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cerebrum.if it's midnight already and i can't feel you anymore,
it's because you're savoring the taste of someone else;
or maybe it's because you're just lost in all the shades of blue,
the word "farewell" comes in so many colors.
if you've climbed too high and still haven't found a signal,
it's because my thoughts are lost somewhere in jupiter's storm
or maybe it's because i'm asleep on a train
heading far, far away from you.
i took a metaphor literally once when i cut you out of my life
with a pair of rusty black-handled scissors and every picture that i had of us.
it never seemed to work, i could never chase you out of my head,
and that was when i realized that you lived there.
you're everything and nothing i've learned in history class,
about guillotines and revolutions,
and if i know one thing, it's that you're surely not a Saint
and no sir, i will not love you.
it's raining outside, and i know our future.blue eyes, grey skies,
everything's going to be alright.
fascination.clearly i've developed a fascination with cigarettes
and hand-holding and cheek-kisses,
something about thinking about him on starry nights,
when i can draw lines connecting his initials to mine
because he was a cancer and i was a cancer,
and my horoscope told me to keep him close to my heart
so he could peel back my skin and my ribs and my lungs
to steal my words right from my chest
he smelled like Newports and hours-old cologne,
but sometimes it was his smoke mingled with a fresh peppermint
that drew me to his lips and made me wonder
if i could get addicted to the taste of his nicotine
he made me want him next to me, to lay my hand on his chest
while our minds soared into the ocean of clouds and birds above us
and we stared at each other with our eyes closed,
letting our lips speak in a wordless rhythm
that somehow contained three syllables.
here in your armsyou asked me for a hug
"just a goodbye hug," you said,
and i had to refuse
because i knew that if i let you wrap your arms around me
i wouldn't want you to let go.
but later i gave in to my fears,
we stood outside in civil twilight
underneath a yellow streetlamp
and you asked again,
a gentleman as always,
and i wrapped my arms around your neck
like i did a thousand times before.
and i closed my eyes
and tightened my grip
as you kissed my neck
and whispered, "i don't want to lose you..."
i felt your tears on my shoulder,
you felt mine on yours
and we didn't let go
until i was too afraid that our embrace
i looked you in your brown eyes,
deep-set from cigarettes
and red from fear like mine
you told me you'd still be there
and that it wouldn't be goodbye
until i wanted you gone.
poetry is dumb. (fuck logic)maybe you'll read this, maybe you won't.
i have a feeling you might.
four hours since the pieces of glass hit my stomach
after my heart shattered.
you did it,
you cheated, and you lied.
all i wanted was for you to tell me the truth,
isn't it what i deserve?
yeah, i don't write in rhymes often
but fuck it, it's still poetry;
broken hearts make great pencils,
i guess you learned that today
if you started writing your own.
six lines this time,
because anything less is overused
like your excuses--
all i want is for you to say you're sorry
and admit what you did
but i don't think you can.
and it's too soon to say i don't love you anymore
oh look, i cheated.
this stanza isn't seven lines. it's six again. fuck logic.
and all my friends say you're a manipulator,
a puppet-master if you will
and i trusted you.
butterfly kisseshe told me he played tic-tac-toe on his arm
with a razorblade once
and showed me the scars to prove it
i grazed my fingers over his forearm
marked with faint white lines
that made me scared i would lose him someday
and i thought back to that one time
when he was drunk and i could hear
the urgency in his voice as he stood on a ledge
but all i could feel was his heart beating faster then
when i touched the stories permanently inscribed
in his skin
and his left hand tracing the outline of my jaw
and even the tickle of his eyelashes against my cheek
as we sat in the backseat of his nissan.
fourteen years.for seconds, or minutes
under each honeydrop skyline
respite became only for the weary.
the women and children,
either too pretty to touch or too far out of reach, were
examined like a piece behind museum glass and
now were rotted and old.
years became eternity, and
eternity became impossible
as the lonely click-clack of conversation
remissed into nothing
somewhere along the line.
Why Hate Me for Loving?"Homosexuality is not God's way."
"Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!"
"Let's ship all the gays to an island so that they can die off."
"Gays do not deserve the same rights as regular people! They are not people, they are monsters!"
"Marriage is between a woman and a man, not a man and a man, not a woman and a woman, and anyone who says otherwise deserves to be shot!"
How can there be people who actually believe this?
I was taught that God loved all his children. I was taught that Jesus sacrificed himself for us all of us. I was taught that no matter who you are, you are loved and accepted by God because you are his. I may not necessarily be Christian, but I believe there is someone out there, and that someone does not hate me.
I am bisexual, and it really hurts me to know that if someday I fall in love with a woman I cannot marry her legally in my home state. I cannot adopt a child. I cannot kiss her in public without being laughed at or discriminated against. I cannot be with h
John at 3:16Dear Jesus Christ,
I went to bed at 3:16 last night and started thinking about JohnJohn who pissed away every paycheck he ever made and only fucked virgins, John who beat up a woman's husband and spent a Christmas in jail, John who shot himself on the front porch of his mother's house. I don't think anyone shed a tear except her. I heard she shed many tears as she cleaned up the mess.
I thought about when I first met him. It was at church. He and I were both eight. He sat next to me and we stared at that stained glass image of you in your white robe with your outstretched, loving arms, and he leaned into me and asked, "Do you believe in Jesus?"
"Of course," I said. "Don't you?"
He didn't answer. But it was Communion that day and he ate your body and drank your blood just like everyone else, and I thought he had to believe in you because you were inside of him.
I asked him once, Jesus Christ, I asked him if he believed in you and he said, "I want to. But everyone says I have
Un roti de Cupidon"Patron.. je suis pas sûr que ça soit une si bonne idée..."
Un bruissement d'ailes presque froufroutant sur sa gauche le fit se retourner d'un bond, mais il ne put percevoir qu'un bref mouvement du coin de l'oeil. Ils étaient rapides, bien trop rapides. Jamais le vieux ne réussirait. De nouveau ce bruit soyeux, semblable à des ailes de tourterelles, mais bien plus proche. Dans son esprit il pouvait les voir, tournant au dessus de sa tête comme autant de vautours prêts à la curée.
Le bruit assourdi des détonations résonna et tout autour d'Emmanuel une pluie de plumes commença à virevolter tandis que cinq bruits sourds accompagnaient la chute d'autant de corps autour de lui.
"Ramasse les, petit. On a encore du boulot."
Avec une grimace mi admirative, mi dégoûtée, le jeune homme se mit au travail, enfilant des lourds gants de cuir pour se protéger. Son sup
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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