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ten seconds earlierthree eyes watch from the wall
as the tower rises by the window
a roar in the distance
a butterfly in the corner
Revelation 6I watched the first thunder,
held a bow
and bent on conquest.
I was given peace
to make men slay
I called out "Judge!"
then was killed,
made blood red and fell.
The curse of over-thinkinga split second
from the crash at the top of the road
everyone talks about for months afterward,
your mind and mouth mumble in
a discordant harmony
one says yes, the other
no, time to confer
on implications and allusions
and taking things
the wrong way
i.e., reading too much into an arrangement
sometimes even your stutter
it is all you can do to catch
There are only three chaptersA war should come
in the near, in the far
it is growing
in the heat of this night
I remember you,
the eyes deep in the forest:
there, where the knights broke their lances:
the magnificence of colourful flowers
it is nothing, only a reflection
in grey puddles it is dripping
the brooklet creeps down from dead groves
It is cold – I do not feel it.
FisherwomanI've been dreaming of
fishing from a crumbled tower
grey stone rough on my thighs
as the line sinks
the float dunks itself
for a taste of drowning
the fish breathes air
and it only occurs afterward
that I hate the taste
I am a MouseI am a mouse.
I am quiet, I am nothing.
I am a book that nobody has read.
I am an eclipsed sun and a cloaked moon.
I am irrelevant and unwanted, a broken toy in an attic.
I am the dust in your rear-view mirror that you leave behind.
I am the air that you breathe in and spit out as something different.
I am the palest white. I am the darkest black. I am the dullest, emptiest grey.
I am the old man with forgotten memories and the baby who has yet to make them.
I am a forgotten word, dangling on the tip of your tongue, hanging on the noose of your lips.
I am a dried up stream. I am a felled forest. I am an abandoned cornucopia of resolute nothingness.
And there is Hell burning in my eyes.
PainParalized by the suffering
A shiver down my spine
Images of my past haunt me
No one can save me from this hell
to me you are perfect
I do not know the reasons
for all those scars burning
against your bright skin
you've been soaking
a pain reminiscing from past
we both cannot recollect
yet you are so beautiful..
when night gets darker
and I am the one...
who's hungered to undress
the spirit of you
slowly revealing the layers
coming off from shadows
disguised in desires
craving to be fulfilled
I will caress every corner
of your silhouette
until I figure the true shape
of your heart
I will rub those blisters
softly until every nerve
of you gushes into a river
and you moan into a life
I had promised you
years ago when we began
to breathe into each other
for all the truths
I must swallow
and lessons I must learn
you are the one
I am destined to discover
what it means
to love in perfection
A void within meAlone on this inhospitable night, once again
I let my memories guide my lost steps,
Wandering amid the ghosts of my past.
As I walk along the quay,
I stare at the feeble Seine flowing:
She's dying by the street lamps' hands
While the whole city asphyxiates.
Reflecting my own lack of humanity
Over the river's lighted surface,
Griefs come and go at the water's rhythm.
Once again, on this breathtaking night,
My feelings are sealed and my chest hollow.
Purple rain, chills of cold.... Or regret? I crave
My musical drug, my remaining salvation,
Spreading a sweet poison within me and
Eroding the remaining happiness I still have.
I plug my headphones...
A grin of relief appears on my weary face,
I flee to lenient lands, where a familiar Angel tucks me in.
These notes of violin split the immutable silence,
Fill the hole in, lit a bonfire to my soul.
This mermaid sings my dreams to me,
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
you talk like a travestyoh, mercury boy, you can't
write your way out of this
body or out of this mind;
you can pray like it's high-fashion,
insist you're only burning yourself out
(but tell me - do you feel like a god yet?)
if only for murky mirrors &
silver cicadas caught
in your ribcage, you've
got a knack for decaying
The PointIt’s the taste of cake mix on the spoon, that first time you ‘help’ bake a cake.
It’s seeing the bright world afresh after a dark nightmare, when you first wake.
It’s when you make them laugh and, in that moment, everyone loves a clown.
It’s when your heart stops before the roller coaster plummets down, down.
It’s when the lights go out before your favourite band plays and you scream.
It’s that moment you look around and everything’s perfect enough to be a dream.
It’s the anticipation of waiting for a new episode of your favourite television show.
It’s the first time you listen to your favourite record and you just sort of know.
It’s reading a book cover-to-cover and a million times more and still crying at the ending.
It’s the stiff, tight, real feeling of a smiling scab as you watch the wound mending.
It’s when you first meet your best friend and you hate each other (but in a good way).
Broken VoiceboxI am a broken voice box
on a dusty shelf
because I couldn't express myself
in words you understand.
I told you there was beauty in the complexity,
in discovery and secrets.
That everything didn't have to fit
and that dreaming was how I lived.
I gave myself fairy wings and surfed the clouds
past the edge of the map;
Fell into another world,
My cheek still has the scar,
from when you hauled me to dry land
and told me I had to breathe air now;
Imagination was reserved for children
and that my toy box was empty.
You were an anchor I had no need for
and I think I'm still
drowning in that shattered innocence.
I don't want to be a tree;
I want to be a bird.
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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