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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
The 30we break each other with kisses
to open, to bruise, to overcome our bodies
there's only sighs and impressions,
just love love love
and urges and slowness and pushes and eyes sink
we are infinite in an indefinite intimate form
melting moans, scraped skin, salacious tissue red and white
we're losing edges, where might I begin? but you are
completely my dear, my love love love again
Steve x readerHi hi! First story on here, whoop!
(y/n) was simple. She didn't like too much attention, but she enjoyed it, just like any other person.
However, if given unwanted attention from the wrong people, things can get ugly.
"Come on, babe. One dinner," Tony Stark whined. (y/n) often ran errands at Stark Tower for the Director, Nick Fury. And every time she would step one foot into a room Tony Stark was in, the first thing she would hear would be Tony asking her on a date. She thought she had heard every pick up line there was.
"You look nice in that SHIELD suit. It would look nicer on my floor," He winked. (y/n) crinkled her nose. The Captain America looked up at the two from the couch. He recognized (y/n), whom he had seen sometimes around the Tower. They had grown to be friends.
"No thanks..Tony. I literally tell you that everytime." She sighed and walked over to the fridge.
"Are you sure you don't want to go out tonight, darling?" He drawled, placing a hand under his chin.
Good...but not good enoughI will sacrifice my heart and mind
You will always come first, I'll try to accommodate your every need and desire.
Sometimes I'll come up short and I'll fail because I'm good just not good enough.
I'll be your secrete because deep down you are ashamed of me.
I fulfill so many of your needs but fall short on some because I'm good just not good enough.
I have a pure heart but an ugly body.
You'll look past that at first but not for long.
You will take every ounce of love and compassion I give you and rarely reciprocate because I'm good just not good enough.
You will live in my protection but ignore my affection wanting more than I can offer.
You will grow weary of my appearance and frustrated with my short comings
because I'm good just not good enough.
You will keep me around for what I offer but give your affection away to others.
Eventually you will destroy my hopes and dreams, my heart and soul and I'll ask why? because I'm good just not good enough.
In the heat of time
Slides and joins
Touches and moves
Joining and dividing
Stiffens and hardens
Hello everyone!Today I want to give some half crazy riddles and you will leave me your answers in the comments! will adivinanaza 10, prepare for the last will very difficult for you to secure good empezemos!
What is the main enemy of the ugliest girls?
If I put inside it hurts, if I take you bleed, if I teach you scared XD what is it?
There is a plane where this hitler, fidel castro, Pinochet, bin laden ossama, zacarach, avion who survives the fall?
(This I invented it) is an orange cat with freckles and an eye patch who? XD
Because the man is like a broom?
What's the worst that can happen to a dwarf?
Why is the math book killed himself?
I'm so poor that my house is carton, all are with me because health I who am I?
Pinchame Juan and went to bathe, leaving juan Who was left?
Well guys here comes the hardest ... so prepare well those brains and think your answer!
What grade is m
The dissolutionThis honestly still seems really unfinished to me...
This is about socially imposed ideologies, such as zeitgeists. It's about various contemporary elements of our social paradigm ingrained within our belief system when we were innocently receptive and unable to question their validity.
It's about shedding those ideals and allowing for independent discovery.
(It still needs revising, to me it seems a little insubstantial.)
I feel like plastic uniformity
A generic sculpture of conformity
A toy soldier
Melting in a burning building
Eye's wide, unseeing
Limbs strong, unmoving
Heart beating faster as I begin to melt
Oh dysphoria, release me
Skin dripping like wax
My mold: broken
As my husk falls away
And the certainty of my dissolution solidifies
As I become more
A viscous mass
An amorphous, liquid entity
But I am not sad to see you go, machine
I'm escaping from the dream
Formless and free
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