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Always a monsterOnce a monster, always a monster.
Thats what I thought when I learnt that my sister had been murdered. When I walked into the room to find her bloody, broken body, and watched as it was transformed to that pale dead corpse being lowered into the ground, I knew a human had done this. That it wasnt an accident. Only a human was capable of such cruelty and hatred. It used to keep me up at nights, wondering what I would do without her in my life, wondering what was worse; living with the knowledge of how she had died or living at all.
Living was impossible. I couldn't flip through the TV without seeing her favourite shows, or eat my dinner without imagining my sister arguing her way out of eating brocilli. The mourning was long, never-ending, a pathway of sadness. Along that road, the grief would sometimes hit me out of nowhere, doubling me over, making sobs rack my body. How could somebody do that to her? How could anyone do that to a little girl so filled with light and love, filled with
Wanted...I want to live, but I simply can not.
I want to be there, but I am held back.
I want to love, but I am empty.
I want to see, but I am invisable.
I want to hold you close, but I am not here.
I want to hate, but I am too tired.
I want to speak, but I have no voice.
I want to follow, but I am chained.
I want to know you, but I do not exist.
I want to be happy, but my eyes hold tears.
I want to be light, but I am full of darkness.
I want to fight, but I have always surrendered.
I want to scream, yet I yearn for no sound.
I want to cry, but I am dried of tears.
I want to fade, but that had already happened.
I want to exist, but I am a ghost, a shadow, a specter.
I want to die,
but I was born to survive.
Insanity of the BladeI stand in front of my own mirror, looking at the human being watching me as closely as I watched her. I could see the blade she held in her right hand, long and sharp and silver, dabbed in red strokes of blood, as the girl twirled it between her fingers carefully, mirroring my own movements. I smiled at the girl and she smiled right back. We had met before, many times, and she was always committing the same actions as I was. That brought me comfort, to know I wasn't alone in this battle for skin and sanity.
I watched as the girl moved her blade up and, with a swift stroke, opened up a long, not too deep slice on her arm. I glanced down at my own arm and saw the redness emerging there, the pink of swelling skin, the red drops emerging. Any regular person would find the sight of blood terrifying. But I saw these drops as mesmerising, like red rubies shattered into a million of tiny pieces and rising again out of my skin, their colour tainted with the liquid that flows through my veins.
Am I really okay?"Hey. How are you doing today?"
Alone. Miserable. Depressed. Misunderstood.
Sad. Desperate. Abandoned. Hopeless.
Terrified. Reasonless. Sorrowful. Ugly.
Stupid. Loser. Scarred. Loner.
Disgraceful. Pitiful. Hated. Watcher.
Hater. Homeless. Loveless. Unworthy.
Retarded. Bitch. Slut. Afraid. Alone.
Child of a MurdererThe thrashing of my daddy's screams,
echoing in my ear.
The way that my tears stream
speaking of all my fears.
The thump of mommy hitting the ground
pushes me to my feet.
I ran not to her but all the way around
listening only to my heart beat.
I hit the door running
and ran far away,
my stature anything but cunning,
caring only to escape as daddy begun to slay.
Midnight was when I turned around,
and twilight was when I came inside.
I saw the blood painting mommy's night gown,
and I learned that even a child recognizes someone who has died.
I curled up beside her
hiding within plain sight.
Knowing that daddy was far gone and a distant blur,
and that I would loose both of them, that fateful night.
We found each other in the morning,
those police men and I.
The air of the town full of warning and mourning,
And everyone kept asking me why, oh why?
So that was my story,
hope it wasn't a mess
as the mystery of that night turned quite and gory....
you figure out the rest.
I Am A...I am a survivor
Because I wish to survive.
I am a dreamer
Because dreams are my break from reality.
I am a lover
Because I yearn to love.
I am a seeker
Because I will seek for my joy.
I am an observer
Because I can observe my enemies,
and know the score.
I am a killer
Because I kill to save others.
I am a hunter
Because I will hunt for truth and lies.
I am a decider
Because I can decide if I can trust you.
I am a teacher
Because I teach the future.
I am a student
Because I still learn.
I am a fighter
Because I do not believe in surrender.
I am a hater
Because the world dispises my spirit
and wants to bring me down.
I am a rebel
Because when the world spits in my face,
I will spit back.
I am a leader
Because I refuse to break down.
I am a wise one
Because wise one's understand lies.
I am a child
Because I can still laugh at other's stupidity.
I am an adult
Because I can put up with you.
I am innocent
Because my heart throbs with ignorance.
I am robbed
Because I still feel the pain.
Ready.Ready to kill,
Ready to fight,
Ready to learn,
Ready to forget,
Ready to hate,
Ready to love,
Ready to know,
Ready to not,
Ready to stand strong,
Ready to cry,
Ready to believe,
Ready to lie,
Ready to fake happiness,
Ready to feel the sadness,
Ready to accept,
Ready to deny,
Ready to live,
Ready to die.
Some things never change.
Sliced 'Do it. Do it. Dooooooo iiiittttt.'
The annoying little voice twitched inside my head, making my frown darken. I tried to ignore it; I really did. I tried to ignore the voice. I tried to ignore the sensation of filth underneath my own skin, the itching to get rid of it all.
'Just one slice. One slice will do.'
I gulped, squeezing my eyes shut, trying too hard to shut out the voice and ignore the desperate want to rid my body of the ugly within. I knew I was crazy; but hey, aren't we all? The thought gave me no comfort.
'You know you want to.'
Thats the biggest p
Demon of DepressionDepression is a tricky little devil. It comes and goes, in bits and pieces, in mass's and chunks. It makes you feel below bad, makes you feel to tired to hate life and those around you. Makes it a challenge to smile. Turns you into a sad, lifeless little zombie.
