Newest
Chemistry?I. Oxygen Fuels the thought process that makes me think of you.Chemistry?
II. Sunlight When I wake reminds me it's a new day.
III. Temperature Regulates change gives me hope for something better.
IV. Movement Makes motion mobile keeps everything going.
V. Emotions Make things real and they hit hard.
VI. Failure But I won't stay down forever.
by ~xBatgirlx
NovemberTearing things up Tearing things down Short term memory flaws Incapable of reminiscing good times Only the bad ones Only the after Post script Epilogue Of something that was good once. [Or twice]November
Moving on is hard to do when I'm in the same place Same feelings as back then Now with regret Jealousy Failure
I don't want to remember But I don't want to forget Things won't be like they were Maybe they'll come close Or be just as well
One day It won't be some stupid game Things will be real and pe
by ~xBatgirlx
Infinite Circular ThinkingHope is the fuel of what seems to be a so-called society at this point and time When, conclusively, a dear friend, or even a stranger, just gives a damn for whatever reasonInfinite Circular Thinking
Maybe they do love you maybe they lie. Maybe they just want you to be happy but if that was the case why would they lie? They cheated the truth but it's not entirely fiction
The truth is frequently untrue someone misheard what would have been the truth if it hadn't been a lie
by ~xBatgirlx
AQuiet Love onthe WesternFrontI search farther and wander about here and there; it is a strange feeling. We could never regain the old intimacy with those scenes.AQuiet Love onthe WesternFront
His eyes always follow me with such a strange look. Above us the air teems with invisible swift movement, with howls, pipings, and hisses. My fear was groundless. Slowly I take a deep breath and become calmer. In our hearts we are close to one another. We are two men, two minute sparks of life; Overwhelmed by this wave that bears us along. We rub our eyes and look once again to make certain.
And men will not understand us -- for the genera
by ~xBatgirlx
Favourites
The First HalfThis is a poem about eyes, thighs and tiny Street cafés that I have never entered, The thin line betweenThe First Half
the tortuous line between the trigonometry of your feminine curves and
the rigid slant of your sense of humor. About nights not spent on catwalks Deep in the heart of old East Jerusalem, Hopping from roof to roof On an abandonment of more than heritage, Holding no more than a bag of deflated bread
And your sweaty hand, Not feeling the index finger squirm and adjust To the tightness of my grip: We’re in a hurry to not do anything. &n
by ~beyondthemist
Dreamby ~thesoundofwings
O.o?
TireddeviantID
Devious Info
- Current Residence: Northampton!
- Favourite movie: Donnie Darko
- Favourite band or musician: Jack's Mannequin
- Favourite poet or writer: Sylvia Plath
- Operating System: Vista
- Favourite cartoon character: Gir
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Why am I mad? Because I can't see my forehead.
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Let's have a toast with our boots!
indeed.
i love you too
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"I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven." - Walt Whitman
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