|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Hold ItIt's like holding your breath for a minute.
If you haven't experienced that sensation, go ahead and try it now since you've got nothing to lose and it'll help you better understand the story.
That first twenty seconds is like a walk in the park. Like, gosh, I didn't know I was so gifted at holding my breath. I am the best.
Then about halfway through it, you start feeling a pressure, right? Not exactly a panic, but you are just waiting for the moment when you can just start breathing again-- like normal.
Just five seconds after that you start panicking a little. Oh, god it has only been five seconds how am I going to handle twenty-five more seconds of this? Because now every second feels like your lungs are starting to collapse a little.
Every second is a struggle to not breathe, to go against nature just to reach an arbitrary goal of sixty seconds. And every second feels like an abomination; you shouldn't be feeling this pressure, you should be enjoying oxygen intake like a regul
Simple OperationHe hated himself for sitting so frozen. "It's really a simple operation, Jig," he said. "It's not really an operation at all." He was totally still except for his mouth it felt like.
The girl looked at the ground the table legs rested on. She was blank and hidden. Her voice was surprisingly strong despite having been silent for what seemed to be hours and hours as she said and not asked, "And you think then we'll be all right and be happy."
"I know we will. You don't have to be afraid. I've known lots of people that have done it." He didn't. He knew one person who had but he never met her. There was silence again. The warm wind blew the bead curtain against the table.
He so fervently wished it never happened. He also wished he could move, but moving before she did seemed like it would be going against the laws of nature. Apples falling upward seemed more probable at that point.
The very moment he was convinced she had turned into stone, she looked up at him
Day SuicideMy day was another suicide.
Luckily days can fade or burn or bloom,
And arrive promptly, with confidence,
I sometimes kill my day with cruelty,
Perhaps unfairness, too.
Tiny injustices that seem to weigh
The entire concept of our cosmos
But its only in your mind.
Your selfishness and self-murder;
Pain because you dont want to forget.
To ensure your memory is still alive
Day must die.
A memory that creates an emotion,
Deadly to your spirits and your day,
But at least you do not long for it.
You do not pine for the memory.
You die instead,
So the memory can live.
For the Sake of Mary Ann PrimChapter One
George Percival Higgins Jr. was sixteen years old and awkward. Not to the extent of being wince-worthy, but enough for one to know the poor boy was awkward. He stood at six feet and a quarter inch, towering above most of the boys in his class who werent basketball players, with gangly limbs jutting out in random directions.
Oh, and he wasnt actually sixteen; he was technically fifteen years old until tomorrow, but out of anxiety for the big one-six, he already rounded up. He did not know, however, how important this particular birthday would be in the grand scheme of his adolescence, and how important it was that his birthday had not yet
As George stared at his pasty reflection in the bathroom mirror, toothpaste still foaming at the mouth, he narrowed his eyes as if to look tough, or, actually, failed to look anything remotely tough since he still had toothpaste all over his mouth. George actually only narrowed his eyes because he didnt have his gl
The Wall of Your BackDarkness. Crickets. They chirp. Piercing the silence. We lay in bed together. Were not really together though since youre plagued. I know you are because somehow I can feel it coursing through you. The guilt doesnt just stay in you, no, it flows around us and over me who cant feel the awful sensation. I instead feel an acute pain from the barrier you suddenly dropped between us, reminding me that I should have left, and I would have given anything to disappear vanish right then and there.
And no matter the circumstance, I was rejected, and your rejection hurt me more than anything else did, and if I couldnt leave then I wanted your arms around me, holding me tight against your chest, stroking my hair, keeping me safe and assured that you cared for me still despite all of our wrongs. I have nothing but those contradictory desires gnawing and grating at some hidden place that then clenches my heart, shuts my throat, creates burning tears that can
How to be a Hopeless Romantic You gotta sit there first. Yes, just sit there. Start to daydreamif youve never daydreamed, just space out. Now smile like you just ate a big hot fudge sundae with extra fudge. You just imagined a hugit didnt have to be you actually getting the hug, but still, you imagine a great big warm hug.
