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of the tiny little things
is what i'm for
so here we are
the couch is comfortable
the lights are low
and you have taken off your glasses
as much as i hoped
to say you tasted like skittles
or what you mean to me:
whatever drags airplanes through the sky,
dutch tulips and digital roses
and warm warm hands
you don't taste like anything at all.
nothing except a perfect copy
of my own mouth
when I haven't drunk in a while
and the corners are sore from smiling.
we both saw it coming from miles away
foreheads, noses, then mouths together
and i couldn't help noticing
again and again
i could see your eyelashes
your hair had fallen over your face
and i fixed it, laughing
because that's what i'm for
The Old FrontierPack your bags, get your toothbrush
Find a car, find a silver cross
Throw a tarp over the windshield and we're covered
Get a road, lay it down flat
And behind us, we'll trail angel floss
So we stay over the sky and not under
It's a long, long way to whatever we want
It's an old frontier that we've never come across
And the last thing we need is to be cute and sad and lost
'Cause someone will pick us up and take us home
It's a long, long drive and we've got horses and tires
In case one breaks down and we're left on our own
Drive a MACK, drive a cloud,
Long as it gets you where you need
There's a sweet patch of road that must have once been dirt
There's a sweet patch of road
With a black-and-white candy stripe
A lovely accent to the Christmas trees and AstroTurf
It's a dark, dark tunnel, half collapsed and rolling under
And the crash of God's new thunder
Gave us heart attacks from wonder
So we've come to get away
Here in the old frontier, we'll hit the coast and build across it
PartnersLast night, it was snowing doves
And I dragged you outside and
You caught one on your tongue
I beamed at you with pride and
You spat it out again
Too many dirty feathers and
Clawing feet, you said
One of these days I'll get you to smile
You will be my partner in crime
And I'll act like a child
Let's be the mismatched cop-movie pair
And I'll drag to down to my level, I swear
One of these days, ah
Last night, it was raining down
Something tiny and shining
And I pulled down a cloud
To show its silver lining
Only to win a bet
We argued that same day
I said a cloud's the perfect pet
(And I bet you a dollar
The silver was its collar.)
This cloud follows you around
It's adorable and you
Still have this silly frown
Is it the rain or can't you
Just simply make it end?
It's on a leash, it loves you
Just ask, my gloomy friend
One of these days I'll get you to smile
You will be my partner in crime
And I'll act like a child
Don't lie to me, really, how's the weather up there?
We'll challenge each o
Part OneOnly the best part is over,
Only the best is to come
Try and try, I still get older
At least we had a little fun
Keep your hair on and keep it covered
Open your heart and close your lungs
There will be friends and missing lovers
High ladders, all with broken rungs
Only the worst part has left us
Only the worst is to come
We drank up our lives into blessed dust
And now we have work to be done
Only the first part is over,
Only the next is to come
Leave and we'll draw you in closer
At least we had a little fun
Make Up Your Own Damn TitleI walk along the dirt road, staring up at the sky and singing.
There's no need to watch where I'm going. I've been down this road a thousand times. I already know there's nothing there. The sky is cloudless and blue.
The dirt road stretches on for miles in front of me, carved into the side of the hill. At the bottom I can see a forest, and somewhere very far behind me is the very tiny town, and then more hills. "The fool on the hill sees the sun going down, and the eyes in his head see the world spinning 'round." I sing it. The sky is so blue.
I've gotten too used to the color. So much time staring blankly at the sky has bored a hole through the atmosphere to the truth everything is pure, liquid empty space, weighing down the world. Nothing is there. Blue is a mask. Do I know any songs from Phantom of the Opera? I can't think of one.
I walk along the road, in no hurry, swinging my paper shopping bag. It's so far to go, but I like to walk. Another successful day in
Nonogramit was -
i swear -
the craziest thing
i heard mr. goodman's voice,
talking in numbers
i couldn't follow
and i let my eyes wander and
i looked at the wrinkles
in the fleece lining
and saw letters
in the random puckering
in the only language
neat and wiggled
i could barely make out almost-words
like the fleece
was giving me
but i blinked and
the blobs came back
and it was all numbers
i may never be
a scientist but
i have to admire
MademoisellePretty girl, draw out the white
Draw out the green and rip the seam
Stay the razor, peace is coming
Peace is coming fast
He's not a martyr any more
Than those dying in the streets
Will you be around to mourn?
