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projecting.So much projecting, Or that's what I call it. Projecting my feelings I lack, or I need to expel om surrogates through relationships, bonds mending and breaking. So with love, once given to a foolish boy in the tall school grass, I rapped my tongue around his Spanish name as if it were a golden ring. I have felt it in so many forms, rough like gems in condensed rocks sold at flea markets, smooth pearls rolling on my wrist, soft cotton clouds. I have felt love made to fend off everyday pains, forged together with someone as a shield in the darkness, leaving us in our own condensed world. I have felt substitutes, kisses to feel loved, or the sensation of loving, and only truly feeling it once.. but it was like fireworks, beautiful, then gone with the wind, the situation replied romantically of course, and in the sexual nature. Let us not forget the truly platonic; love stored for the mother, the father, the surrogate. I find myself happy with my step father, laughing, smiling,
Enjoy the SilenceI sat there across from him in the freezing cold on his porch. He lit his cigarette and looked out onto the water; I admired him in silence, watching the smoke disperse in the chilly night air. Nothing was said between us. "Maybe I'll head in and get a beer" I thought to myself. I was too young to drink, but on the other hand I was too young to be sleeping with him either. He glanced at me for a moment, and I in return covered my nakedness, wrapping myself tighter in my blanket. "Yeah, a beer sounds great right now." I think. I get up hesitantly, and walk over to him, seating myself on his lap, my blanket dragging behind, so much for the beer. Oh well, we was warm. He put out his cigarette and looked at me, neither of us opening our mouths, neither of us saying a word, just sitting there in silence. With no way to break it, I kissed him softly and laid my head on his shoulder. Still nothing. I kissed his neck, once, twice, nibbled on his ear. Nothing. Kissed him on the cheek, and conti
the huntsmanAlways running, in this vast Labyrinth.
Back to the beginning. Running, clawing my way out of this deep dark pit,
to be dragged back down.
It's inevitable, this hellish life.
What sins could have provoked this?
I have found places of solitude and tranquility,
but all have been ripped to shreds.
Leaving only refuse in the form of memories.
The Huntsman always finds me,
His hands taking my hair, bashing my head against windows.
These doe eyes are a sign of the hunted,
and laying lifelessly in his teeth.
It has become a game, my running.
almost calm and composed in the beginning.
I may have finally won...
A sharp pain on my back, he's drawn back his Bow.
I can always run, but he will always find me.
The house of cardsThis is the point. I've mapped out years before. This is the point that I know my head will be slammed against a wall. This creature corners it's prey. I've tried to tame it. But never, even a child raised by wolves can't control these things. Fifteen years I've spent in this cave. Yes, years of meticulous calculations. The radius in which testing the water, or spitting fire, was going to kill me, and the distance, or closeness, that made it inevitable. I have ran, but he always finds me. Holding me between sharp caged teeth, always drawing blood. I know the roll of his haunches, the look in his eye, the low throaty roar. He is lacking in therms of sight, almost blind, frantically ripping at what he can. Deep and dark the creature is grand, this savage beast only accepting music for so long. In my years in this dark wet place, my song bird like voice has soothed him. Lashes, scars... I realized I was strong the day I began fighting back, I was small. Not even twice his size. His shadow
Glaring, glaring, sharp bright.
But the night is dark and dead.
There's no sense of place.
I'm pulled out of my writing.
Winning people over with propaganda.
All I want to do is write.
No one knows how you treat me.
All the posters in the house, all of those in Germany.
All the dark in the camps.
Bright lights. Glare.
No sense of place.
This house. These camps.
Let me write.
I sat there with Tayah, sipping my drink. The Fat Cat clearly didn't deserve the name "Cafe", but I sat there with all of my art supplies out.
"You know what I want to hear a gay parent say? 'You were an accident' try pulling that off." I only found it slightly humorous but the woman beside me laughed
"Why thank you, thank you!" I said slightly bowing my head. This tall dark woman smiled and peered down at Tayah and my sketchbook.
"May I see?" she said, reaching out an arm, her warm face smiling.
"Honestly, I dedicated this sketchbook to fallacy, I've been really sexually frustrated lately..." I said shyly, but nothing spurred her. I handed it over, avoiding eye contact.
On the first page was a black and white drawing of a girl, mouth open, mid fellatio, her lower lips slightly dragging away from the man's steely member, cum dripping down her chin, I feared the woman would judge me, but she looked in awe. "This is beautiful!" she said, now sparking a conversation.
We laughed and laughe
The man with no face
If you ever hear me reference "the man with no face",
Don't feel as if you are left in the dark.
He is tall, slender, with strength, with an illuminating spark,
In his eyes I see passion, sparking like stars, but not features within a man, that would leave him named or marked.
He is older, to some extent,
He is cunning, in some ways.
Loves music, life, and lust,
A sly expression on his face,
He never waits for dusk to strike; ever changing he may be,
His intentions stay the same,
Be it in my fantasies and lucid dreams,
An ever-present flame,
The man with no face is many men,
But still always the same,
At the back of my mind, behind closed doors,
Never knowing from where he came.
Oh? Like a show?
Running my hands over my quivering body, chest rising and falling heavily?
To hear each sweet moan before they escaped my window? Left feeling at peace?
If you were to ever run your hands over me, you would feel the beating in my veins.
To lay your hands on my chest and find my throbbing heart, only when setting lightly your fingertips.
I'm known for my literary tricks, or in this case, my talented tongue.
