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The beauty of snowA man with a frozen mustache stood upon his frozen hill. His breathing was a little accelerated, for he had only just climbed the hill. He took deep breaths and felt the frozen air filling his lungs. It was cold, but as clean as ever and that was what mattered.
He looked west, where the sun was setting behind a thick layer of clouds. A perfect white disc above the magnificent tree he had protected and helped grow so big. He remembered one day, it had not been much more than a sapling, when a horse of the neighbouring land had broken loose and almost trampled the little tree. He had calmed the horse at risk of himself. It was as if the tree had known, because every year since it was fully grown it gave tremendous amounts of walnuts, the best in town, so was told.
His breath twirled in small clouds around his aging head, every puff leaving more small freezing drops on his mustache. He swung to the right until he faced north, looking over the land. Everything was covered in a thick
The Overmind - ch. 0-3
I woke up. I woke up in what seemed to be a hospital.
My head hurt. Opening my eyes was painful, so I only opened them narrowly. How I knew I was in a hospital without opening my eyes is something I never really understood. Maybe it was the smell, maybe the sound. Probably neither, I just knew. But how?
When my eyes were opened wide enough to see something I saw that it could even be my room - only bigger and with two beds instead of one. Everywhere I went, I felt the same cold and distant atmosphere. Even my parents acted distant, like they just need to be there, like everything was happening for a reason about which they had nothing to say.
My hand was lying next to my head, right before my eyes. I concentrated on it Why didn't it glow? It should glow as I wanted it. I asked for the ability of light, right?
"Oh good, you're awake", the voice of my mother sounded even more distant, uncaring, heartless.
I closed my eyes and sank back into the darkness of a
In a world with no mercy
Day after day
Until the end
The day I die
And then maybe
I'll find some peace
The Female SuicideTwenty years of nursing
emergency room wounds
and my grandmother
puts down her fork, rubs
her brow and tells me
the female suicide
is a more methodical,
A woman will close
the curtains, cleanse
their apartment of clutter
for the first time in months
and proceed to overdose
in the comfort of their
A woman will do this
because she is aware
someone will have to
discover her like this.
Someone will have to
bury her like this.
My grandmother says this
because when my uncle speaks
paramedic about the male
he pronounced dead from
a house’s television antenna
he never mentions a burial.
A Ball Of CherriesImagine life
like a ball of cherries.
You can't eat many,
Don't rush to eat them!
Some are soft,
Don't go too slow, you'll lose the taste.
storiesi begin and end with stories
where hummingbird hearts play sonatas
against my ribs and i drown in
early morning light and
the girl in me sinks into the sea
like rusting anchors chained to
ships and i sway port and starboard
the lion in me rises like lazarus
from the savannah where dust swirls
and i begin and end with stories
where i swallow the world and all
the rain and girls and lions in it
where i hold it up like atlas,
where i support jupiter with just
an index finger and where i chase
comets and cup them like fireflies
to hang on my bedroom walls
Blooming Through CrevicesBlooming Through Crevices
People are characters;
their personalities are not to be cracked,
but to bloom.
Codes and signals
Setting our sights
On how to see
Through the cipher.
Optics opting for options
As opposed to conscious.
Ardor replaced by harder
To break through exteriors.
But mortality is only one facet
Of the entirety of humanity.
It is a compass of one being,
But merely a piece of the puzzle
That makes up human composition.
let us not break through empathy
with deductive methodology
but rather with the rhythm
of a honeybee whistling along the hymn
of the wind whispering in the leaves.
humanistic, holistic ideologies
is what the standard can be.
it is the notion of being a metaphor
rather than being something to decipher.
because there are more stars and galaxies
in poetry than there will ever be algebraic
expression curls up with ambiance
under the window pain of a picture frame
because we write more about
on remembering to breathe:i.
you can't hold it in for forever.
your lungs weren't
made to bear the weight
of this world, they weren't made
to left unexpanded
and unexplained -
it is not phenomenon that wakes you
when paralysis hits in the
night, it is physiology telling you that
not everything happens on automatic, okay?
(at least not for always)
you're born like a time bomb, with
only so many beats of
your heart in place to tick away day by day -
your words, they're the same.
there's a time limit
on your tongue, so say something that
means something - use words
that dig in and rip out hearts, use words that
curl around your fingers and worm their
way into your soul.
use words to make something
beautiful. something remembered.
never leave three things
left unsaid because they can be three
words that mean everything -
i'm not telling you to save your breath.
i'm begging you not to waste it.
sing. sing enough to take your breath
away because even though
it leaves you gasping, it fills up that
broken bones and broken birdsdragonflies buzz between
your tangled fingers
seeking nectar under
your chewed nails,
but the bitter burn
of almond acid will
clip their mosaic wings.
you're centered at
nature's core, a
centrifugal force of gravity,
grasping and dragging
lives to your unforgiving
you strangled the wild
whistling hare underneath
the billowing willow, and
your tongue tripped into
compulsive lies and disbelief.
i mean c'mon, clearly,
it was an accident.
if that's the case
the blue-eyed raven
that crashed to earth
after striking a third
degree burn, should
have survived, but you
plucked feathers from its
wings and drowned it.
you have a way with
decaying everything you
touch, your soul, my
heart, a puppy in a
cardboard box, yet
we all keep coming
back to you.
i think we all know
that even though you
bend and break and
bully the world, you
are the most broken
of all, and i just want
to fix you.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More