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Scarecrow Green W. Body ImageSCARECROW
the trees are still green.
ive got a boy in each ear screaming in a strained falsetto, "find god, then fuck, rub war paint over your collar and choke those dreams of adolescent fancy!"
maybe not in that order.
i feel that those might be reasonable demands.
if not, ill stay a virgin forever and stop posting my barely lucid projections on cross walk buttons so the world can join me in confusion.
ive decided to marry myself to this moment, a rubber band ring on my finger and everything.
i cant tell if theyre asking for a fire or a union.
all i can hear is sex and murder, a whisper of masturbation.
the feral cry signifies a busted climax so maybe these boys are in love and the songs merely rut against each other.
its a valid enough theory.
a part of me hopes that they become beautiful monsters when the lights go out.
for them my heart goes.
today ive decided not to believe in love.
its a silly little thing, not suitable for children my age
"just jealous 'cause we're young and in love."
im jotting this down overlooking stairs to the concrete people playing evergreen games until the grass hits and feet sink against the movement.
my fear is the position to topple into bodily harm, she told me because my statements were laced, hardly contrary to the truth. and my knees are buckling, body sways forward and panic spray paints my senses 'til they're all bright yellow. i fall backwards on my ass, knees pressed tight to my chest so i can breathe normal again.
luckily no ones noticed that its happened for the third time tonight.
it might be a bit cliche to proclaim myself toeing the edges of our small existence 63 percent of the time.
eyes closed and learning how to meditate, recite the best poem ever written to the better half of my memory that sits in the dark until special moments when i wish to remember how to make decisions based on my mistakes.
this is different.
im listening to someone else's favorite song, strike to my ski
Sunglassesi look down and my hands are clasped, the light washing over them in broken stretches, intervals like broken clockwork. fingers interlocked atop the plaid fabric draped down and around my hips.
for the past hour or so ive been writing in my head.
about boys and girls.
those who i have, haven't, should've and desperately want to kiss. im 16, so honestly, theres nothing else for me to write about.
i wanted to start this with a sentence in my mental draft that would state, more or less, 'i tell him i love him but im not sure by what definition i hold it, perhaps whichever he feels it to be.'
something like that.
its about a boy who ive kissed despite knowing just how much i should not have. because my decision making skills are just about as flawed as my parents' are.
i guess i wouldve gotten all poetic about it too. about the songs hes sang to me and how hes just a stepping stone that i paused at, knowing it was merely 'til i truly get what i want (sniff, i say, 'what i had'), but no mat
Blackbirdthe sound of breathing over labored guitar chords.
he says 'rooftop', i think E minor, maybe binary code.
its just that simple.
with an arpeggio inhale and the positioning of awkward fingertips.
now hes humming something i cant discern and the song is supposed to be about lonliness, he says, a thin mouth tilted up in the corner.
'lovely melancholy' i say to myself.
but i hear moonlight and silver glinting off earlobes, hollowed in the dark.
dont believe theyre lonely, more but reaching out from the edges.
scribbles in the corner of papers with outstretched arms, to use figurative language.
a tendency to ask what i am writing, always thinking it be about himself (8th grade memories floating like notebook paper, i remember, small smile and bright eyes.)
right now the sound is repetition, shifting soft and to a feeling--green grass like comforters and arena seating.
and i can hear what this is asking for, a mirror imaged and a sideways glance through crowds.
to break his concentration, th
Counter Topi need to make that night seem more poetic when i write it down.
inject some sorry romanticism into those few moments.
felt like i had no face and even with the lilt of eyebrows, creases in the corners of my forced smile, the expression wouldnt have mattered anyway.
they dont explain it to you in those middle school classes.
the overwhelming sense of power found in sometimes hazel eyes, bright in dimly-lit rooms.
yet crippled in knowing how these things tend to mean nothing.
how my knees give out and quiver.
how in the minutes before, my lips mirrored the action, trying not to weep for the need of piteous decisions.
and voices are obsolete.
but breathing means everything.
i might actually call that my own, unless imagination runs wild and my skin goes blank for an open canvas---close your eyes and see anyone else you want to hold.
theres nothing at all beautiful to see when i let myself be picked apart for the sake of wanting someone i cant have, even when hes looping his perfect finge
Criss-Cross Designthe light has then adjusted
some twenty times since
weve been staring
with hair caught behind cold ears
and the irises expanding
for there is no way
to go blind in these rooms
with white-washed vision
blotting out dark figures
as they might rise slowly
in some distance
but you might switch these lines
to different angles
looking out windows
see the dull drone
of brown eyes
against brick walls
im writing your movement
as i stare at this pen
conjuring some demon
kill you dead
with the unrelenting desire
of this swirling madness
out the tip and over the page
so i could draw the distance
of just where you migh
be looking and write
those lines back to my eyes
and my mouth
because they are both open, staring
as you look anywhere but for me
Adenei've got a safety pin fastened through a collar and a name i dont know fit under the swollen rasp of my dry tongue.
