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dying to survive.
She spends her night with a bottle of rum that's half gone,
shedding her tears to goodbye songs.
You can ask her "what's wrong?", and her?
She'll just smile.
Walk in the next room to keep a low profile.
She doesn't care about the fastest way to get paid...
Nobody tells her what to do, except the switchblade.
One cut here - nobody will notice,
until she looses so much blood her eyes can't focus.
It's hopeless to tell her that things will get better,
when she gets otherwise from the weather.
Cause everytime she's looking out that window,
it's black in the midst.
And she can only see the tracks on her wrists.
She figures, being alone is not that bad,
if you ever had the childhood that she once had.
You see, she talks about her Dad... In the form of a question, like:
"Was he drunk, when he didn't wear protection?"
She said, the world is so pretty, when she closes her eyes.
Her friends tell her that they love her, but she knows it's a lie!
Cause everytime she cries out, they float in the sk
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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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