RadioTurn the radio off.
Can you hear it? This is our moment.
Newest
My Blood is Made of SweatIn this room where my fathers spilt their blood for me, I awake, cold and immortal. Though I heave against my bonds with a furious, cursing passion, my soul is restricted. Tied down and destroyed by the lubency with which my mother would kill me, standing heavy on my chest, mouthing words and breathing secrets to dull figures in drab colors. The sheer canitude of my flesh frightens me.My Blood is Made of Sweat
Where can I run? I feel the need to jump and fly and shout and howl, feel the rough sting of bark on my feet with the stubborn intent of spitting in the face of this dark god. There's something great about feeling your feet fly over a thin branch,
by ~alyson-rene
?I am dark, I am pure. This is my mantra.?
Man is beautiful. Man is fragile and brave and proud. He builds with futile cries of hope and frustration. He is a god. He weeps with the knowledge that this is all there is, sobbing and running fearlessly into the sun.
My head aches, oh how it aches. I am pregnant with your sorrows. My belly is full of thunder and it threatens me with cries of bursting. Every day I fill my lungs with poison in direct violation of your hopes and dreams. In this desert I will give birth and wither like so many cursed and thirsty fig trees. My savior, my god... ayúdame. tengo sed. por favor
by ~alyson-rene
I Saw Him As A GodI saw him as a god in the treetops.I Saw Him As A God
Silver angels whispered in the wind, blowing dandelion seeds into the moonlight where nothing exists except for in my dreams. Everything was felt that night. I walked toe-to-ground, heels up and scornful of dirt. Later I would notice mud caked there. Like a creature, I slithered into the branches and my sighs were cradled by the boughs. The bark pressed against my soul in a search for warmth, pressed against my soles like sandpaper. Stepping on words, stepping on carved anguished lamentations of a sad little girl, a worshiper of humanity and despair.
There she is, trembling and gra
by ~alyson-rene
Broadwaythe energy, energy twisting up my spine crawling into spaces meant for organs and bone feeding like vines in a plot in a yard where everything's been dead for yearsBroadway
dark and pure insecure I sit here in the car with you imaginary raindrops falling splatter in my mind on glass, broken and waiting hesitating never no never looking up, looking up there's demons in the sky demon horses on the roof I sit here with you on the grass flipping pages, learning how to kill
everything happens on Broadway.
by ~alyson-rene
Favourites
SentimentaldeviantID
No deviantID yet.
Devious Info
- Favourite movie: serenity
- Favourite genre of music: i music
- Favourite poet or writer: ayn rand
- Personal Quote: if what is left is only the absurd then why does humanity insist upon it?
deviantART Community Board
Comments
Site Map
©2009 deviantART. All rights reserved
Previous Page12345...Next Page