|Bonne journée quand même...|
They Put Roses in Her Empty Chest I watch everything I ever knew
burn into nothing but ashes,
the bitter taste of regret
swimming around my tongue,
and the years I've been trying to forget
are haunting me on a nightly basis.
Mama, won't you forgive me
for being such a burden
on your weak shoulders?
I only did what I thought was best
but who am I--
an irrational, emotional teenager--
to say what's best for the family?
Daddy is gone,
Grandmama is sick,
Grandaddy is bitter,
and we're alone in this hell.
What a huge responsibility
for a fledgling.
I once knew a man
who held the world's kindness
in his dark eyes.
His strong hands
from the monsters in my closet
but his hands were useless
against the monsters in his head.
They stole him away from me
and brought back his skin--
gone were his joyous eyes,
his brilliant smile,
his infectious laugh.
He was a walking robot
trying to b a human
and I loathed him
with every fiber in my being.
I cursed his name
to the empty clouds
and wanted nothing more than to
rip him s
This is not a poem (the world is broken)This is not a poem because this
is for the hollow-eyed teens
stubbed out and stamped on
by society like the cigarettes
they hold in pale fingers as they
try to laugh the pain away but
never entirely succeed.
This is not a poem because this
Is the silent cry of the rapist’s victim
As they look into the mirror and a
Thousand ugly words, screams
And pleadings echo back from the
Dark alleyway and all they think is
This is not a poem because this
Is for the boy told he cannot cry, because
It’s a weakness to ‘act like a girl’
And this is for the short-haired
Girl told it’s not her place
To ‘act like a boy,’ because
Even though it’s 2015 we
Haven’t moved past destructive
Gender roles yet.
And this is not a poem because
There isn’t a pretty way to talk
About children in abusive homes,
Partners attacked by their
Beloved other half and this is for
For the families going through divorce,
For the families missing a pare
The Death of You and II was born to
and glassy eyes
(just one giant fucking inconvenience)
but you never seemed to mind.
He promised me for years
the bottles will disappear
and he'll be happy
but seeing is believing
and I never saw it.
I only saw more bottles and more depression.
But you never disrespected him.
She always told me
I'm just a fuck up,
born for disappointment,
a virtual copy of him,
a liar, liar, liar, LIAR!
But you proved her otherwise.
His words swim
through my bones
and his sick, twisted love
but you still see me as strong.
I'm made of syringes, empty bottles,
filthy bed sheets, and toxicity
a ticking time bomb,
yet you still fall asleep next to me.
You should run while you have the chance...
How to Pocket a Man's HumanityFirst, convince him to adopt
a rescue cat, fat, days away
from slaughter. Find one mis-
sing half his tail. The pair
will purr in tune; this step
is important. Next, rush him,
him and his rescue, to their
home, and then keep them dry
and healthy. Move deliberate-
ly, with articulation. Shape
the sound. Watch cat and man
sup together, sleep together.
Spring happens upon them, as
it does, and the man and his
rescue walk along the bridge-
less route to the forest and
grove without wind. Convince
him to let rescue race aloft,
to the distant hill-top. And
he will, and he does, and he
is gone. The man screams out-
ward into the meadow, scream
after scream weaving through
stalks of wheat, but nothing.
No clicks or mews. A nothing
against the rust of night on
the horizon. Help the man to-
ward his doorstep. Help keep
him apprised of the treeline
and its shadows. Finally, he,
rescue, appears, and the man
grabs your collar and shouts
and walks and runs and stops.
Rescue has brought home life
One Bullet and Two VictimsShe looked so frail and hallow,
I wish I could help
but the shards
of her depression
keep cutting me
every time I try to touch her.
They're getting close
to my veins
and all I can do is bleed everywhere
but at least the scarlet liquid
lets her know that I care.
I'm such a masochist
for trying to piece together
such an impossible puzzle
but I'd rather die trying
than her die giving up.
Now she's screaming at me
and begging for me to quit
and she's trying to stop my bleeding
but I rip out the stitches
she placed on my wrists
and spell her name in my blood
so she knows
kills me too.
How long have you been on DeviantArt?
Since... *Go check his profile* Something like 3 years... Wow °°
What does your username mean?
Nothing special, I was just searching for a nickname for a game and I kept it. =w=
Describe yourself in three words.
Hairs, lazy, red.
Are you left or right handed?
What is your favourite type of art to create?
Dracing weird things/characters, both in traditional and digital way.
What type of art do you tend to favourite the most?
Hrm... People, and weird color or bicolor things. So the type of art that I like to draw myself ^^
Who is your all-time favourite deviant artist?
You are asking very difficult things ya know?!
I'm gonna cheat a bit, 'cause it's gonna be to difficult otherwise:
There's Corviday. The colors, the characters, the impression of floating... NGH :
Jcm2, with his glitchy and violent universe is extraordinay:
And Mistexpi, for her comics and her crazy style:
If you could meet anyone on DeviantArt in person, who would it be?
I think it would be Mistexpi but... I don't think I would have anything interesting to say ^^'
How has a fellow deviant impacted your life?
Apart of whole bunch of awesome artists who makes me want to become better at drawing?
What are your preferred tools to create art?
A black pencil, coffeee, or my graphic tablet.
What is the most inspirational place for you to create art?
Well... In my room I suppose? When I'm alone, without anyone to disturb me with my litte world. =w=
What is your favourite DeviantArt memory?
Each time I receive a Fav? Especially when it's a art that I'm particulary proud of x)
Welp. Gonna find others things to procrastinate to naw! /o/