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Loneliness is only your heart trying to say...So... here is the second -blog- that I feel like writing:
Being lonely... is a problem that can creep on you without you ever knowing what it is. Sometimes you just feel so saddened and like everything just really sucks! It's a terrible feeling and it's even worse some times when you finally realize it's just loneliness and you can't do anything about it, or so you think.
Some people think surrounding themselves with people or work or television will make them feel less out of place in the world. Sure it may work for a while... but what about when you lay your head to rest at night? It's such a heavy burden on your heart to feel like you have no one around to love or appreciate you. I know, cause I've felt this sadness... It was a large part of my childhood.
It still is a part of my life sometimes and I feel like I'm beating myself up because I stay in and seem to have no life but a virtual one. Could I change that? Ya, easily. But you know... I don't really want to right now. My soul
Life's Purpose and how much of a pain it is...So I've decided... keeping up with a blog would just be waaay too annoying so instead of that anytime I have some message to share I'm going to -blog- it on DeviantArt. I figured you can't go too wrong there and plus DA advertises it for you! Blogs are far too annoying for me. But warning you... I tend to ramble so keep reading if you really want to get what I have to say. I'm terrible at forming my words!
So... my message for any who may stumble upon it:
One's life purpose has always been the most difficult thing for humankind. We struggle to find our mission in life and what meaning our lives have! Why do we struggle with all of our pain and why does Creator seem to hate some of us and make our lives miserable???
I have been through a lot... in this life and a few lives before. I've been through pain and hell and terrible emotional turmoil. Yes, feisty, friendly, protective, loyal little me even wanted to kill myself when I was younger. My father was the worst person in my life, my p
QuestionableUp all night,
tossing and turning.
Unable to know the reason why.
It's all right though,
my yearning and burning,
because it will all get better in time.
Dreams quite probable,
everything not quite as it should be.
There's something here,
that can't quite focus.
I feel very near,
of the answers I seek,
but I'm just out of reach.
What am I doing?It has to be a mistake,
this feeling inside.
These things aren't right,
please show me how to hide!
I can't seem to get away,
it's just not right.
Every time we meet,
my heart feels so tight.
Never felt like this before,
I can't help but crave more.
Despite everything I've known,
I feel like my heart can soar.
My stomach twists in knots,
my every breath stops.
My words come out freely,
it's trust to the tops.
This can't be right,
every doubt screaming in my head.
Still somehow it's there,
even as I lay in my bed.
Like fire through my veins,
this impossible feeling.
Every day we speak it grows stronger,
it's like my scars, they're healing.
Every wall I have up,
seems to come crumbling down.
My idea of love,
was always so profound.
Lately I've found,
I'm rethinking myself.
Everything I knew,
no longer can my knowing be up on that shelf.
No one else knows,
how could they understand?
As I turn around,
and deny who I said I am.
Things are getting so difficult,
and I just can't stop it.
A Broken Memory -Part 2-She felt as if she were weighed down by a thousand ton weights. She couldn't move, like her body was numb, she couldn't even wiggle her toes or twitch her fingers but still she felt everything. It was like she was in some kind of conscious coma. She could hear all around her, the beeping of a hospital life line, the air rushing through vents, the muffled breaths of men behind a wall. She couldn't believe it, how heightened her senses seemed to be. She could hear everything; feel everything from the binds around her limbs and torso to the cold table beneath her.
The loudest sound however was the quick labored breathing of someone. The breath sounded smaller than a human's but still large. She heard a shift, the breather moving, claws scraping against another table, a familiar whimper.
Kujo! Nothing came out, just her thoughts and the rush of her breath. Her mouth wouldn't open, her vocal cord wouldn't work. She couldn't even open her eyes, gaze dashing back and forth in darkness. She wa
A Broken Memory -Part 1-The day was moving into dusk, the sun barely visible over the tops of the shortest buildings. The streets were wet with the evening rain, puddles being kicked up by the occasional passing car. All was quiet except the scuff of boots and the slight click-click of four paws on the concrete.
The street lights flickered on as the last rays of light disappeared behind the horizon; the artificial light illuminating a pale young girl and a large brindle Dane.
Dark brown-red hair peaked from beneath the girl's hood, her face aptly hidden by a thin black hood from her jacket. She walked casually, seeming in no hurry at all with a hand in her pocket, a hand on the leash. Her feet scooted along, barely coming off the ground, weighed down by heavy black combat boots. Every now and then a small rock would be found in her path, soon sent off flying into the street by the thick cover on her toe.
