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About Varied / Hobbyist AtlachMale/Germany Recent Activity
Deviant for 9 Years
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let me tell you
what I think of your lips,
no, don't slip away again
through my fingertips,
I just wanted to say...

I know...
If water suddenly
couldn't become ice again,
if she knew
that a sequence
of her being
she can never
go back to...
Believe me,
I know!

So let me tell you what I think of your lips,
I think the world of them, and,
I think of them a lot...

I am a figment
of one's imagination,
not really included
in the creation...

The truth is her,
she is the cure,
as the disease flourishes,
as she looks away...

Once upon no time,
there was nothing special,
here or anywhere,
and she was sadness,
she was linger,
she was hurt,
while falling down
the stairs of life!
Her limbs broken,
no more crawling,
just ache
and nothingness!
She gazed
at the broken ceiling
for so long,
that it became
part of her iris,
she could not close
her eyes anymore,
the skies were dry,
as land
and rye,
and as she'll lay
on the broken floor,
the song she never heard
and humming it
through tear soaked lips,
and crooked,
never to move again...

Fate hangs bitter
in a corner,
cleaning the barrels
of a gun,
while whispering the story
in fallen gunpowder
on the floor,
and stares
with sewn eyes
into the cracks
on her lips
and paints
with her mind,
letters that disappear
as soon as the sound of the gun
fills the room again
with gloom...

...but still,
Let me spill my feel,
let me share the thrill,
as words
the air with silence
and eyes close,
as a ghost of futures past,
let me haunt,
and kill that misery,
as I'm doing it,
take a moment
to stare,
and, with hollow,
broken fingertips,
let me tell you what I think of your lips,
for I think the world of them...
...and you!
It made me sad to see you go
and then I remembered...

...the light bulbs are burning bright,
yet light escapes
the spectral sight,
and stares
at the ceiling,
as the shadows
of tomorrow
and die,
to be born again
do it all again...

I scraped a letter on a wall
and now I am breaking it,
and packing it for you,
yet the bricks are barely holding
and the letter is too lengthy,
for the eye to see...

I think I saw you disappear
last night
in a dream I had,
and lost in the morning light,
I remember crying ink
from my fingers
on a painted keyboard
until it burned,
I pushed it behind my eye
so I could always see you
disappearing... pianos shatter again
against my deaf ears,
and scar the air around me;
I am forced to push it all away,
so all that remains is you,
all quiet,
hidden beneath
the ravished hair
and burning violet eyes
that never die,
ever bathing in the
flowing red of the lips
that ever tremble...

Yet she looks not my way,
she looks away,
another day,
she is not here,
the wind,
lost time
and broken hands,
the light had long since gone away,
and as I stay
in the darkness I cast upon myself,
I am bereft,
yet still
by your disappearing act!

...what I always forgot I should
remember, and I did!
"I struggled to create the ending
and now I'm lost in the beginning!"

He walks every day,
he walks away,
he walks that way,
he keeps her at bay... he looked up one evening
he saw the world still there,
leaning on his shoulders,
yet he never stopped,
the walking pace he never dropped,
inside the dream of her voice,
it's all a dream!

She lived in her doll world
surrounded by deaf mold
encompassed by the old,
that never sold,
and as she told
the bold
and useless,
and the cold
lay still and careless,
blind to the dream...

The boulder thickens,
the shoulder tightens,
yet he is not there,
his reality swallowed itself
long ago,
the white of his dirty eyes
turned blue of void,
the ship has sailed
and the pirates are
the dream is sailing away
and sail he will...

The story is real
she builds it with hay
and birds that may,
with song heal the bay,
for the ship that sailed away,
where dead pirates lay,
the dream she'll never say,
for she knows it not...

...for this is the beginning,
as endings come by,
but the ending they'll lay
in a silver coffin,
drowned in black water...

She'll know it then,
she knows it now,
as these words are written on her lips
as bloody red as they become,
they're carved
inside her mind,
just like they leave his
and his mind leaves him,
as he turns to silver,
and carves himself
into a coffin,
to reflect
her eyes at least one time,
from afar,
in the beginning
as the ending feasts on us...

"It is said, that on sunny nights,
between the sounds of raindrops
shattering on the concrete floor,
if you listen close enough
you can still smell his longing for her..."
She lays there in nothingness,
winter comes in her eyes
and sings still the memory,
of ice,
of sigh,
of the drop,
of red...

...the ringing never stopped,
as warmth filled the room,
and brushed the face
of the faceless...

...the world inside flickers
of death,
but as it's the sudden kind,
it lingers,
forcing the images to run,
yet always undone,
never begone,

It lashes in puddles of inner sweat,
it runs around itself
and cracks all the windows it licks;
it is too warm,
it needs it,
it craves it... cold her grimace,
it soothes while burning
its warmth,
the spins
and the runs,
and the lost ways around it,
the stop...

...the wording
and the pace,
the lips
and the trace,
Her gaze,
It cannot see,
yet but unsee,

As I walked
upon the streets of her voice
I have sensed
the light in her eyes
and the air caressing
her lips...
Like a dream of May she stole me
from myself
and as she was taking me
to the slaughterhouse
I heard her moan
and it was then
that I knew at last...

...that you would get this
and as you fold it into
your doll heart,
and fold it you will,
for a million three million times,
that I would have been
at last
a second away from your heart!
The crooked sleepers steal the smiles,
and leave
the bartenders in vague,
yet blistering desires...

Relapse in depths,
so squandered we crawl,
vile and
for still we howl,
the lingering of sects...

It shivers at touch,
yet slithers and gulps,
the bitter,
the rough,
the sour,
the wrath,
encumbered and dutch,
forever the pulps...

The sin is forlorn
without a good watch,
and such,
this batch
will latch
towards and even against
my lack
of back
on stack
devising better endings
to begin with
and cut right through the middle
of time...

I've lied our truth,
its letter carved
on deafened ears,
painted with tears
from the murdering years,
of words as you starved
only to soothe...

Naked dreams
reflected in silver knives
that sanctify as they cross
and ask for the knees
to emboss
and flee...

inside the forests
of the sting
and bathe with me
in their blood
as it drips from gods
and me...


Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
Current Residence: Carcosa
Favourite genres of music: Atmospheric Black Metal
Favourite style of art: Dark, Grotesque, Erotic
Skin of choice: White
Favourite cartoon character: Mr. Pickles, Tom the cat, Sterling Archer
Personal Quote: "Go and throw yourself unto a scythe!"
- submitted finally after years, and decided to go sideways from photography, ended up with poetry, so that is what will be uploaded here until further notice!
- that was it, short and perky!
  • Listening to: Folk-Celtic-Viking Metal
  • Reading: The King In Yellow by R.Chambers
  • Watching: the city from above
  • Playing: Deus Ex 2
  • Eating: more kittens?!
  • Drinking: water



Add a Comment:
WhiteSpringPro Featured By Owner May 30, 2014
Thank you SO much for the:iconthxwatchplz:!!! :heart: ^w^ :iconla-plz:
spider13bug Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you for creating such wonderful art!:)
WhiteSpringPro Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2014
Naww! You're too sweet! :heart:  >///< :iconmoesmileplz:
spider13bug Featured By Owner Jun 8, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
well, while that might be true, my so called sweetness pales in comparison with yours, kind lady :)
99villages Featured By Owner Mar 27, 2014  Student Interface Designer
Thanks for the watch
spider13bug Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you for the great artworks you share with us :)
karlitta Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2011  Hobbyist Photographer
Multzu! :nod:
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