This hug, that just the idea of it put that ridiculous smile on your face, was one of those hugs that people give each other after a long awaited reunionprodigal son type of things. Its also the type of hug that you imagine youd give to someone you loved who died but came back to life for a moment only for that hug. Any hug that strong and that encompassing always has a sadness to it. I mean, because you know that the hug has to end.
Next, feel the tugging desire at the pit of your stomach that wants to keep holding on to that hug. Even if youre just witnessing it, you still feel that tug somewhere. Suddenly, the overwhelming
The Turtle and His RockA turtle sat on a rock. The turtle liked his rock. The rock was cool and comfortable and covered in crisp green moss.
The turtle had been sitting on that rock for a long, long time. The moss even started to grow on him.
The turtle heard about many places, but he never went to them. He liked the place he heard from the bird called the pond the most. It was filled with water and many interesting creatures and had tasty food other than moss. He always wanted to go swimming.
But the turtle was a little scared to leave his rock. He only heard about other places from his friends. He was a slow walker, too; it could be a dangerous walk. He decided to stay on his rock.
One day, the wind blew a very nice smell over to the turtle. The wind came from where the pond was. It was very fresh and smelled like flowers. Even though flowers grew near his rock, the flower he smelled now was different.
The turtle felt very curious. He was actually so curious he stretched out his neck as far as
Another KissThat was the tenth.
Yes, the tenth.
And I looked away
Last time you had to.
This time I had to.
The next time I dont think
It starts with a look.
We continue to look.
And we pine 'til we finally
But this urge I get.
The urge you get.
Is strong, but the bubble
Its bad, I know.
Cant be, you know.
Thats why we are where we
Look, the eleventh.
God, the eleventh.
The kiss: a look from
The Car RideI remember sulking in the passenger seat. I had been dragged along for yet another long drive with my father. I could have been relishing my day off; instead I was trapped in a moving vehicle that would most likely take me not to a place of excitement and fun but to some old mining town or a cold, cloudy beach. Not only that, I would have to listen to my father go on and on for hours about a random scientific fact or his views on the American government. He would then end these longwinded tirades with an array of unsought advice. I learned early on to nod and agree because of those long drives. During my winter break in sophomore year, a few months before he passed away, I was asked to go on another extensive drive with him. Sighing at the thought of another day disappearing from my numbered days of freedom, I went along since I knew he was mad with boredom at home and in need of distraction.
Soon we were on the highway, the classical music blasting from the stereo and the warm air con
or maybe it actually is.this
a love poem:
this is not about
me and how i hate
the way realism tastes.
this is about you.
this is about how you
are one too many shades arrogant,
how nearly every night you
try to forget that time has
left you behind. this is
about your laugh and the way it
whispers "i can't remember
what i was like before i
became this." and,
if i'm being honest, this is about
how i will never see your too
cocky for your own damn good grin that
makes me go weak in the knees.
this is about you
and how you're not real and how i wish
to god that i wasn't either.
WomanA story behind her eyes
A dream on her lips
Waiting to be said,
Waiting to be true.
A voice from heart.
A lovely sound.
You're so tender,
So simple and complicated.
Spontaneous and shy.
Silent and talkative.
Serious and funny.
Always in love.
Tears rolling down for an illusion.
Eyes looking up missing somebody.
Letters never sent.
A heart that never sleeps.
You are so beautiful
Even when you feel you're the ugliest one.
You are a princess
Even when you feel nobody cares of you.
You are a goddess
Even when years painted lines on your face.
A sweet strength
A reason to love.