The dog suddenly froze, ears perking atop his head, looking down an alley across the street. He sni
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
A lifeA life
when i stimulated the prayers of rib-beat
when i licked the temple of my teeth,
speed pushed my fingers shaped like confessionals
clasped holy, carved my throat to fixing-
lover; i did this for the anthem of your eyes,
the feel of strangled feet crushing the fame of stars
for the glow of streetlight worship, for the moons
of your crooning throat, for the halls of your arms,
the strayed revels of your arms,
lover: you manufactured a god out of the drugs i used
and had me addicted to the divine, to the dignity of music
you pressed in my direction: just what i am, hallelujah,
marijuana, day and night-
lover, i fell in love with your culture
that preached the real definition of dusked kneecaps,
the plea of closeted throats, the whisper of bless,
unlearning how to say please god in borrowed tongue,
i fell in love with your attention, nervous grace
lover. i levied the rubble of my sins
Synesthesia - III have learned not to say
when your voice burns under my tongue -
learned not to shiver
at the cold of sirens on the street -
learned not to describe
the pricks and strokes and touches.
I have learned that skin cannot hear,
nor ears feel
(whichever it is).
How strange to think:
I may travel all my life
and never find a lover who can hold my laugh in his palms.
Even The City KnowsIs it at all easy?
Being by yourself, I mean.
Sitting in a car, on a train, on a bus--wherever you might be now, isn't it hard to be a drifter?
There are no men with newspapers, no women with strollers, no love-crazy teenagers, no annoying toddlers, no anybody.
You stare out the window, like there are people out there, calling your name. The trees are out there, and they've lost all their leaves, all their buds--they've lost everything, just like you.
The sky is out there, and it's gray and colorless, just like you.
The stars are out there, and they're so blown-out-of-proportion, and they're just like you, too.
But the trees, the skies, the stars, they're used to being left alone.
You lack the ebullience of your drink, but it, too, is fading.
Frost has gathered on windows, on the ground, on rivers, everywhere.
Frost comes and goes, just like you, when you finally melt away.
The city draws to darkness and quiet--it disappears, just like you.
But, even frost
the tattoo artist.she finds gems hidden underneath my skin and
rips them out with her teeth, the sores
along my arms swelling with pride and red; never
has she wondered if the pain would make me
grit my teeth into powder—no, she knows
i take it like a man takes steak:
raw and tough and bloody, like my fingers
after picking scabs to let some fresh air in; her
words are etched on the point of a needle, and she
is a tattoo artist drilling ink into my body, her lines
thick with moxie: "alive" splayed out across
my wrist, "awake" above my heart—she paints
a vision on my eyelids of an endless sky and
tells me it doesn't belong to me, but that i
can have it; perhaps foolishly,
i believe her every word
Death to the LoversHe screamed,
He tore his hair from his scalp;
But it didn't bring her back.
The beautiful girl
With the gorgeous smile
And witty remarks
Would always lay six feet under.
She would lie in her death bed,
Her arms folded on her chest
And her face full of peace
Known only to the dead.
He would be the first to rot.
First his health,
Then his sanity.
She would forever feed on his emotions
Like a pretty little leech,
Sapping his well being
And happiness from her underground world.
And he would let her,
For a fool like him
Who allowed himself to love,
Where my corpse is foundAs I lay here,
On the guest room's bed,
My grandmother exchanges the oxygen
for the delectable scents of cinnamon, sugar, candy.
She does this through the magic of baking
Gingerbread Men, Gingerbread Houses, Yule logs, Candy Canes.
While I smell my cruel ex-boyfriend's suffocating tangy cologne.
I hear the laughter of people outside the streets.
Their loud, cheerful voices show the huge smiles on their frost bitten faces.
While my ears hear the bitter melody of arguments.
My parents' failure to stay together as promised in a holy place
caused my lovely imprisonment here at my sweet grandparents' house.
Through the slight opening of my door and through the windows,
Color penetrates the Darkness I have worked hard to create.
One usually embraces the Illuminating Decorations.
While I lie down here to reminisce my friends
Who are Traitors;
Proof of their conniving betrayal was the broken art project
of A Christmas Star
sitting alone on the floor.
People at this time feel w
Who are we to make these assumptions?
Who are we to doubt what is true?
They said humans would never fly,
they said the Titanic would never sink,
they said that Earth could not touch the stars,
and still we landed on the moon.
They said cars were unrealistic,
and now everywhere we look we see them.
They said we'd never win World War I,
and yet here we are after World War II.
So many things done that were said to never be,
so many things won that were lost in the sea.
So many treasures retrieved from places untold,
so many things learned and so many things to unfold.
With all that we know,
and all that we've seen,
think next time,
before you judge what is:
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More