the name like peril, little girls in sunday dresses, celestial in the songs they sing.
as if i knew that definition.
maybe stringing descriptions along branches and stuck with metal points, rusting red through the sides.
spelling out letters with stick tips in teh dirt and memorizing lines on her knees, with her hands upon the ground.
with hair threaded through like loops about her fingertips, passed through pink tinged lips and breathin in her air through filters, left there speechless.
reflecting the sun and leaving their sketches on tree trunks.
the countours gold, eyes closed and blind to the moment.
spit at her feet and found mud squished through toes, causing dissension among the ranks.
and she speaks quietly to the pins in her shoulders that whatever youre seeing, its not happening.
i say Adene, you draw a picture and the lines overlap.
running like water.
We Can See Thisive found out that these lives are like movies and the voices set are scripted pieces of beauty.
my gaze, taciturn, green grass in graveyards.
lifting his chin with the tips of my fingers.
as if holding the pose, fighting breath under water.
and walking away, found an exit through hanging branches of willows wilting in the heat of some lost summer.
the glances then fashioned are disguised 'round my fingers in trying to remember why i could not look away as he tread over flowers, skipping over their stories held in the words chipped into cold stone.
unless laying on the park bench and closing my eyes, finding letters encrypted in the stones thrown at my feet.
if set to the chorus of the soundtracks so celluloid, you could find our names up in the lights of grocery store tabloids.
because we are stars.
pretending out way through the moment of fake love, shielding faces from sunlight in late afternoons.
Hair Clip in Those Bedroomsdarling
i can hear the quirk in your voice
so i know its not okay
and im not gonna tell you i approve
but hes gone on an ego trip
and it extends beyond the hours of jet lag
that pulls you into his arms
from whence he might throw you upon the ground
to hear his drunken hero stories
the fatigue breathes alcohol into his thoughts
and theres that girl that we know
the one that i love more than the world
who whispers two names into everyones ear
and plays off the repercussions as her innocence
so lets all nod and call this okay
i remember the summer
when we smiled
as they played out the night in the comfort of bedrooms
it was okay wasnt it
the dialogue of deception
and hes lining your ears with it
its not the soar of piano concertos
and sonnets spoken with the bow of stringed instruments
if he looks you in the eyes with sunflowers in your vision
know to stare away
because is it not preconceived in the hours that he travels back in time
back to you
to whisper that hes not sure of what you ar
hoping for shooting stars
sending a prayer
blowing out candles
puffing out dandelions
watching for ladybugs
jinxing others. . .
the kind of silly things i do
just to wish for being with you.
fought for recovery after i lost myself in battlethey exclaim that one cannot recover on their own.
that it requires an army of family and friends
to find ones way out of that state-of-mind, victorious
so i began to build an army, and begun with you, my first (and last) warrior
i bestowed upon you the means to comprehend and
the capacity to acquire a cure;
but you overlooked the concept
all my strategically placed signs blew away as you stormed by,
stating that i was merely having an internal squabble— while you?
Oh! You were on the front lines of a real war!
To you, and to them, the thoughts that plague.
i failed to mention that this battle was one of disease and infection,
this had embedded its roots deeply within the person
i (oops) forgot to say that it was an epidemic- a plague.
that this battle was fought beneath the surface of your skin,
beneath the surface of your subconscious;
as subtle as a shadow, spreading and spreading and—
you were too concerned with your own disputes and
your own casua
phantasm.though I am but a friend,
I dream of your soft hands
intertwining with mine.
I open my weary eyes,
and the phantasm is over.
please. . .
make this my reality.
he's not beautiful in the way you want him to be halo and horns
he's got hair that's naturally black
with a blonde spot from when he bleached it
and dyed it blue before going back to
his natural color.
it's coarse but it's getting softer
and right now it's cut short
but when his bangs grow out his hair turns
curly and unable to be tamed
which is how i like it because
that's how he is
mask and facepaint
his eyes are a shade of brown that
light up when he's happy into this sort of
gorgeous hazel color reminding me of
stained glass windows or broken beer bottles
shimmering in the sunlight.
his nose is rounded at the tip
and he's got freckles and the occasional pimple
and full lips that i hope our kids inherit
paired with a smile that i sometimes think
is the reason why the ice caps are melting
(he's just so warm).
tail and wings
five inches under six feet tall
and says that he'd die if i get taller than him
his arms are muscled and toned with
shoulders and a collarbone tha
ElevateMy mood rises,
As fast as it falls,
Never perfectly in the middle,
Straight into a wall.