StoryA man on a corner with a dirty look
Telling a story written in no book
A thousand times told in form of a verse
But never to the one he loved the most
A woman on a corner with a gloomy look
Listening to the story written in no book
A thousand times told in form of a verse
Didn’t know the woman she was loved the most
A cat on a corner with a cunning look
Listening to the story written in no book
A thousand times told in form of a verse
It was the time of the day it loved the most
A stone on a corner with a cold look
Waiting for the man to finish his book
A thousand years passed and no one cared
For the rock on the corner or the story of the man
FIOLEE,CAP 21 NO ME MIENTASFIOLEE,CAP 21 NO ME MIENTAS
¡Ahora lo que casi nadie espera que sucederá!
Una lagrima broto de sus ojos, trato de detener con persistencia las que le seguían…-no…¡Esto no ha acabado!-
Entre de nuevo en la casa del árbol, definitivamente esa tal Fionna me esta haciendo enfadar de nuevo, no entiendo como es que hace para que esa mirada y esa voz llena de compasión puedan penetrar en lo profundo de mi ser, me hace sentir extraño es como si quisiera estar a su lado y protegerla, ¿pero porque la protegería?, tiene una fuerza bruta inmensamente mortal, claro que eso no lo admitiré nunca por supuesto, pero cuando lucho sola contra mi y me venció baje de las nubes, nunca pensé que un humano pudiese vencerme, ella lo hizo posible.
No se que es lo que le ve al dulce chicle afeminado, digo, por favor, el no puede defenderse por si solo, además de que es un completo cobarde, ¿como i
If Love is True...If love truly accepts your whole,
then it shall free you, body & soul.
If Love's will can conquer all,
then a Rise shall come from the Fall.
How To LoveNext time you're laying in bed trying to fall asleep, call your girl and tell her you love her. Say it over and over and talk to her until she falls asleep with the phone in her hand. Tell her you love her before you hang up, even though you know she can't hear you. When you see her next, whether it be at school, at work, or even at her house, kiss her with meaning. Don't be afraid to kiss your girl in front of your friends and family. Show her that you aren't above that and you're not ashamed. Offer your jacket to her when it's cold and insist she take it, no matter how cold you really are. Send her flowers when she's sick and you can't be there, and cuddle with her when you can without caring if you catch what she has. Call her after work or school just to make sure she got home safely, even though you watched her walk in the front door. Lay down your jacket in a puddle so her $100 shoes don't get wrecked, even if your jacket costs $300. Send her flowers even if she isn't sick becaus
Tears of GlassI wish I had someone to comfort now
like the girl staring back from the mirror-
I would whisper my love and hold her hand-
I would soak up her tears and find her smile.
But I can’t dry tears that are made of glass-
I can’t hear lovers’ words that are my own.
There is no one here who will hold me close,
and no companion I can charm to smile.
The only girl with whom I share sorrow
stares back from the mirror with tears of glass.
pause, unpauseI want you beneath my
fingertips, flushed skin like a hushed
I want the enjambment of your
sighs, the rhythm
of your each exhale—
I want your breath
in my chest and your arms
in my arms
and I want to make you
A Bisexual Poem.A Bisexual poem
Some people like men
Some people like women
Some may like the same genders of themselves
Some also like both
Liking both genders is being bisexual
I'm bisexual myself
No, i'm not ashamed of it
I'm proud of it
All bisexuals should proud of it
It's just who we are
Some people may accept us
And some people may not
If they don't like bisexuals, just forget about them
If they do like bisexuals, be their friend
I'm proud to be bisexual
You should be too.
WantI want him.
This rapt and
That pine, that perish
we all know.
I want him to hum into my ear,
beneath my ceiling of stucco.
I want him to stop
me, with arms
so his head can rest
at the base of
my neck on
I want him to reach for my hand
his quiet movement from a calm
I want him to map out trails
skin as we lay
discussing the texture of linen.
I want him to sing to himself
as he walks calmly
I want him to smile against my
chest because my
hand in his
hair lulls him
I want him to photograph
an instant, a
subtle blur of a smile
so he'll have a
moment to keep.
I want him to look at me and even
if it's just for a drop
in an sea of hours:
nothing else in
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More