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The morning rain is falling outside
Like the tears I'm releasing from behind.
It hurts when I see a fake smile on my face
And those scars I can't erase.
Was it really worth suffering for, was it
Really enough to just cry for. Sorrow and
Coldness wake me up every night, with
humid pillow by my side.
The pain I'm trying to hide is losing
Its battle from time to time. My heart
is breaking away, counting the pieces
that are willing to shake.
The covers on my bed are all empty and sad; the condemned, humble
misery in my eyes is howling through the day, even the wind can
make me sigh, even the sky wants to cry – through the stormed path
I go, crushed by the stones on my feet I can’t feel the ground beneath.
And now I'm truly alone, whether is dark or light, when
there's no one beside you, how can you not feel fright.
The feeling of a volcano erupting in your chest and the ashes covering
your heart, being unable to breathe because there is dust that covers your life.
Falling back into my bed again, collecting all the broken pieces.
Some memories are back and cold, sorrowed to the bone.
How can you not feel the weight of love on your own body you care,
being lost in madness, lost in affection that is endless.
Ashes in my heart, sorrow in my bones.
Forgotten happiness in my mind,
painful memories I can’t leave behind.
To continue the suffering all alone, or fight it again together – no one knows.
I Killed a Loved OneI Killed a Loved One
The feeling of imprisoning is constant in my head,
lurking for the light above the words you said.
I was shattering there on the floor, right beside my bed,
holding my hair, breathing loudly as I was sad.
A lot of words flew through my mouth, most things
I didn't think I could say. In anger I killed the
love that once was there.
I killed a loved one. Killed them with my own words.
My behaviour didn't help, but so didn't you.
With my mind so clustered and yours so fresh,
I thought I had it all, but I was tangled in a net.
The cigarette I smoke is killing the pain in time,
but even so it’s running slowly; I’m dying inside,
my vision is too blurry, if I could just survive maybe then
I’d deserve the glory.
I killed a loved one. I killed it with hate from my sorrow,
digged through the heart, splat it on pieces.
I never wanted this but anger increases; uncontrollable
emotion and life was taken, so again I was forsaken.
© Martina H.
Bi, Gay, and Lesbian PoemIf it is so beautiful
How can it be so wrong?
And if it's not right
Then why have we been hurting all along?
If it wasn't meant to be
Then why were we made this way?
And if we were supposed to be happy
Then shouldn't this love be okay?
Why should we torture ourselves
And not be who we want to be?
And why should we be sometimes hated
By our own hurtful society?
Why should we not love
When sometimes there is so little out there?
And why shouldn't we appreciate this
When we are people who care?
But most of all I wonder
Why does it have to be real?
Shouldn't we just accept each other
And be completely honest with what we feel?
AliveI fell for you the way a tree grows,
Slowly and majestically,
My roots carefully embedding themselves in every synapse of your mind.
Blossoming with every millimeter.
My branches wrap around you,
Drawn to your sunlight.
I didn't notice at first
How it all crept up on me,
My leaves beginning to display their beauty.
Now I'm in too deep,
Surviving off of your nutrients,
Steadily happy and alive,
And I will not stop growing.
Guardian Angels -- chapter 1
Author's Note: This story involves yaoi/gay romance. For readers 18+ only. Story rating is R for violence, sexual content, and strong language.
Blood poured from the boy's wrist. He winced and dropped the razor, gripping his wrist. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and forced himself to let go, and with a trembling hand he picked up the blood-stained razor.
It didn't feel like he thought it would. He could feel every ounce of blood oozing from his new self-inflicted wound. He took a couple of steadying breaths. This is what he wanted. For it to be over, for everything to end....
He shook his head. Flinching as he moved his fingers, he took the razor in his bleeding hand and held it ready over his other wrists. But he hesitated this time, because he knew what it would feel like.
Closing his eyes tightly, he gritted his teeth, and drew the razor across. A sharp gasp hissed through his clenched teeth and the razor fell to the floo
Turning Into Fiction.Every drop of doubt that falls
Leaves an echo of ripples in your reflection.
I want to gouge my fingers into this uncertainty
And read you like a book, but
The chapters of your dark side make me reconsider.
Each page reveals a potential twist and turn,
And danger, so much danger for such a fragile heart.
