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"Breathe"Dark eyes fear the unknown,
for they only know the bright and the clear.
Pale skin, as white as snow,
eagle spread on the cold stone.
Parted lips are cracked and cold,
against the touch of those unknown.
A slowing beat of the chest,
no rise, no fall, no faltering breath.
Left beside the lakeside shore,
a desperate shattering breath
has never been wanted more.
One, two, three, four.
One more set before
they check once more.
One, two, three, four.
They fear the worse,
for they sense they are no more.
Oh chest, of naked breast,
rise and fall with intake of breath.
Forced air, make way through those lips.
Slowing beat, keep up with those on your chest.
But they fear, fear that death has already planted their kiss.
Fingers numb, stiffen like steel,
Body pale, eyes wide and clear,
parted lips of cold display,
with no matching air flowing it's way.
A lost heart,
on the lakeside shore.
They make their way,
away from wanting to do more.
Cityside BeachThe rolling waves broke against my denim covered legs as I felt the weight of salt-water soaked jeans tug with each step I took. The colossal noise of those surrounding me was deafening; Children screaming, adults yelling, teens laughing, birds singing, and the never ending sound of a well tourist-attracting, populated city bustling in the background. The sun burned hot against my skin, already abused by the unrelenting attack of the summer's UV rays, and bright against my eyes, even if they were shaded and guarded by thick rimmed shadowed glasses. The sweat trickled from my uncomfortably warm scalp and down the length of my neck, only to be sucked into the white cotton button down like all the others. It was even more uncomfortable than the jeans I wore soaking in the ocean's water as the waves tumbled through and around my legs.
It was hot. Unbearably hot at this equally unbearable beach. My blood pulsed beneath the surface of my sticky moist skin as I trudged deeper into
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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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