, and
you'll never sleep alone.
I finally see it
for all that it is:
wild shots at nothing itself.
:iconneonxaos:neonxaos
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shortcake by silklilies shortcake :iconsilklilies:silklilies 3 3 My Defining Moments by bellabrooke
Mature content
My Defining Moments :iconbellabrooke:bellabrooke 133 15
Literature
grasscloth.
attic:
the beautifully frondescent room around you pulses with my heartbeat.
it’s colour is shiny and grave. the attic door, it makes me sit here and think
about all those poems i wrote and the difference between the ones seen
and unseen.
i have a list of things to do as long as the hair on small children.
you have to pay attention to all those books you have
you have to trim the wicks before you light the candles
you have to feed your plants because they are dying
you have to sleep less than you do.
just start with gaining trust and going to bed at a decent time. then it'll all be fine.
but this room. oh god, this room.
it's stirring me crazy with it's foliage and vacancy, like it’s praying for me to
fill it with words. but sometimes things can't happen, attic door.
fires start in other peoples homes but not here,
not here where i need the heat.
you start with one thing and end up with the other,
but maybe these racing, haunting, smothering walls
just needs me home when it
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Literature
panic station
i feel horny and depressed
is that even possible (it just seems like a paradox to me)
but it is so
and i just want to come and die, both violently
in an alley or beside a cheap photo booth
but i can't because it would make such a mess either way
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blue dreaming by silklilies blue dreaming :iconsilklilies:silklilies 8 2
Literature
antecedent
the moon imagines these little tear shaped shadows where your collarbone meets your apprehensive neck. prolific slices of remorse slick my body because i know these two or a few things i need won't praise me anymore.
describing things may be my second nature but the flowers blooming from the tops of your cheeks will always come first. this unmovable paper lantern skin of yours lays only under the clothes you keep. but the distance from me to you is enough to need your heavy muscles, organs, body more than fifteen minutes ago.
now think about it, how i thought yesterday i'd be able to love you more complexly than today.
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... by FabriziaMiliaPhotos
Mature content
... :iconfabriziamiliaphotos:FabriziaMiliaPhotos 156 9
Literature
such a wild world (on falling in love)
you said you
remembered
me because of
the candy hearts
that i kept
with rellos in
your cigarette boxes.
dolly, you said,
seems the world
has slammed shut
on us. and
baby, i see
we are probably
all alone here.
we spend the
night in parks,
cramped laundry rooms,
long nature trails
sometime after midnight.
in the hotel,
rolling out of
bed half naked
sheets tossed and
pulling on your
shirt to run
out into rain.
soon we will
be perfect in
our painted pot
paradise
garden, our dreamer's
pheonix feathers may
never burn in
such soft light.
once i almost
shared a cigarette
with you before
we went inside
but i said
no because i
hate the smell
and taste and
you had fragile
hopes and i
knew i needed
something or someone
insane like me
in order to
work so hard
and need something
so much you'd
die to taste.
falling in love
is rare, corrupt
incorrect timing and
placement but despite
such bloody obstacles
there is something
so good that
neither of us
will give up.
being safe is
when i look
to you, the
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Tomb Raider by Pencracker by Pencracker Tomb Raider by Pencracker :iconpencracker:Pencracker 3,279 456 apologies in categories by silklilies apologies in categories :iconsilklilies:silklilies 19 11 cold by SolMay cold :iconsolmay:SolMay 138 22 alone at home by Anna-model
Mature content
alone at home :iconanna-model:Anna-model 1,200 36
Literature
abuse
my lover starts pronouncing my name wrong in
careful whispers, calling me his liquor,
whiskey sour, a shot of bacardi,
white and like a heavy wave of light
pouring into him: this is what he calls
me. he spends all morning vomiting in
the shower because of me, then spends
the night drying his tears and curing
the hangover, forgetting my name.
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Literature
better fucking drown him
don't trust me, lost boy
you make yourself sad, i say
as i swallow you
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Literature
long live
don't touch what you can't
understand what you can't feel
what you can't handle
:iconsilklilies:silklilies
:iconsilklilies:silklilies 16 0

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Blessfullyshocked
christine
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Don't get any ideas...
deviant art is basically worthless now so probably won't be posting much of anything any longer.

Comments


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:iconwetterlage:
Wetterlage Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2016
All my best wishes to your birthday St. Patricks Day!, dear Christine!  :iconflowerthnxplz:
I hope that you're fine and that you have a great time! :iconsunshineplz:  :-) (Smile)
Reply
:iconnotwithoutmycamera:
notwithoutmycamera Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2016  Hobbyist Photographer
Have your cake and eat it tooMusic :iconpresentsplz: :iconlachoirplz:

Have a Glorious, Phenomenal, Brilliant, Spectacular, Epic Birthday!!!!   and an awesome day, every day, thereafter!!! 
:iconcakeplz::iconballoonsplz:PartyWoohooooo!:iconwineplz::iconteddyplz:
Reply
:iconvsconcepts:
VSConcepts Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2016  Professional Interface Designer
Happy Birthday!! XD :cake: :dance: :party: :dalove: :headbang:
Reply
:icongioarturi:
GioArturi Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2016
Happy Birthday, lovely Christine!!! :rose: :cake: :party: :sun:
Thanks for your magnificent, delicate and fine portraits! I hope you can post some more soon! :heart: :love: :kiss: :hug:
Reply
:icongioarturi:
GioArturi Featured By Owner Aug 29, 2015
 Happy Birthday, magnificent Christine!!! :rose: :cake: :party: :sun:
You are a sensitive and marvelous woman. I really hope you are fine :kiss: :heart: :love: :kiss: :hug: 
Reply
:iconnotwithoutmycamera:
notwithoutmycamera Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2014  Hobbyist Photographer
Here's a kiss for you, my love!
Music
Happy, happy birthday,  Woohooooo!
From all of us to you!!!!  Nuu
We wish it was our birthday, Dance!
So we could party, too!!! Boogie!
:iconballoonsplz::iconwineplz:Have your cake and eat it too
Reply
:iconsabeks:
SABeks Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2014
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! Christine! :party::cake::airborne::wave:
Reply
:icongioarturi:
GioArturi Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2014
Happy Birthday, lovely Christine!! :rose: :cake: :party: :sun:
I really hope you can post some more of your wonderful self-portraits soon! You are so nice and adorable! :heart: :love: :kiss:
Reply
:icondavidthedragon:
DavidtheDragon Featured By Owner Aug 10, 2014
why so disappointed :'(
Reply
:iconjkartistuk:
jkartistuk Featured By Owner Oct 8, 2013
great pics here
Reply
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