Mademoiselle, you're going to hell
Make sure your last word is sweet
Wet and red and with a scream,
Your country is reborn
Ribbon girl in a ribbon hat
Ignore the blood that stains the bath
Tell the people, peace is coming
Peace is coming fast
Don't expect a protected, wailing chorus
Mademoiselle, if they want peace
What they need is someone working for it.
The Precocious Reverse Career Test1. Would you consider yourself a people person?
b. The RIGHT kind of people.
d. Oh GOD no.
2. Are you comfortable with the sight of blood?
b. Well, if it's for a good cause
c. Ew, no.
d. More than I should probably say.
3. Can you keep a secret?
a. Never needed to.
c. Yes, very well.
d. Why? Who have you been talking to? What do you know?!
4. How do you respond to peer pressure?
a. I START peer pressure.
b. FIGHT THE POWER
c. Go with the flow. Hey, you can always blame it on someone else.
5. Did you grow up around other families?
a. Just a few.
d. I actually don't remember.
6. Would you shoot the hostage to get to the bad guy?
a. Depends on the situation.
b. Yes, anything to bring justice.
c. I'm not THAT heartless.
d. Wait bad?
7. Have you given up hope for your future?
a. What? No! I'm going to be huge.
b. I wouldn't tell a stranger anyway.
c. Uhhhh yes.
It's Always the Quiet Ones Every class has those kids, you know, the ones that looks fragile and weak. They’re ignored throughout the entire year. There’s a reason why no one bugs them.
I am not one of them, I’m those average students on the side line that can socialize like the average human being. I’m not extravagant. I have friends. I do my work. There’s nothing special about me. Although, last year what happened in one of my classes was different.
Edger was one of them, those quiet ones. He didn’t sit at the back of the class like in those cliché stories you read or see in movies. For the first seven months of that school year he was silent. I don’t understand how those kids get away with not answering questions or not going up to the board to write out problems, on presentation days he’d disappear.
On the seventh month of school I’ve started to notice things about Edger. Heck, I wasn’
Creepypasta: With Friends Like TheseCreepypasta: With Friends Like These
You aren’t normally one to suggest stupid outings for the sake of stupid outings, but you and your friends are equal parts bored and stressed about high school starting up again. What better way to de-stress than spending a night in an abandoned house on the edge of town that’s reputedly haunted? Okay, there’s probably many ways that are all better and far less convoluted, but screw logic, you and three of your friends have made the decision and that’s how it’s gonna go down. Errol is the only one who won’t be coming. He said he’d be pretty busy tending to something that came up, although he wished you, Avril, Nathan, and Gary good luck in your ghost hunting.
“You guys ready to get scared?” Gray sniggers as the four of you look upon the desolate structure. You drove your friends out here, seeing as you’re the only one whose parents let you use their car.
The boards over the windows have lon
On A Day Like TodayA massive food shortage. The people in the cities are the first to go. Gradually, disease and starvation consume most of the farmers. People start the search for food.
A little girl with red hair and big, curious eyes heads to "the burbs" with her younger brother.
Her brother is stout, with brown, curly hair and chubby cheeks the size of peaches. His skin is olive-toned, unlike his sister, whose skin is as bright as the moon.
While walking to a nearby store, the pair notice famished, sickly looking bodies scattered here and there. One of them lies on a porch.
Porches. Porches that used to house smokers, and people who wanted to watch sunsets, and cats--big, fat cats, and old ladies who had no one better to be with than their big, fat cats. The thought made them sad, and just a little bit dreamy, because they wondered if they'd ever be as old as the old ladies with their big, fat cats.
And so they walked into the store to find everything from magazines to fruits to lamps to used fans. T
Creepypasta: Dreams of the DarkCreepypasta: Dreams of the Dark
It’s always the same dream. Dark bodies, thousands or maybe millions of them, floating in darkness. Then the monster appears and they all burn from the inside out. I try to stop it, but I can’t.
Because I am burning there with them.
The subject appears to have been awake all night, although I checked in on her at the usual time for her morning nutritional supplement. She insisted she wasn’t hungry, although incentives were given to make her eat. The hallucinations appear to be continuing, although oddly enough brain waves seem to be completely normal so she obviously shouldn’t be seeing these “monsters”. I have concluded she is likely either delusional or toying with me.
