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The Art of Sleeping and Thinkinglooking at other people's memories is painful
and personal, but
we do it because we like the torture.
i hear the voices fading in, every
the blackness ebbs.
sleep beckons, but
the pain is exquisite
and the insanity hard to resist.
MomentsLaying in the dark,
we share secret string cheese and I love you's,
all while you should be sleeping.
But you're not so we cuddle and share smiles and looks and whispers.
And this is how I love you.
Starry EyedIf I could take away the pain, maybe you'd feel the same
If I had a star for every time I thought of you, I'd have galaxies.
As it is I'm willing to give you the moon and stars.
I'd do it all for you
I packed up my life for the great unknown,
a life with you.
I'd do it all for you
I gave up my security for this love;
I believe it is worth it.
I gave it all up for you.
My DepressionHave you ever felt so alone, so..inside yourself, that you literally feel like nothing? Nothing more than a sack of bones and meat and shit that just uses up oxygen. You feel empty inside too. So empty, and yet so much pain. All this jealousy and rage that you know is unwarranted so you do nothing about it. You cry a lot. Usually at night, when the rest of the world is shut off, sleeping. The telly can't drown out the voices in your head that say you're worthless. Alcohol, drugs, it can sedate them for a while, but they always come back stronger, telling you how fucked up you are. It's usually the voices of people who are close to you; your mom or dad, a coach or teacher. Someone who you hate to disappoint. Yes, at night is when it's the worst. There's not a whole lot of people you can talk to. Not like they'd understand anyways. "Oh, quit throwing yourself pity parties," or "oh, you're just being dramatic," or my favorite "you don't really feel that way." I know
We are the people.I, I am a sad song,
sung by the past voices of fallen wings, as they whisper and fall to the ground.
I, I am an ending,
tearing apart your smile, starting from the tongue.
I, I am a lost hope,
thought about by sailors, as they roam the broken seas.
I, I am a broken soul,
tossed away by weary glances, and eaten alive by harsh words.
We, we are the people,
the artists, the singers, the dancers, the executives, the fry cooks, the bus drivers, the officers, the cashiers, the managers, the musicians, the crooks and the thieves, the preachers and the rabbis, the homeless and the millionaires, the broken and weary, the lost and destitute, the loved and the forgotten. We are the people.
SecretsI am a one-sided conversation
I am alone.
So this is what it feels like to have the wind run through your feathers,
it makes you feel alive.
It carries conversations that are not captured by the ear and whispers them into the hearts of men.
So let our secrets stay between us. Hold me close, so the wind does not steal our words.
Awkward GoodbyesI never want this road to end.
But is it because I wish to spend more time with you,
or because I'm afraid of awkward goodbyes?
I guess I'll find out, because we're pulling up now.
We hug goodbye, but then you turn just right,
and so do I.
And it's a kiss.
I knew this would happen.
We kiss and you reach up into my shirt.
But then you pull your hand away,
and I turn my head and say goodbye once more,
and give a quick, half-hearted hug,
and leave you behind in the truck.
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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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