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No way outI lay across his bed
The blade parallel to my wrist
I could see my veins
The deep blue contrasting with my pale skin
I realized how easy it would be
Just a little more pressure going in the wrong direction
I wondered how something as complicated as life
Could be ended so simply
My Worst Enemy.She's staring me down.
I can't look away.
Her eyes are cold, criticizing.
I shrink under her gaze.
My heart races faster by the second,
Yet she never notices.
Her eyes trail over every inch of my body,
Analyzing every little detail.
I shiver, seeing the look of disgust on her face.
She looks into my eyes again,
and I struggle to breathe.
"You're disgusting," she says, her voice like acid.
"You don't deserve to live."
I can't fight her."You look horrible. You're not even human anymore."
I nodded again, holding back tears.
She smirked, laughing humourlessly.
"Go ahead- cry. I don't care. I'm concerned about your appearance, not your mental and emotional state."
I choked back a sob, trying not to succumb to her words.
"...You're pathetic. A waste of space. An annoyance that no one wants to live with."
A single tear rolled down my cheek silently,
And then another,
Until I was crying my eyes out,
My body shaking with each loud sob th
A Different PerspectiveI ask you how a knife feels as it digs into a man's heart.
Does it shy away from the pain it inflicts,
is it sickened by the sight of the blood?
Or does it long to sink deep into his chest,
down to the bone handled grip?
(You reply that it doesn't feel either way,
whether a knife wants it or not a man dies today.)
I ask you if your shoe is tired, for its growing old.
Does the pain of being crushed by your feet
take rest and resonate deep in its sole?
Or does it love the honor of being used by you,
and willing to keep making your footprints.
(You say it's meant to be stepped on, it's a shoe
it doesn't have feelings like me or you)
I ask you how your pillow feels this morning.
Is it tired because you kept it up with your nightmares,
your endless tossing and turning.
Or does it feel loved as you grip it tight
and hug it deep into the middle of the night.
(You tell me your pillow is doing okay
but it's only a pillow so it doesn't matter anyway.)
I ask you if a judge's hammer regrets what i
FakeDo you see the girl in the center of the room?
Her eyes sparkle and reflect the joy
Of being with her friends.
She moves with the easy grace of a person
With not a single trouble.
Her long, flowing hair
Is like chocolate brown silk,
Shining, without a strand out of place.
She is the closest being to perfection possible.
Yet she is fake.
Do you notice the girl in the shadows?
Her sad and lonely eyes betray her wisdom,
Which is far beyond her years.
She stands in the darkness,
Watching the movements of those around her.
Her short jet black hair is sleek and glistening.
She is not perfect though.
They call her Emo.
She has seen things
That would make others shudder and weep.
She knows things
That would make them tremble where they stand.
The other girl is perfect. But this girl is real.
Write. Write. Freak.A person sits in a room
The room is dark
The only light source is the computer screen.
The only thing the person is moving is her hands
She keeps her hands on the keyboard
Her eyes are glued to the screen.
The writer is not lonely
She has friends in her stories
In her poems.
Although she's tired
She still writes
Because that's what she likes.
So don't disturb a person
Who's writing or looks like she/he just got an idea
It could end out with fatal causes.
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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