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It Comes in a Bottle.Love. You know it well.
Comes in a bottle, comes with a price.
Sometimes your senses, sometimes your dime,
But mostly your time.
Pain. We know it well.
Conforms to no form,
But utilises every that I know.
To be poetic, love is pain.
To be precise, pain comes from people.
You are a people.
I am but a person.
It is difficult to know a people,
But facile to know a person.
I've known persons,
Dark, bright, grey.
All alive, all breathing.
Some exhale poison, some vitality,
But all breathing.
I do not know you, creature.
You do not breathe.
You do not speak.
You do not love.
Align you not with any,
But with all.
Your shell is familiar.
Your scent is formidable.
Your speech is regrettable.
You are a people,
A phantom pain.
I am a person.
Broken, but strong.
I do not know you, creature.
Suna.i walked outside,
to greet the maiden and the mistress.
one and the same, the two.
the first which you call "the sun"
and i call my one and only,
my dearest love and fondest friend.
vitality in a word,
freedom in another.
warmth and initiative,
inciting bravery, invoking discord!
regality's crest she bears with pride.
all of sound is hers to command,
and upon her loud, abrasive call
we heed and make way for the door!
ay, she shall love me evermore.
but what of the whore?
o, devil's child.
they call you "the moon."
but, i call you my all.
my fault and my truth,
my sway and my feel,
my taste and texture.
you are as i have always wanted to be:
fearless and peerless,
uncontested in the cool sky.
of my lust you make art;
of my art, you erect memorial;
of my being, you make nephilim.
you tame inhibition,
claim master of my secrecy,
and allow me to soar.
ay, i shall love you evermore.
my moon, my whore.
of two, i see one.
neither day, nor night.
but, life and time,
How to be Populardon’t talk
go to parties
listen to friends
go with the flow
drink some more
don’t let them see the tears
as you cry yourself to sleep
for the most important thing
is to be popular
i'm not going to lie and say she was perfect.her skin was spotted with what she passed off as freckles,
but what were really scars from a thousand summer suns
as she ran about outside,
climbing trees and treading rivers,
pretending to be an american bomber
in the midst of WWII.
she kept crimson stains on pearl pink lips,
which always had the habit of getting on her teeth
because she put on make-up after dressing in her car
and ordering coffee in every way she hated it
as she drove to the record store three times a day,
ignoring her job downtown.
she owned four and a half hairbrushes exactly,
i took count on the first night i stepped into that whirl-wind room,
though her lopsided up-dos of messy blonde hair revealed just how much her fingers
never broke the dust.
she had these lovely fragile hands
that showed each and every vein and bone,
the type of hands made for tearing boys like me apart.
how could i have even expected to survive,
a paper poet
held against a reckless flame?
Panic attackIt hits me like a wave,
These thoughts of fear and regret.
They swarm all around me,
Trapping me inside my own head.
Pretty soon, I am suffocating,
Please someone save me!
My heart beat races,
As does the thoughts that pick up the pace.
Of sending me memories I've kept and buried so long inside.
They've come back to haunt me tonight.
And as soon as it came,
It was gone,
Leaving me here.
And what was left of me,
The sound of silenceThe sound of silence,
Is so deafening,
That it makes my ears ring,
With the cacophony of my own insanity.
Being afraid to speakThe unpleasantries of past events
Were driven by the voices of contempt
Leaving me breathless
To that effect, I was left senseless
And when I laid under the covers
As I tried to warm myself from the cold stares
I shiver, as my skin turned white
By the solace of silence
But, as I overcame their sadness
I learned to embrace the cold
Until I was able to give warmth to others
Ideationlocked in a room
with only one escape,
or so it seems.
your hands shake and you drop the key.
Suddenly you're unsure.
Do I want to pick it up?
Do I want to find it?
Do I want to leave?
you think to yourself
there's no other choice.
find the key or corrode, or rust
wear down the hinge
use sadness as the key.
You have the answer now.
Just open the door.
Just walk outside and don't look back.
Let yourself leave with no regrets.
And yet you can't.
You're afraid, you think,
but you are actually strong.
Don't run away.
Don't take that leap.
DNAyou are content
because every day
you have the opportunity to
hug both sets of your DNA.
however, i am not content.
half of me is missing
and the other half
is hardly ever here.
none the strongersome people talk in riddles,
and some don't really know how to say anything at all
i'm not one of those people
so why is it that you stop me every time
i used to think that we were what has always been
an extension of universal reason and balance
the right of the world and the dark refined
to form something too beautiful for our own eyes
we, blind as a whole, but not to each other
and now, you blind to me
deaf to me alone in your whirlwind,
the embrace of the torrent greets you so warmly
and my arms wilt in perpetual offering
cold, so very cold when you were near,
and even colder in your absence
how permanent it seems to me
how permanent it likely is
my thoughts surge ahead of me
and when i catch up, they're massive
i wage war with the rival nation of paranoia
its stretch expands and subsides
and i keep it at bay
but now, i fear that it knows my weakness
and it knows you're gone
the fortification constant, now an edifice solitary
i love alone,
i fall alone,
i die alone.
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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