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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
[Preview] No Turning Back [Levi x Fem!Reader]
The rim of the cup paused at your lips when the crowd erupted in a surprised uproar.
Erwin took off before you could elaborate, not that you needed to. He knew what you meant and how you meant it, and now, it was merely a race against who got to him first. Frowning, you throw a wad of cash at the surprised tender, grabbing your operating devices and following suit with Mike close at your heels.
You dashed out of the shop, surprising a few civilians but paying them no mind. You were focused on one thing and one thing only, and that was getting to the infamous thug before Erwin did.
“[First],” Mike sounded from behind you, and you nod.
Picking up speed, you run straight towards the nearest building as though you had the intent to burst right through it. Two steps before you would collide into it, you weigh yourself down on one foot and spring forward. Your right foot rests against the horizontal cement, and the hands
Broken Heart, Healed with Food and LoveNOTE: I didn't put the mature content rating on this that I usually do on my stories. It seems pretty squeaky clean, perhaps a bit naughty but mostly a PG romance about the healing power of love. If you think it deserves a "mature" rating, let me know through comment or note. Thanks.
I met Emily during my first semester in college. She was so perfect for me, or so it seemed at first. “Tom,” she would say to me in her cute Southern accent, “you and I are like two peas in a pod.”
Little did I know that when I started to outgrow the pod, she would squeeze me out and find another pea to share her pod with.
I was away from home for the first time – a former baseball all-state, slender, athletic and, as my sister used to say to her friends, “A real chick magnet.”
In high school, though, I didn’t get serious with any girls. Not that I didn’t have the offers. Also, I was a bit shy an
Lion's Message [America X Reader]I adjusted my wide-brimmed hat and grinned as the wind whistled past my ears. Even though I had come to Africa to participate in the conservation program held by three different charities, there wasn’t any rule or reason that told me that I wasn’t supposed to have fun.
The safari car came to a halt and I looked at the driver with a confused expression. “Why are we stopping here?”
He glanced at me apologetically and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I forgot to pick up something… But don’t worry – the station is very near here so I won’t be gone for very long.”
I was about to respond but he was already stepping off of the vehicle. I watched his figure disappear over the hill of dirt and looked down to read my conservation pamphlet when I realized it was no longer on my lap. I frantically searched my jacket pockets to see if it was in there and felt my heart sink in realization that it had probably flown away in the
Silver X Growlithe Reader Part 4
I groaned when I felt something on my bed early the next morning. I hate mornings more than Garfield the Cat. I opened my eyes to see (Name) right there. She was wagging her tail as she leaned over me as she exposed her chest. I mean come on an exposed cleavage? I’m a guy and we look there if we can. I was drawn to it but I looked in her eyes. “Morning,” I said with a slight yawn.
“Morning,” she smiled. “How’d you sleep?” She then sat down and then I propped myself up.
“Good. I guess,” I said. “How about yourself?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I kept getting nervous.”
I sat up and rubbed my head so my hair was out of my face. “Nervous? About what?” I asked.
“Our date,” she said. “When are we going?”
“Probably around three or something. It’s only seven,” I said and yawned. I was never awake at this time. I loved to sleep in a
[LevixFem!OC] Intertwined [Gift|TaoAndThen]
“No arguments here.”
Saskia craned her neck to glare at the male, only to yelp moments later when he tugged at the straps hugging her body.
“How the hell do you get wrapped up in these anyway?” he scoffs, wrapping a finger around another leather band and bypassing the starting glower on her visage. “Tch, ignore me. It’s you we’re talking about after all.”
“Days like this make me wonder why I choose to keep you around.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Messmann,” he volleys with another sharp tug.
“Don’t have to when you’re doing it for me,” Saskia grinned.
“Days like this make me wonder why I choose to stay around,” he mocked, moving from her back to her thighs. Saskia chuckled, sending him a gentle smile that he didn’t quite see.
Why the most promising recruit still made it his daily habit to see her everyday let alone he
Amor a tus espaldas (Sonamy) Capitulo 50Amy: ¿Sabes? Esa chica era yo *suspirando* y él me lo dio en una búsqueda del tesoro con el resto de accesorios y zapatos, fue para la boda de su madre.
