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Do you see me?Do you see me as I see you?
Do you notice how I stare?
I see you look over your shoulder.
Do you notice I’m always there?
I see you look out the window
Checking on the weather.
Will you wear your long coat?
Or maybe your favourite sweater?
I see you leave the house,
Dashing down the street.
You’re late for work, aren’t you?
Did you oversleep?
I see you wrinkle your nose
When you ride the train
And that guy is way to close.
I’ll make sure he won’t do it again.
I see you get to work,
And for hours I won’t see you.
I stay in a bar waiting
Doing my best not to feel blue.
I see you leave work.
You are not alone.
I watch you laugh and talk.
I don’t like that friendly tone.
I see you take the train,
Do you see me as I see you?
You run home under the rain.
Do you see me as I see you?
I see your silhouette against the light.
You don’t see me but I see you.
You are naked on my mind
And for me this is nothing new.
I see the lights going out.
A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words - RewriteThe show started at ten thirty and, even though it was only nine in the evening, the square in front of the stadium was full. Young people walked around holding tickets in hand, knowing that the doors wouldn’t open for some time. There was energy in the air, flickering with every words of excitement as experiences were shared and young people laughed and boasted about the concerts they had already been at. Someone had even brought a guitar and a group sang off tune to one of the songs they would listen later performed by the band.
“I think they’re lost…”
A girl sipped her coffee from the paper cup, looking at the old couple that walked in their direction. At a slow but steady pace, with their arms locked together, they opened way through the excited youngsters, drawing strange looks. The woman was small, with black and short curly hair and a thin and wrinkled face. As for the man, he had almost no hair at all but the ones he had were a beautiful mix of gr
Poetry Colaboration - ReflectionsReflections never share their thoughts,
Staring from the other side, silent judges.
Constant enigmas, mysteries
Of lost loves, memories and grudges.
Eyes look into eyes, never wavering.
Lips do not tremble, without smile or frown.
Impassive, serene, hidden within
A turmoil of secret doubt.
Why do you stare at me?
Please say something, or I'll go mad.
Won't you give me some advice?
Or just stop staring at me like that!
Holiday ScentsHolidays at home,
Lying on the couch.
Someone’s in the kitchen,
Smells all around.
Bread’s in the oven but
There’s something sweeter…
The thick scent on my throat
Of chocolate chip cookies.
Oh, there’s also coffee brewing,
Bitter and energetic.
A deep inhale.
Of being a child again.
Legacy of LightShe lit another cigarette, leaning against the wall. The night was mild and, for the first time in many weeks, she felt comfortable standing outside to smoke, wearing only a light dress. How she had missed summer and its warm nights. The cat seemed as pleased as she was and rubbed against her leg, before climbing to a chair and lying there, with his yellow gaze on her for a moment. Then, lazily as only a cat could be, he closed his eyes, leaving her half-alone with the universe. She could barely hear a sound and, standing on her balcony, with a perfect view of her whole neighbourhood, she knew why. Everyone slept; not a single window shone bright in the night.
Except for hers, of course. Loneliness took over her with the sad realization that, even now, she was alone in her condition of being awake. No, maybe not. There had to be others. Others who looked up at the heavens and wondered if someone else did the same. Maybe someone else who, just like her, was promising themselves this cig
Lost in Translation (SaD May - Day 28)Carla loved to go on vacation. To the beach, to the mountains, to the city and wherever she could find new things to learn and explore. Summer had soon become her favourite time of year and, even when money was short, she went somewhere closer and cheaper. Usually that meant not leaving Portugal, calling a couple of friends and asking if any of them would let them stay at their place for a few nights. So many of her friends had had to move away from their home town, some were all around Europe, looking for jobs and a better life. They liked having her around, showing the place where they had reconstructed their lives. Sometimes, they couldn’t. Work took all of their time, even during summer, and Carla found herself alone.
She minded. It would be much better if she could spend time with her friends and it was always different to have someone show her the surroundings and not stumble around with a map. It didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy herself and, this year, she planne
Vilnius (SaD May - Day 22)When she had woken up that morning she had no idea that, later in the evening, the only thing on her mind would be Vilnius. Actually, she had had very weird dream about one of her favourite series; the two main characters, who she only saw as friends and never believed in a romantic relationship, were lovers. She played the part of the woman and she had been amused about this part when she was introducing him to her parents… as his lover. The smug smirk on the man’s face had been so funny, she had woken up smiling with amusement.
However, when afternoon came, something made her remember the city where she had lived for five months. Vilnius. She didn’t even know with certainty where Lithuania was when she had picked the country for her exchange program, but she had been sure to look it up in a map. It was far. Four thousand kilometres, according to the internet. Two hours later, when it came to time zones. A country with a history and a language so different from the
Mental Disorder Discrimination"You said you've got depression?
No you don't, you attention seeker.
You're just an average teenager with the perfect life
Desperately looking for sympathy."
Stop crying, you coward.
You're just a childish "scaredy-cat".
Blaming your problems on a mental disorder
That doesn't even exist."
"So you're schizophrenic?
Grow the hell up, and stop acting like a child
You're too old for imaginary friends
You callow, juvenile, little twit."
But if we're attention seekers,
Why do we try so hard to hide our feelings from the world?
Why do we isolate ourselves in our rooms,
Desperately hiding the cuts on our wrists
Trying our best to live a normal life?
And if we're simply "scaredy-cats",
Why is our fear so vividly intense?
Unlike simple fear, our anxiety will stick with us forever
A severe long-lasting feeling of powerful panic.
A feeling from which we'll never be free.
Suddenly we're childish for having a mental disorder?
Schizophrenia is not something we can control.
to me you are perfect
I do not know the reasons
for all those scars burning
against your bright skin
you've been soaking
a pain reminiscing from past
we both cannot recollect
yet you are so beautiful..
when night gets darker
and I am the one...
who's hungered to undress
the spirit of you
slowly revealing the layers
coming off from shadows
disguised in desires
craving to be fulfilled
I will caress every corner
of your silhouette
until I figure the true shape
of your heart
I will rub those blisters
softly until every nerve
of you gushes into a river
and you moan into a life
I had promised you
years ago when we began
to breathe into each other
for all the truths
I must swallow
and lessons I must learn
you are the one
I am destined to discover
what it means
to love in perfection
PainParalized by the suffering
A shiver down my spine
Images of my past haunt me
No one can save me from this hell
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
you talk like a travestyoh, mercury boy, you can't
write your way out of this
body or out of this mind;
you can pray like it's high-fashion,
insist you're only burning yourself out
(but tell me - do you feel like a god yet?)
if only for murky mirrors &
silver cicadas caught
in your ribcage, you've
got a knack for decaying
poem for borderlinesif i could concentrate over
seven hundred thousand eyes
at the roof to the numbers stepping
from the nicities & rows
to go back
to the shattered surface
& the ripples beating over the hang
halfway between shallow
biting lips. maybe--
she couldn't have known
that it takes a whole three minutes
for the lungs to
well, maybe she
who, oh well
the white; the haze--
the booming over
the spume and spray
me get out of my head
just pull up the shutters
my tongue the weight to talk
but that's all we'll ever be:
a match burning itself out for
under the backspray of someone else's wheels
Sometimes...Sometimes I am the rain.
Silver, quiet and sweet.
Washing away the pain
When lovers fail to meet.
Sometimes I am death.
Silent. Painful. Brave.
The memory of the ephemeral,
Of the eternity of the grave.
Sometimes I am love.
Strong and vibrant and wild.
Living in the beauty of a rose
Or the hug of a child.
Most times I am human.
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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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