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the sun rises
burning the eyelids of my dreaming
my childhood’s residue arises like embers
from an illustrious fire.
It is a long, blinding horizon
with no beginning
when all you have are questions,
no proof of anything.
is when poetry beautifies death
the way anorexic eyes see her desiccated bones...
but I am closer to you now
than I have ever been
and that is
Man's Best FriendPaul shook the ashes off his eyelids as his unfinished cigarette hit the leg of the woman in the short skirt.
“Sorry.” Paul waved his hand apologetically. The woman scurried away angrily, muttering the word ‘pervert’.
He got his key out and entered the small, claustrophobia-inducing space the manager called a room.
It’s been five days since Paul and Tal'shen escaped from Maya and her goons. All the Proxitol has left his system and he has never felt stronger. Amazed at how well he was handling ‘the situation’, Paul rationalized the nightmare by comparing it to an unthinkable disease like cancer. Once you’re dealt with it, you have no choice but to go through the whole ordeal if you want to survive, and they both wanted badly to survive.
The upside is- although the alien was maturing mentally at a rapid pace, at least, it could shrink its tentacles down to a size small enough to be hidden under his jacket.
“No offense, Tal’shen.
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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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