What if on the last page I realize the story is just fiction?
Uncontrollable, your thirst is
Unquenchable and who am I to
Shut your eyes from your own lust?
My hold is loose when fate and
Lack of faith are gnawing at your covers.
What I fear most is not you waking up to somebody else,
But you waking up as somebody else entirely.
Same SexCotton candy hair,
Shiny green eyes
Melting my heart
A day at a time
Sent through the mail
Gifts for my girl
A pillow in return
A bit of distance
Soon to end
Holding me close
Something to look forward to
Craving your lips
Wanting your kiss
My bed is empty
Big enough for two
Buried deep under fear
Something I find hard to accept
Loving someone of the same sex
You tell me not to be afraid
The voice of an angel
Is oh so convincing
Your arms spread like wings
Warming my heart
To be who we are
A kiss from you
Something that is a trigger
My body would tremble
Maybe even shiver
You will be mine
Can last forever
Just like in the movies
And all the love songs
Your smile will be real
You'll get what you desire
Our bodies will be together
Like ours minds have been,
My beautiful lesbian lover
I want someoneI want someone...
Who will love me unconditionally.
Who will rub my back and tell me everything is going to be okay.
Who will listen to me... And tell me everything that they know.
Who will be willing to put me back together...
Who will light up with joy, and put on a smile, whenever they see me.
Who will make me laugh when I am down, and never let me touch the ground.
Who will be able to know when I need a kiss...
Who will not even need to say words when we lay in bed... because so much love is just embedded into the 2 of us... we know what the other will say.
Who will lift me up off the floor, and dust me off.
Who will show me the path that I've longed for my whole life.
Who will tell me "No matter what you do, nothing will change the way that I love you"
Who will push everything away, to be together.
Who will want to spend forever with me.
Who will have the same likes and dislikes, so we can have a good conversation...
but also a lot of different likes and dislikes, so that we are l
Medieval MisconceptionsHeavy, cumbersome swords
- The issue of weight seems to be one of the most commonly mistaken aspects of medieval combat. Smiths all made swords slightly differently and each fighter had his own preferences. It is impossible to generalize when it comes to the technology of an entire continent from c/ 500-1500 AD, and both very heavy and very light swords existed. In terms of what was typical, though,, here’s a rough guide to averaged:
Single-handed sword (aka sword) - 2.5 pounds
Hand-and-a-half (aka bastard sword) 2.5-3 lbs
Two-hander (aka longsword) - 3 to 3.5 pounds.
The absolute largest swords still rarely hit the 5-pound mark. These were designed to serve very specific tactical functions on the battlefield and were not intended for general-use purposes. Experience showed smiths and warriors that this was the ideal weight range for their weapon. It’s essentially natural selection at work: people whose swords were too light or too heavy went off to battle and
Evening in ParisToday I caught a glimpse
of your shadow in the gray,
under feather-dusting stars
that whisked the soul away.
And I never really knew
just what it meant to feel
such a breathtaking moment,
an illusion too surreal.
So, tell me that you'll stay,
here in the heart of Paris.
Let the lights and music play,
as the coldness spares us.
Write notes like the violins,
leave lipstick stains on plush napkins.
Oh tell me that you'll stay,
let your soul be whisked away
in the heart of Paris.
City of ParisThere's smoke over the city of Paris.
People cry and run,
As the fire and smoke rise higher.
There are flames in the city of Paris.
Children scream for their mothers,
and mothers yell for their children.
There's bloodshed in the city of Paris.
Screams are silenced as gunshots are heard
blood stains the black streets red.
There's gunfire in the city of Paris.
Slaughter and maiming
like nothing man has ever seen.
There's destruction in the city of Paris.
Through smoke and flames,
and bloodshed and gunfire,
there's death in the city of Paris.
Once upon a time I met
A girl. Her thoughts
Were always with me
I just never knew.
Years have passed till
We talked again, it was
Like a sign to meet that
Girl once again.
We talked all night like
Never before, ended
With a conclusion that
We really share souls.
Her lips are as soft
As a pullover sleeve, they
Taste even better, like
A vanilla cream.
She's the one who will
Always listen and understand,
Keep your secrets safely
In hear head.
She's my soul mate if
You know what I mean.
Sometimes don't look for it
And it will just appear.
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More