I, personally, deal with that demon. My demon's a small, monor compared to others that the world faces. Still, it possesses my soul, dteals my thoughts and emotions away. Mine are tiny, but enough to make it difficult to wake up, make me not want to wake up in the morning, not want to face yet another hellish day.
It strikes often, often enough to leave its sting for weeks, months. The monster is always with me, watching from the shadows, tinting my personality, waiting for the perfect time to strike me with its venom. Waiting for a miserable day, for a time of loss and mourning or sorrow, for self-destruction.
I am still strong enough to fight back that devil, but it is a dark cloud over my head, always there, a burden that ma
Sweet DreamsClose your eyes now,
count to three.
State one last avow,
Life's full of uncertainty,
and the privilege of tomorrow is no guarantee.
Demons of the NightHidden in shadows, kept away from the light
Are the unknown enemies, the demons of the night
Who live on our fear and yet die from fright
These living contradictions, these demons of the night
Demons of the night who haunt us in our dreams
They find the weakness in our psyche and tear at the seams
Yet, they flow fast in our minds, like a river in the rain
They cause us so much misery, yet they themselves are in pain
Hidden from the sun and the light of the moon
But the lights from their hearts, from that, they aren't immune
They are predators, we are prey, and on us they leave their mark
But, in a sense, they're just like us...so why are we scared of the dark?
Disconnect Yourself [Remix]Disconnect Yourself [REMIX]:
Is it so easy to pull your wire
Out from the inside?
(The kiss of Cyanide)
You drank the poison
And lived a lie
(That you could not deny)
Your mind was like stone
But then it started to break...
Now drifting helplessly
You shattered like glass
Knowing that you're fake...
The empty shell, that you grew
Has started to come undone...
Piece by piece
You're breaking apart; and it weighs a ton!
The wire inside me
The blood in my veins
(A memory of an ancient pain)
Knowing that I
Am nothing but a fake
(The self you cast away)
Dreaming of times
When the world was simple
Not simply made of masks...
You lost yourself
When you took a sip
From the horrid poison glass...
So face yourself in the mirror
And look the person in the eye
Can you disconnect yourself from this vision
Or will you be the first to die?
"I dare you, to pull the wire..."
-Chen Yuan Wen ft. Rue (Relic-Angel), 14th March 2012
He SaysHe asks me why I print so much,
Why I can't just get everything I need at once,
And save myself some time.
But honey, I like the exercise.
He says that I should change the color of my hair,
That I would look better with lighter hair,
More people would look at me, he says.
Darling, what I look like is just for me.
He tells me that I need to change the way I think about myself;
Confidence is better than looking at the ground
And need to show people that I am proud.
Baby, how can I be proud of me when you're not?
He claims that I need to let my inhibitions go
Just relax and let him have his way with me;
I'll feel better in the long run.
Sweetie, consent is sexy.
He begs me not to turn my back on him,
That he needs me to stay
I'm the only one who can save his life.
You bastard, I'm walking away from you, to live my life for me again.
The Sad SongA sad song plays over in my heart.
It is like a broken record.
Just like my heart.
I was told I was loved.
But they had lied.
The song repeats a line.
"I was never loved" repeats over and over in my heart.
Is that true?
Was I never loved?
I feel my feeble heart gets weaker.
Without the love I cove it I will slowly and painfully die.
No one will come to save me.
I know my fate.
My eyes begin to blur.
I fall to the ground.
The last thing I see is the darkness that consumes me.
Good bye cruel world that wouldn't save me.
My PrisonHere I lie, forever a prisoner...
not of oppression, not of hate...
but a prisoner of my own dark mind...
forever trapped with no way out.
I bang on the bars...
but nobody comes...
to break me free...
from my own dark mind.
I scream for one...
to come help me...
but here I remain...
a prisoner of my own dark mind.
Why must I be a prisoner?
Why must I be trapped here...
held inside my own taboo...
forever within my own dark mind?
My soul is long broken...
within my dark mind...
it is deteriorating...
slowly breaking down...
So, who will guide me out of my prison?
Who will free me from my own dark mind?
Who out there will be my savior...
to liberate me from my own dark mind...
That Thumping ThoughtThat aching feeling in the back of your head,
Yes, that one. The one you thought was dead,
It has been resurrected in a single act,
No use denying the nonsense fact.
That drumming flicker in the heart of your mind,
That one guilty pleasure, the peace you will find,
Has been slashed in a stand-alone swipe of harm,
Tempting for you to bid farewell to calm.
That grinding guess in the depth of your soul,
That regretful, broken, yet plausible goal,
Could creep out in one flurry of pause,
To unveil, reveal the second cause.
That thumping thought at the pit of your heart,
Has been waiting, holding on since the start,
Willing itself to stay back in the shade,
Hoping it's ever-existence shall fade.
Forever NeverI pull into the drive way, putting my legs on either side of the bike, cussing myself for not adjusting it before I took off. I begin to walk it forward trying to get it under the covering only stopping when I drag my leg across the white rose bush. The thorns only had a second but they did damage. I manage to get the bike under the car cover, and pocket the keys. Something about this feels so natural, but another part is afraid to go in. I pull the other keys on a lanyard from my back pocket and walk up to the door. As I swing the door open I am afraid that I will be greeted with dust, and bugs. But, as I walk in and flip the light putting the keys on the pool table, I remember there is still a once a week maid service. His parents said they would keep the house, mostly because they didn't want to get rid of his stuff, and the fact that his roommate was still living there. I make sure to lock the door behind me. But, when I turn back around the tears begin to pour. Memories make their
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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