Señorita: *Volteando a verla* ¿En serio? ¡Oh Dios! Ya veo porque llora, es un gran detalle. Si me permite, su enamorado es muy apuesto. *Sonriendo tímidamente*
Amy: *Con voz quebrada* No es mi enamorado.
Señorita: ¿No? Pero él decía que…
Amy: Sé lo que decía, ya lo oí una vez, por favor no lo repita. *Bajando la mirada*
Señorita: Lo lamento mucho. *Sobando su brazo* El joven también compró zapatos aquí, no busco modelos, solo dijo que quería el par más costoso porque quería lo mejor para su chica. *Suspirando*
Amy: Oh… que tierno. *llorando*
Señorita: Creo que mejor cambiamos el tema. ¿Qué vestido desea?
Amy: Me da ese de ahí *Señalando un vestido rosado, corto
Play Wrestle (Kuramochi X Reader)
"Youichi!" (F/N) squealed. "Get off!"
Kuramochi currently had his girlfriend, (L/N) (F/N) pinned on the floor. She squirmed underneath him and tried to get out of his grip. The idiot just wouldn't get off of her!
Kuramochi kept his grip on the (H/C) iron solid. "Not a chance! I'm going to keep you like this for a while until you learn your lesson!" His fingers went underneath her shirt and started tickling her.
She started laughing loudly and squrimed even more underneath him. "Y-Y-Youichi! Stop! I didn't e-even do a-a-anything!"
He tickled even more and laughed. "Hyahaha! You were talking to Miyuki bastard and I don't like when you talk to that megane bastard!"
She laughed more. "Y-Youichi! H-He was just asking w-w-where you w-were!"
He pinned her on the ground. "You sure, (F/N)-chan? Or do you want more tickles?"
She shook her head and giggled. "N-no! No more, Youichi!"
He smirked and kissed her forehead. "Good girl. No more talking to Miyuki, okay?"
She stuck her tongue out at
My Last Breath Jean Tucker wasn’t one to open up to people. He preferred solitude; reading alone in the corner of the classroom, not conversing with friends at lunch, always doing things alone when they could work in groups. Very little could make Jean happy. In fact the only time he felt comforted was deep in the pages of books.
“It’s not normal,” his father would say. “He’s fifteen year old. He should be doing things with his friends, not just reading all the time.”
“Let him be,” his mother would argue apathetically. “At least he’s not rotting his brain away watching TV.”
“He’s not becoming a man either,” his father would scoff in disgust.
And thus many arguments were constantly going on within his household. But he would rather be there than at school. At least at home he wouldn’t be ridicu
Glitchy Red X Heartbreaker-Shity Cooks
Glitchy Red, who was sitting on Elizabeth's back (Heart: FUCK YOU CREATOR!), played his gameboy while Elizabeth tried to push him off.
"Why are you so fat?" Elizabeth hissed.
"I eat your cooking," Red said bluntly.
"My cooking isn't that bad!" Elizabeth yelled.
"You burned some of Lost Silver's sweater off," Red said.
"Okay, but that was a few days ago. He wanted to try my cooking so there," Elizabeth said.
"Plus bitch, you can't cook for shit!" Red yelled.
"Well, I want to see you cook," Elizabeth said.
"You know both of us can't cook for shit," Red said.
"That's true," Elizabeth said.
"So, want to go out to get food?" Red asked.
"Sure," Elizabeth said
UNTITLEDWhen leaning over the cool metal of a barrier, into dark trees and darker water, things seem dismal.
In looking down an expanse of disconnection, being stranded, everything seems hopeful.
People standing in their groups while I stood in isolation.
Cool air nipping at my naked heels, up my exposed legs. Shivering slightly in a well-fitting sweater and perfectly worn down skirt.
My face bright yet downtrodden by fatigue.
With warm ears and a cold nose.
Something I never cared to take note of before.
Sounds like being alone, over an ocean, walking out to sea or such.
And singing througn the darkness.
Wandering under street lamps and waiting for a savior that was coming through the night.
Broken vehicles and yawning companions.
But feeling like in one moment, the cold pavement could take anyone anywhere.
And that I needed to pay more attention to the things surrounding.
Everything so beautiful, a great pair of eyes in the sky.
For once wanting to feel the same.
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
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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