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to late for answersi met someone who was about to die
so i sat down and started to cry
but through my tears i realized
that someone had not closed his eyes
so i started to ask questions i had to know
and my tears soon stopped their flow
is life worth living?
should you spend your life giving?
is the world as beautiful as they say?
is life a game that we should all play?
are the good times worth the bad?
are peoples lives mostly sad?
is death as peaceful as we think?
are peoples sanity pushed to the brink?
and i kept asking questions as the time flied
but my questions weren't answered because he died
books always endI always skip to the end of a book before I read it. I’ve never known why.
I guess because, if it turns out to be sad, I don’t want to cry
And if it ends well, then I have hope for the rest
Because books with happy endings usually turn out the best.
Why go through the misery of sadness and things going wrong
You can check how it will end before it all, so why prolong?
why take the time to read a book just to end upset
if you can check first and have your own safety net
why live life when it ends with death
if after a while you take your last breath
there’s no point in living, can’t you see?
Oh wait, we were talking about books, weren’t we?
dude, he's highDude, he’s high.
High on his pedestal,
Afraid to come down
And walk along with the rest of us
With his head in the clouds
Holding on to his dreams
Afraid to let go
With clouds made of smoke
And rain made of tears
Trying his best
To hold onto hope
denialHey, where are you? we had a party for you yesterday. you always loved the color black, didn't you? even though when you didn't show up, people cried, don’t worry because I trust you. something probably came up. We had this small rectangular box-like table with flowers for you on it. And your picture too. And I’m sure you are laughing right now. You always were vain, like when you said that people didn't like taking pictures of you, the camera’s were just drawn to your magnetic beauty. And you were right. You were beautiful. Your eyes that sparkled whenever you smiled; like you knew a little secret that only you knew. That smile shined brighter than the sun. that was the smile you had in that picture. Anyways, where are you? I want to see that smile again…
hey, it’s been, like, a week? Where are you? your family is worried for you. are you okay? I know you are, but why haven’t you called? Your parents
laugh and smileif someone tells you that you should die
because that person doesn't know
that your already dead inside
if someone tells you that you are ugly
because that person doesn't know
that they're saying that to a mirror
i am a roseIf I was a rose, I would be happy. Because I would be well loved and beautiful. Unfortunately, I would also be delicate. But if I were a rose I would have no problem with my life. I would be perfect. Until that day when part of who I am falls to the ground and gets blown away. And as days past, more and more of who I am will fall, reveling who I really am. Just a plain, ugly, dying stem of a rose. Simply nothing…
I am not a rose, but there really isn't much of a difference. We both hide who we really are behind a beautiful mask. Both of us; easily broken. And as each day goes by, a little part of that beautiful mask falls away, leaving nothing but a plain, ugly, dying soul.
So I guess…
I might just be that rose…
nonsenseIf the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree
Then if my parents were evil, does it apply to me?
If I really can be whatever I want to be
Then why can’t I just be me?
If beauty is actually on the inside
Then is outer beauty always denied?
Or is it true that you have lied
And all beauty in the world has died
If it’s true that you should always be kind
Then why is it that I can never find
Someone who leaves all evils behind
I guess this is nonsense, so never mind
blood red rosesHe raised the gun to her head.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“So am I,” he responded
He pulled the trigger…
There once was a little boy who lived in the mountains. He was a happy child. He had a nice house, a kind and caring family, and the sweetest smile anyone had ever seen. He loved to play soccer with his older brother, and braid his little sister’s hair. His dad loved to take him on hikes through the mountain, and his mom loved to help him tend to his very own flower garden. The little boy loved roses, he loved white roses and yellow roses and pink roses. But he had never liked red roses. They looked too much like blood. He hated blood.
It was morning; the sun just rising over the edge of the mountain, when the little boy was startled awake by a loud noise. It sounded like thunder, but different. It was too close to be thunder, so what was it? The little boy climbed out of bed. As his feet hit the
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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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