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Left behindWhere to go
Left or right
Up or down
Or to hate
When I'm left alone
You always tell me we're a family
That you love me
How am I supposed to believe you?
Always being left behind
By you and your other mistake
Both of you think I'll always be around
You think I'll keep taking your hatred
And your failed attempts at love
Always having to hear about how much you hate each other
What am I left with?
You think this helps me?
How am I supposed to take my being of life seriously?
Everyday feeling like both of you planned to have me and some sick joke
Am I that worthless to you?
Everyday I ask
Where do I go?
When you leave me behind
One day I'll have my answer
Curiosity Killed The CatHopes are high.
[thoughts of happiness and peace]
Head held up so high,
my nose touches the light blue sky.
[such a picture perfect day]
Life is finally on a stable train tracks of life.
[no signs of the devils of handy work]
Everything is at peace in my little world.
[days pass by]
Everything is at peace.
[eye catching sight]
A sign from afar appears,
my curiosity is sparked,
Like a child I turn towards it.
[to far to make out the words]
Maybe it's a sign of more good fortune,
to my peaceful train of hope.
[hopeful or ignorant?]
The train begins to rock angrily back and forth,
almost throwing me off.
[I wish it had]
All my hope comes crashing down.
The sky I once looked up to has shattered,
into a million pieces.
[all that's left is black]
The carts of my train break off,
come crashing down into flames.
[I wish i was in one of them]
Every ounce of hope I once had has exploded in my face.
[should have seen it coming]
All that's left is the sign
my curiosity i
A Canvas Of ScarsMy entire body is just a canvas
of my pathetic life.
My body, bruised and scarred
from the abuse of others,
and some of my own doing.
A canvas that was painted throughout years,
the brush forged from denial,
the oil void of hope.
Am I just a rejected soul,
that society will never love?
Or was I a misunderstood boy,
who will one day become suicidal?
My lost hope began
at such a small age,
a five year old innocently at play.
Age nine a secret emerges within my soul,
but has yet shown it's devious little head
Age twelve certain curiosities sprout in my mind,
that a normal boy shouldn't be having.
Looking at boys in a peculiar way,
strong desires filling the heart.
Age sixteen still denying what I truly am,
the others around me casting me away.
I try as hard as I can to drown my denial
in drugs and self mutilation
Age eighteen, where I am now,
looking back at what a fool I was.
All the abuse I inflicted on myself,
has become one of many drugs I am addicted to.
What am I to do?
If I ever....If I ever poke you it's cause I want you to notice me
If I ever hug you it's cause I want to make you happy
If I ever suddely pull ou away from soemone it's cause I get jealous
If I ever say your my pet it's cause I love you to death
If I ever suddely glomp you it's cause I want you to play with me
If I ever break out dancing out of now hwere it's cause I'm in my own little world
If I ever hug you for a long period of time it's cause i want you to feel better
If I ever say....If I ever say your name it's cause I aknowledge you
If I ever say I want a hug is cause I want to feel coser to you
If I ever say that your the best it's cause you are
If I ever say what's wrong it's cause I'm worried about you
If I ever say how was your day it's cause I'm bored
If I ever say meow it's cause want you to notice me
If I ever say I hate you it's cause I love you
If I ever say I love you you better believe that I do
Tunnel VisionThere once an akward girl who had no friends and no one really knew her
She would walk around with her head down as if she was in shame
But truly she just couldn't bare to be looked in the eye for fear of looks she might get
She was blinded by her tunnel vision always walking a straight line never knowing where she was going
Till one day she heard a rumble in her little tunnel and saw that a crack was being formed she ran the opposite direction fearing change in her little tunnel
When the crack finally collapsed it formed a hole in a shape of an odd heart and a gleaming glow beamed through
The awkward girl just squinted her eyes as she tried to see trough the oddly heart shaped hole but she was out of luck
Her attention was turned to something under the rumble that started to move
But she didn't dare go near it
When the strange thing arose it was an overly hyper girl
The awkward girl looked down and asked why she was here
The Strange girl just looked at her and smiled and said "I want
Point of view of the deadIt's the day of your funeral and you watch from you coffin as relatives cry and weep in front of you
Saying prayers and leaving roses
They pray that when god passes judgment on you his final verdict is that you go to heaven and are able to climb the golden stair case
And As you lay there you know there prayers are pointless because of all the evil you had done and never asked for forgiveness
The door on your coffin closes and you feel yourself being lifted and lowered into a hole
All the while hearing weeps and pleads for you to live again
And all you can do is lay there and wait for your body to decay
The BirthdayThe day has come when you have lived another year
A day most celebrate
This day just means your a year closer to death
It's true that you have lived another year and have grown more wise
But is a birthday really such a great thing
A birthday means you have gone around the earth and are just gonna go around again and again until the day you die
With each year that you live is a year of more responsibilities and more of your childhood gone
So is a birthday such a great thing.
