|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Wake up loveHush now,
I'm sorry the dream must end.
It's time to wake up
and face the world.
Reality is harsh,
the people are cold,
that's how it is
and you must wake up.
For you have been asleep long enough.
Time to wake love,
and be with your people
they wait for you
and have never given up.
You can't let them down.
The alarm's going off,
and reality is waiting.
You are only human
and cannot do much
but everyone is important
and life is waiting just for you.
Can you hear their cries?
And the bellows of pain?
You can stop them
but only if you wake up.
It's time to wake up love,
and face the world.
They cry for your return
and you can't let them down.
MistakesIf every mistake I ever made
was a scar on my body
there would be no pure skin.
Every inch would host a jagged line
where my so called 'selfish pride'
managed to get the better of me.
Idiot mistakes of my youth,
and moronic declarations
of what I thought was insignificant.
Mistakes, errors of judgment,
a complete lapse in sense,
that litter my skin with memories of pain.
For a moment
I thought I was important
not someone to be overlooked.
My selfish pride betwixt me
for everything was little
compared to the pride I raised.
A fall to Earth
waking on concrete
no one besides me.
My mistakes are scars
littering my skin
tainting once pure flesh.
Blunders of thoughts,
guilt as endless as the sky,
never ending weight of it.
are meant to be just that
Though they haunt my thoughts everyday
I can't help but hope that one day
they will be scars instead of thoughts
so everyone else will know
they thoughts that haunt me everyday.
I'm a PoetI'm a poet.
And because I'm a poet,
I have the pride of a poet,
and the background of an artist.
Yes as a poet.
I am overlooked in the group
for the work that is drawn,
and the art that is colored by the painters
I am a writer
and though my words hold power
they are seen as nothing more than words
and never get brought to their original intent
I am a writer
whose every move is watched
whose art is critiqued harsher than others
who's still unknown as an artist
I am an author,
who wears my heart on my sleeve
who leaves everything bare to judgment
who never asks for more than is due
I am an artist,
but I don't always get treated as such
A Carnival DelightTwo people, sewn together
more stitches bringing them together
than they ever were of conjoined twins.
A scream of horror elicited,
brought by the 'person' before her.
A thump sounded as she fainted.
Next on stage,
blood red eyes and pale skin
people cowered and hid
shielding away from his 'devils syndrome'.
Just when the audience
seemed it couldn't take anymore,
more acts joined the other on stage.
A man so small
he should have been a boy
and without a match
lit a fire like a dragon.
A girl in a cage
with eyes of panic,
contorted her body,
popping limbs and snapping bones
no one saw the tears of pain.
A man who more snake than human,
a mans torso there but a snake tail.
He watched with unmoving eyes
for where should have been life and love
there was just emptiness inside.
The Ringmaster sings
to the rhythm of the people
cheers and smiles of city and town.
A tip of the hat,
smiles of the crowd.
There's nothing more
than the scent of popcorn
and the laughter of children.
All too soon th
Sunflower KissesSunflower kisses dance across my skin
laying down in a field of wheat in the afternoon.
You appear almost out of nowhere
and lay down next to me as you were meant to be.
The sun hurts my eyes,
as I squint at the clouds and try to make shapes.
You stare at me and I try to think,
yet the more you stare the harder it is to ignore.
Do you want the sun?
Ya, the sun.
Everyone gives the moon as a gift,
but to me, the only thing that can rival your charm
is the suns great shine,
and even then when you emerge outside
the suns grows dark and burnt.
You never were a poet
I couldn't help but laugh
at how long you probably spent
thinking of that one line.
I like the sun.
Then I'll wrangle the sun,
all for you.
We laid in the suns warmth
of sunflower kisses
and the tickles of wheat instead of grass
and nothing else mattered in the world.
I love you.
I love you too.
AtticI went through the attic today
just to see the memories that lie.
Inside a box there was nothing
but cobwebs and fickle dust.
Yet in a corner of the room
there is the most beautiful memory,
photo albums of love
and presents from trips long ago.
I do not have to read the letters of love
for their words have long since been memorized.
A little stuffed lion
won at the circus,
shall sit in my lap
and remember along with me.
Never stitched in love this lion was,
but love was what it was meant to feel.
So as I sit and look,
from albums of old,
and presents from trips,
and letters of love,
and my lion in my lap,
I cry happy tears
at the memories that have passed.
'Darling, come downstairs!'
I can almost hear your voice shout below.
'Dear! You are never going to believe
the memories that I just unearthed.
Let's look together, and relive the old
and maybe then my tears for memories past
can become tears for something new.'
Lovely AnneI once met a girl named Anne
and what a lovely girl was she.
She sat in corners and talked
and talked when no one listened.
While lovely Anne was so lovely
no one went near lovely Anne
and her never-ending talking.
Lovely Anne with black hair
and dark skin. Never listened
to the voice of society.
Lovely Anne talked of a world
so unlike our own.
No one went near her,
but everyone listened
to the thoughts of a wonderful world.
Lovely Anne lived in a world
where the clocks struck thirteen
where everyone loved
where everyone smiled
and tears were never shed.
The walls and floors
objects and papers
that she talked to day and night
held to her words
and wished for her world.
Poor Lovely Anne had no friends.
But lived in a world that was entirely her own.
Lovely Anne who never left her world
and thought reality was imaginary.