Damn bitch. Has to make my life even harder by being so uncooperative. Log out.
I see them. They are no longer people. Their souls have been eaten by the Cold Watcher. That’s what he
Creepypasta: Third Eye BlindCreepypasta: Third Eye Blind
“How do you plead?”
“Please, your honour, he’s still waking up. Give him a chance to come to his senses.”
“Ah. Very well.”
Terrence blinked his unfocused eyes and tried to shut out the conversation but the voices persisted. This was impossible. He’d just blown his brains out with a hunting shotgun, so it stood to reason that he shouldn’t be able to hear anything at all. Was this a hallucination as his shredded cranium bled in torn fragments all over the wall of his neglected one-bedroom apartment? This was the only time he’d committed suicide, obviously, so he didn’t have much prior experience to go on, but this still seemed more than a tad abnormal.
His hope that this was a short-lived hallucination died fast as he realized the scenario around him was coming into focus, slowly but surely, as opposed to fading to black. He was in a courtroom setting, of sorts, seated at one of the tables in f
I've Got YouHe was falling.
He made no audible sound as he did. Partly because fear had gripped his voice box to the point where he couldn't make a noise and the other half was that he would only get a harsh mouthful of saltwater in response to his cry.
The water was rushing closer to him. Fifty feet. Forty feet. Thirty feet. Twenty.
He had tried to twist his body to grip the edge if the cliff face beside him, but the rough-edged rocks just sliced through the thin skin on his fingers and palms, forcing to let himself just plummet down below.
It was crazy, really. The great Altair, master of assassination, was going to die. Not because of the fall he was taking, but because of his lack of being able to swim.
He was most ashamed of himself.
A small grunt came from his clenched teeth as he made contact with the ocean and right on impact, he began to sink. He bucked his legs upward, trying to stop his sinking but they just flailed, not doing anything to help him.
Ever since he was a child, he had alwa
Creepypasta: The Hangman's OriginCreepypasta: The Hangman’s Origin
The year is 1887 and you are Will Jameson, a photographer for a fairly well-known New York paper. It is a well-paying and fairly secure position. Your current task is to venture into that dying side of America called the Old West, currently on the verge of collapse under the crushing weight of modernization. The rail systems appear to make the country seem smaller every time they are expanded. Fittingly enough, because that’s how you are travelling to the ghost town you are supposed to take pictures of anyhow, via said railway.
Your economy cab is empty, save for one other male passenger and yourself of course. The interior is dimly lit, and the roaring din of the thunderstorm outside doesn’t do much to help visibility. It just makes you all the more thankful for the oil lantern suspended from the ceiling, without which you would trip over your own feet if you got up. Not like the cramped, sparsely appointed cab would give you enough
Creepypasta: Innocence Proves NothingCreepypasta: Innocence Proves Nothing
Darkness is my friend. It hides me from the light, and shrouds the maze of scars on my body from the gaze of my sinner’s eyes. A maze, or maybe a map, showing the way to true insanity. If I wasn’t insane when I was thrown in this padded room and placed on a 24-hour suicide watch, after what could have been either a week or a year (time has little meaning in the dark) I am indeed resolutely insane now. Accused of a murder I didn’t commit, and damned until the end of time to this little slice of Hell.
But in a peculiar way I am grateful. I never noticed how beautiful the dark is. How lovely things are when you can’t see them.
I don’t know why there is no light source in my cell. No one ever checks on me, maybe a bulb burned out long ago and they just don’t know. The lone time that light, that Hellish light that bares my naked flaws for all to see, pours into my cell is when feeding time comes and they shove in a pl
The Distorted MirrorsPlease note that this is a biography of my encounters with some rather paranormal entities within my second grade year in elementary school. Now, I just want you to know that this all is indeed true, and it's going to be something I never forgot, and can remember vividly. Well, I guess I'll start with how this all started and stuff, and how vivid one's mind and imagination can be.
So, it was the second grade, like I said already, and I was quite the child, but I was cowardly at times, not that it's unusual or anything. Though at the same time, I did have some sense of bravery. It was when it was close to summer, I had exams, though I honestly cannot remember the name; not every detail was with me then, I'm afraid. Instead of being in a normal classroom like normal people, I was just mortified and reluctant to learn that I would be having to spend my week in solitude, and one thing I definitely don't like is solitude, even at that age; at that age, I was horrified of being in small room
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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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