The ShellShe sits and watches the world pass her by not daring to step out of her shell
She is afraid to leave the protective shell she has built over the years of neglect
She believes that if you stays in her shell she will be alright and live on
The shell protects her from ever being hurt from a once loved person
The shell is both her haven and her prison
Protecting her from the pain of rejection and imprisoning her from having a real life.
She has a false reality that she can never live on if she leaves her shell
She's a WriterShe sits at her desk
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
BetrayedI won't swallow your lies anymore
I can't stand your presence
You used to be my friend
But you're nothing to me now
And soon you'll be
Another bad memory
I won't be able to forget
Do you know what it feels like...To be lonely?
To be bullied?
To be called ugly?
To be unattractive?
To be compared to other women?
To be considered unnormal?
To be unloved even though you give love to others?
To face issues that you don't in reality know how to fix?
To think that your goal you're reaching for, is unattainable?
To feel like the cause of many people's problems?
To be held up on a high pedistal that you can't get down off of?
To realize that people don't like you based on your personailty?
To at no avail, keep up your happy and upbeatness for others?
To look at happy couples and wish that you had someone to be happy with?
To stop fighting for anything anymore?
You AgainOh, it's you again. I must admit,
The crooning has
The lies have been
And mine are like swords
It's just you and me
In this sick game
I can tell
You're pulling me in,
And I don't have
To pull you down
Sometimes, I've had
And all I see is
Then it became
I don't know
How to escape
Dark to see.
And all I can
Wonder at every
Turn I make
When can it be
flower petalsi know that when we touch
that my energy is yours
that we are like flowers
because at our roots
we need water and love,
we reach tall as we can
to get to the sun
and stretch our leaves
to welcome it all;
and when we touch
i know that our skin isn’t skin
too soft for this world
when it grows rough with gravel
so i invite you back to our bed,
soft with the earth
where we can lie gently
and sleep until it is time
By the LakeSat beneath a Christmas tree in late-March.
The ground is damp but pliant, it pretends to accept me
and then sneaks its cold fingers through my clothes
to dampen my spirits further with its chilly undertones.
I stare at the river, plump with soon-to-be April showers.
It does roly-polys over the smallest of obstacles and goes on.
It reminds me of what I should be able to do.
It runs as I grind to a full stop, and consider my life sentence.
The sky is blue; not like me, but bright and crisped;
Its been blurred by an amateur around the edges with cloud
But they don’t threaten me with rain just yet so, for now, we are friends.
The sun is missing. No one knows where she is.
She could be dead, by now. At the bottom of the lake.
Could have slunk there in a midday sunset.
She could of drowned her sorrows in the ricocheting tides
of a man made dam and its loosened throat. She could be.
She is not, she is hiding.
The sun hides from the world but leaves a blue sheen behind
to let everyone k
Reasons We Love Homestuck“Reasons we love H O M E S T U C K.”
Why do this love this web comic, you ask?
Maybe it’s just the way the fandom rolls,
or how mean Andrew Hussie trolls.
It could possibly be Eridan’s accent (WWyeh?)
or even Feferi’s keyboard trident. (---E)
Some people say it’s Equius’ broken bows and arrows, ( D →)
but what about Nepeta’s meows and roleplays? (:33 <)
We really do love Sollux’s lisp,
and also when Karkat’s pissed. (FUCKASS!)
Including Kanaya's fabulous lipstick,
it's also Rose's amazing magic.
How about when Dave starts rapping
and Jade Harley begins napping?
We love Vriska’s eight-pupiled eye,
and how John is such an adorable guy.
Or maybe it’s with all the sprites
or how prospit glows bright.
Can’t forget about Derse’s darkness
or Gamzee and all his soberness. (WHOOPS.)
There’s also this thing with Tav and stairs
which he t
An artist (revised)
Staring blankly at a white sheet of paper
Can truly be an artist’s worst nightmare
An artist’s duty as its shaper
Their thoughts up in the clouds somewhere
Looking for bits of inspiration
Their eyes searching the skies
Nothing can break their concentration
Nothing can blow out the passion in their eyes
Being an artist does not always mean you are skilled
You do not need to be Picasso or Bach
It means you want to see your dream fulfilled
And that you will never give in to an art block
The Imaginary FriendWhat is an imaginary friend?
Someone you create to escape your boredom
Or the first signs of insanity
When your a young child and your parent's see you talk to yourself they automatically think that you have an imaginary friend
But what does this imaginary friend tell you to do?
Most tell you lets have a race or play a game they let you win of course
What does mine tell me to do?
Is my dark voice that tells me to steal and burn things
She's looks like a shadow figure of me
And with a laugh so creepy it would make your hair's stand on end
All i see is her teeth when she gives me a crooked smile
Most would think I was hearing voice and think i have some dieses
But can it be just my imagination working it's magic
Should i listen to my dark self?
Sure why not I'm bored
Keep in Touch!
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