I wish it was my destiny,
I wish it was my fate,
I wish to let you lift me up,
A hand full of cards,
That I am forced to fold.
Lift me up above the clouds,
Where the rain can’t touch me,
Take me up to your angelic home,
Where you and I can just be.
I want you to know,
It’s never too late,
I’ll always be here for you,
Together we can Elevate.
I always think of you and me,
The lengths we could go,
The love I have for you,
And its endless flow.
I wish I could get an opportunity,
Just one date,
Then I could show you,
You make my heartbeat Elevate.
It's Crazy, but I love you chapter. 1
(Paul X Edd)
It was a hot night and the two animators were doing voice acting of their episode. "It's just the sound of NO ONE CARING!" Paul shouted, into the microphone, Edd paused the tape and laughed, "That was a good one, Paul!" he said as he patted his friends back. Paul blushed a bit, "hehe yea..." Edd smiled. Oh god, whenever Edd smiles Paul's heart just skips a beat. It's been two months since Paul started to like Edd.....more then a friend. "well i should be leaving" Edd said grabbing his things. "Uh...Edd?" Paul asked, Edd turned around, "yeah?"
"er...." Paul begin, he started to blush madly and his brain kicking the hell out of him saying, 'Make the move!' Paul grabbed the microphone wire, "you forgot this" he said and gave it to Edd. Edd grabbed it, "oh....thanks" he said. "Night" Edd said and left. Paul smacked himself, he sat down and sighed. How was he going to do it? How was he going to ask Edd? Paul picked u
a study in smilesyou don't like
the bitter taste of sugar
and I find the faces you make
you have my number, but
you never text me- I can
count the number of our messages
on my fingers
(but even your one-word texts are special to me)
you snapchat me instead
and I find that I don't mind
because I get to see your
face that way
you like showing me
pictures of your five-toed cat
sleeping in funny positions
and quotes scotch-taped
onto your bedroom door
and I love making your face
light up by telling you I watched
the YouTube link you sent me, because
I don't think you smile nearly
we're both a little messed up
and ripped up in the corners
but we fit together like
our hands interlock
and it might not be perfect
(perfect is too weak a word for what we might have)
but it still makes me smile.
The Finest RomanceThy love lives inside of me like a component,
We’re so much alike like exponents,
We did not buy our love, we own it,
I caught you in my catcher’s mitt,
Thy embrace is so tight I have to admit,
But not one I’ll ever omit,
Hopefully the only love I’ll ever have to submit,
For you will be with me forever, so our love, I’ll never forget!
If you’re the ship than I’m the captain who always goes down with thee,
For the day we get married I won’t get cold feet and flee,
For thy art the reason I got down on one knee,
You art the one who heard my plea,
When I asked thou to marry me,
Thine face lit up like the sun hitting the sea,
You know I am honest and sincere, not make believe,
I grew up a long time ago, I’m not a boy who likes to tease,
Because you’re the only woman I want to see!
I hold you with ease,
Give you all of my company,
For you and I together is why I invest my time,
For with thee, I have papers to sign,
For our love isn&
You know the wordsWhen the written word just isn't enough
What do I do?
This piece of me is crying, screaming
I can't move, I can't breathe
It slams into me when I least expect it
And it brings me down
I'm a pile of red stained glass from the blown-out window, buried just below the topsoil
Wipe of the soot, and there I am
But careful, I am sharp
Please don't let our reds mix.
The written words just aren't enough
And I'm pining for a touch
Not the written ones displayed on this seven inch rectangle of glass
And circuitry, and electricity.
I need the spoken word
The final blows
The nails to the coffin that resides inside my chest
Seal it with a voice
And I will be free.
Treat Her Kindlystorybook
bright blue eyes
and stuttered glances
long blonde hair
laying on the floor
they know where the water ends
press of lips
everyones supposed to know
when the door walks in
the clock dripping
its a painting on the wall
in a circle
word of mouth
nothing makes more sense
than the things that people hide
one day well live together
hes says life will be better
and thats the way love goes
for one or two
three or four
and they give
because thats what lovers do
outstretch a hand
with the world
theyll be vindicated
who exactly knows what from
everything from everyone
but theyre still singing spinning dying
her blue eyes are crying
and the world stops to a still
lies make more sense
finger there to a cheek
and the stars are falling
with a word
Keep in Touch!
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