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Scribbler's effortsParty's over, see me sitting,
from my coffee coolly sipping,
writing in the early morning
like some kind of J.K.Rowling.
Come, my scribbler's efforts witness,
see my face so clean and zitless
and my body trim and slender -
see me drowning in my splendour!
For my own tranquilization
I've let grow the speculation
that in talent lies my beauty.
But my gift's fictitious. I'm just stupid.
An exercise reallySome verses woven with my pains,
some paper scattered on the floor.
Some words that stand to keep me sane
are all that's left. And nothing more.
Beside my notebooks - just a few,
a heap of pencils lie in wait
to scribble down a thought or two,
to trace the lines of love and hate.
They run through life's complex contour,
but deviate from time to time.
They draw anew because they're sure
a dream is what deserves a rhyme.
Their fantasies they dress in gold,
in green, in life, in art.
They only do what they are told
by their smiling heart.
I cannot writeI cannot write, for heaven’s sake,
my mind just goes astray,
my words escape, my rhymes are fake,
and so I sit and pray:
Believe in me, look through my eyes,
you’ll see I can be everything.
I don’t need any lame disguise
to hide the love I have to bring.
I’ll set my mind to the extreme,
I won’t be needing no excuse.
I’ll realise your every dream,
if you should stay and be my muse.
wishing wells and pumpkin shells
coffee with mint cream
wedding bells and magic spells
life is but a dream
mother says it's rain today
drought's been sixteen years
pigs will fly and cats will stray
seventeen brings tears
hooting owls and leopard prowls
burn the midnight sun
men with jowls eat fattened cows
never had such fun
father says it's time to go
new year's 'round the bend
can't be late for nature's show
fish-face now the trend
dreamer's dream and lover's love
wishing time would fly
blue moonbeam on heaven's dove
hope I never die
I Fell AsleepI fell asleep
In the arms of the enemy.
My worst mistake,
As I let his words get to me.
I left my life
In the hands of a killer.
I trusted my blood
To a man who's a murderer.
I closed my eyes
As he lulled me away.
I loosened my grip
As he began to sway.
I fell asleep
In the arms of the enemy.
I lost my life,
but I lost my life willingly.
Needle of the PineYou're a needle of the pine, my dear -
a poking of the spine, a narrow rod
to gently prod my heart in waters brine.
And when I fall, you pull me tall
to bask in heaven's shrine, for what you are
'tis not sub-par, my needle of the pine.
Without MythologiesWithout Mythologies
If I could, I would make you a raging river,
With angry rapids supplied with rain
So you could always meander, and forever be able to run away
Without contending with myths wrongly interpreted - with pain.
- John K. Samson
We’re watching the sun drown in a lake,
your eyes are far away and you say you wish
you were the wind.
You stretch out your arms like tired old wings,
and say you hope one day the sky
will just swallow you up. In that last sliver
of light, I tell you that you have it all wrong.
You could never be something so invisible as wind,
(It’s cool breathe makes us shiver,)
If I could, I would make you a raging river.
I’d turn your fingertips to salty spray,
your bones to smooth
Your lips would kiss the ocean each day,
your gut would fill with fish and frogs.
Your fidgeting toes never forced still again.
I’d turn your heart into a waterfall,
And last of all I’d make
those rushing waters from your brain,
Solitary Mind of Connected MadnessI see a sliver in the outskirts of eyes,
Tripping on madness, of madness this ride
Is, a circus of freaks. And there's no place to move,
And no place to breathe there's no room it's
My mind pressing mirrors upon mirrors and halls,
Palms touching nothing but heat-slicken claws,
And bent are the fractures of twitches of dream,
And fragmented truths of escaped tragedy.
Sobbing are soldiers not laid seige to a cheek,
Fools that are weary, held back as they're freed,
And o how the merry-go-round spins its tales,
Moving forward, neverending, on circling trails.
Succumb to the effervescence of thrilling deceit,
Believe when you don't, acceptance is key,
Be lost with the timeless, unwavering charm,
In circles, not touching skin, all arm in arm.
I see a world on a sliver of fire,
Tripping on madness, on madness on wire,
Is it I'm slipping at the edge of a hope?
It's time to accept we're together
The real meaning of friendshipFriendship
Kidding around turns into
Remembering painful times
Ignoring the painful truth that lies ahead
Ending all hope
Never finding any good in it
Demanding they be there for you but they never
Seem to keep their promise of staying
Heartache and loneliness always comes at the end
Insightful friends are nothing but a myth
Promises broken and pitying oneself
In MorningThrough a wintry window laced with ice, lie
petrified panes of frosted grass beckoning,
languorously outstretched. A shivering bird’s cry
reaches horizon’s edge—that razor reckoning,
those impossible dimensions—hung like a kite
on a cloud, precipitously balanced between a dull
existence with poking pinpricks the only light,
and the embers of potential, slowly stoking. A lull
unfurls, a quiet eternity uncurling in that predawn
chill, everything faded to silent sepia, frozen
as though this instant is more important, torn
from time and left right where it was chosen
to be. Light spills over and creeps through
fractured, flinty sky turned a clear, unbroken blue.
SanityThe walls of this place were white,
Sanitation and cleanliness were no doubt at play.
Walking through them I search for the light,
Lost forever in this building, searching for the day,
The one where I would no longer be lost.
The rooms were empty,
Not a soul but for the ones at rest.
I wouldn’t say I felt guilty,
But what I had done, I would address,
And realize my action’s cost.
Continuing through these halls,
I can’t help but look at the paint.
I remember the red smears on the walls,
The copper scent lingering still and faint,
Yet luckily those memories I tossed.
I pass on, leaving behind this phenomenon.
I see a shred of the sun’s rays,
And quickly I leave my role of false surgeon.
Behind me the blood of my past lays,
Leaving it to the cold and frost.
Tick TockTick tock goes the clock
It's all a little hazy,
Tick tock she's in shock
The girl that we call Lacey
Little lines cut her neck
But no one wants to see them
All her friends wish she were dead
But no one wants to be them
One or two can make it through
The Hell that she lives in
But nothing that they say is true
So no one can believe it
Her life is just a bunch of rags
There's nothing that can save her
Her breathing comes in heavy drags
Each saying "You Deciever"
Tick tock goes the clock
It's all a little hazy
Tick tock she's a rock
The body we call Lacey
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More