What can I say?
Word play is literary foreplay.
Oh, continue? Make myself blush a rosy pink? Try to describe just the way I feel, warm and tender?
Oh no, I'm too innocent.
Too fragile, even for a man with such gentle fingers, no... Even in resilience I can't help but explore myself with sweet sensitivity...
Oh how sweet, only sharing soft sweet kisses to please.
I'm as I said, fragile as a flower,
and love to savor slow.
Only to turn away,
and pretend that I'd wish not to go further.. I'd be lying by the way.
Only upholding this lie to preserve my innoce
"Cummon', you said you'd walk me to class." I looked at him frankly. "ALL the way. And I'm late, so don't disrupt it?" He looked at me with a look what clearly said "Zoe, why are you doing this to me?" He put his arm around me and walked me in.
As we got to the door I stopped and looked at him, my eyes begging for the expected kiss, but instead he walked into the classroom himself. "This isn't even your school! You're going to get in trouble! Are you going to embarrass me?" he said nothing and strode in taking my hand.
Class had already started, Mr.Junge had already sat down. I was late more than late. Fuck, I was beyond late.
"Who the fuck is he?" The voice was clearly Bakari, trying to make things a million times harder on me.
"Who am I? I'm her fiancé! That's who I am!" I looked across the room; apparently no one took him seriously. Almost no one popped up their heads, and those that did looked back down within a second.
"Mr.Junge, can I make an announcement?" He looked d
nightblind insightslover let me quiver out my phase
and swallow flack
like darling terraforms.
that misplow the verges
with eve-run clamor.
hand in hair
and tongue unchecked prodding
from riverbed to soft canal.
bit lip stammer
rubbing rushes in time
and my cheeks flush and rival
Secret LoveSecret love
For the time declared
That the royal were the Heaven sent
Then no mere mortal could touch
Let alone look upon the face
So the lady served in Ur
Yet every night she lay alone
And dreamed of a secret love
Still many nights passed by
But she could only dream
One eve toward the date of her birth
The lady heard of one man
Bold and proud in his heart
She was certain he could share
She disguised as a common woman then
And rushed to meet him in the grove
They searched for a secret spot
Therein they looked into each other's eyes
And vowed to love until they died
It has been long years
But we remember, she and I
We meet again like before
To resume our tender secret love
There are moments when we need only silence
When neither I compose verse nor we listen to music
Anyone lost deep and not caring to be found
Will know the wherefore and the why
His words of devotion are my poetry
Her voice and sighs of delight are my music
That is all we need
We are deep
Lost and happy to be lost
Poetry and music
To each other
Lament kruchego spaczeniaZatonąć w głębokich oczach,
Ciemnych duszy przezroczach,
Nie ujrzeć przenigdy dnia.
Chłonąć ciepło jej ciała,
Istotę radości, gdy cała
W cichych oddechach drga.
Sycić się ust jej ruchem
Gdy rozmownym rozlewa się duchem
W poezji swych jasnych myśli.
Czynić lepszym każdy jej dzień,
Przeganiać z twarzy ten cień,
Co w smutku czasem sens wyśni.
Karmić się jej widokiem,
Poić codziennie tym słodkim sokiem,
Słowa z warg jej spijać.
Być jej oddanym i wiernym,
Na głos czekać bez przerwy
I uśmiech co nie przemija.
Leżeć na trawie miękkiej
I delektować się dźwiękiem
Obu tętniących serc.
I nucić tylko jej imię,
I widzieć, że Słońce ginie,
I odsunąć od siebie śmierć.
SweetGenuine ingenuous thumbnail
in between her teeth
brings forth a new twist
of the knife that love always carries
It's not yet the middle of the night
but already a new day has begun, because
I have her perfume enclosed in my skin
and a pressure in between the thighs
that makes the moon above and the labia
NaphthaDu bist der verwunschene Wald,
Die verbotenen Früchte, die sich meinem Griff entziehen,
Die Magie im Bannkreis, der Nektar der Insektenfalle,
Der Starkstrommagnet ohne Erdung,
Die Verdammnis hinter dem Schwarzschildradius.
Ich bin die Apokalypse,
Wilde Entschlossenheit, Fatalität und vollkommene Vernichtung.
Luzifer und Nemesis, Prometheus und Pandora.
Eiskalt leere ich Naphtha über die Rosen,
über die Wiesen, über die Felder,
über die Sträucher, über die Wälder,
über die Steppe, über die Ranken,
über die Pforten, über die Schranken.
Mit Augen sprühend vor Kriegslust fixiere ich deinen Blick,
zücke ein Streichholz, gleite über die Reibefläche mit dem roten Phosphor,
halte es vor deine Nase, lecke mir über die Lippen
und lasse es nonchalant fallen.
Der Untergrund fängt Feuer, eine Stichflamme schießt empor.
Rund um uns lodert alles lichterloh.
Das Feuer spiegelt sich in deinen Augen,
Oh with what a talented tongue I have, leaving men betwixt,
To let them smolder, left in splendor, words light as whipped cream.
The body of a woman, the power to bewitch,
Oh what a show, I display with my lips,
Catch them at "hello", a glance, or flick of my wrists.
To leave a man breathless, without even a kiss.
And I tease with my eyes and wonder if they've ever felt such bliss.
From the pads of my fingertips to the tip of my tongue,
I am all talk you see.
I am nothing but an innocent child,
inexperienced, tight, unexplored.
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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