The Wishing TreeTraveling along a concrete road
until the pavement turned to grass
and the grass turned to dirt.
Just when the land turned barren and bland
an abandoned park stood rusty and proud.
Little Jessica walked along that dirt path
not minding the hot sun
or how her backpack got heavier with every step.
When she finally reached
that abandoned park
Little Jessica played in the slide
and swung on the swings
that creaked with every rock.
She bored soon and left
that barren park
going to the one sign of life
A sorrowful tree, with no leaves left
stood near that abandoned park.
Little Jessica, feet scuffing the dirt
went to this poor alone tree.
From her backpack, Little Jessica
pulled paper upon paper out.
With bits of string and tiny fingers
Little Jessica attached every single strip of paper
to the branches of that leafless tree
as high and far as she could reach
until the dry branches could no longer be seen.
When she was done
Little Jessica surveyed her work,
proud of the job
Victim of a John DoeDo you want to hear the story
of how I died?
I promise it won't be boring
so if you would
just take a seat, have a drink
Past memories reach,
I met the most amazing man
who spun words of silver and gold
with a tongue more fine than silk.
He told me he could do no wrong
and I, young and foolish, believed him.
And when we went home,
his eyes shining with new excitement,
things were perfect.
Then it shattered.
Nothing more intense
than feeling my own blood
trickle down my body.
stares traveling down
blood spattered knife
a gaping wound
cries of shock
gleaming white smile
solid drops of blood
and fading light.
I knew him for one night
he disappeared the next.
To this day I am simply known
as the victim of a John Doe.
Lessons LearnedShe is in the pictures,
Smiling her toothless grin.
What I wouldn't give
Not to care again.
It was a beautiful and innocent time;
She'd never believe
That there are poems
That don't need to rhyme.
I have so many things to tell her--
That Pooh Bear headbands
Aren't cool forever
(No matter how much cuter they are than Hello Kitty)
And she won't love Kim Possible when she's older,
And that hearts
Even if they're made of gold.
I wanna tell her --
Again and again --
Even if she's heard it a thousand times,
Even if it's a million,
That she should never hurry growing up:
Cause when she eventually does..
She'll keep wishing to go back
To that point of ignorance--
Of not knowing.
I wonder what she'll tell me in return
Guessing her words,
She'll tell me to pray
Every night to the angels
Because they're always listening.
She'll preach at me
For falling in love
With the one who was so obviously
The first candidate to break my heart
Didn't I know better
Than to give my h
If tomorrow I don't Wake upI wonder what would happen
If I was never to wake up
Would people even care
I wonder if a commotion would erupt
Would anyone even notice
That I wasn't alive
Would my mother even mourn me
Or could she guess that I wouldn't survive
Well I'm still not dead
But I can barely call this living
I feel like a corpse
That hasn't given up on breathing
But I wonder what would happen
If I was actually to die
Would anyone be bothered
Or care enough to cry
Maybe everyone's just used to
Me living like a corpse
So no one would be bothered
Or life change the slightest off of course
But if I would never wake up
There's no way to know what happens the next day
Won't know if people really care about me
But..maybe it's better off that way
My Master's VoiceI screamed at him "I'm leaving!"
He smiled and said "okay"
I said "no, for once I mean it
This time you wont make me stay"
But bags were never really packed
And that night in our bed I lay
The taste of blood on my lips
Still remained there the next day
I screamed at him "please stop this!
I am the Mother to your child
Baby, I know you have a temper
I know my ways make you so wild"
"But I promise I'll try harder
Not to push your buttons so much"
With that the beast resumed control
As I quiver at each stolen touch
They scream at me to leave him
To them it's such a simple choice
But it's been so long since I've heard
Anything but my master's voice
To the point that I no longer know
My own mind or my own heart
But today he said he's sorry again
And tomorrow will be a fresh start
UnwellDon't fear me,
I don't infect
I won't break if you touch
Soothe, pull closer
Whisper me words,
no matter how meaningless
When you have been sick
as long as the time
you will find a need
for flesh and skin,
Don't fear me, I'm like you
only a little
snowy owl totemthey used to say potential like it was a life-sentence
achievement, like a weight around your neck
expectation to be smoked away like cigarettes, into toxic vapour
sitting on the roof at midnight mourning nothing
and the letting go of medals pinned to your skin without your permission
and you lived in full-colour and dismissed the concept of regret
early mornings, long days and late nights like a beautiful ocean
in the waves there was radiant delight and wonder, this crystalline desire
and fulfillment and exuberance and time never wasted
every second of delicious experience committed to a universe of memory
now they say impressive like a consolation, so proud of you
delicately inserting ornamental feathers in the wireframe shell of your wings
because they don't realise you used to be able to soar without them, and will again
and you smile because you are earth and air and fire and water
and the bird that lands on your outstretched arm in dreams of sto
Bring Them to Their KneesHer body is a cavern
wishing to be filled with happy memories and warm smiles
instead she is hollow
Everything inside scooped out with tight hands
gripping and grabbing
pulling out her innocence
throwing away the young hopes
replacing it with self-loathing
She walks seductively by
covering up all her insecurities with tight clothes
and the perfect amount of make-up
Hiding her fear within swaying hips
giving out lustful looks
bringing whomever she wished to their knees
She didn't need anyone
she didn't want any help
that's what she told herself
She had control
power over them
had them begging for her
Not the begging like she did all those years ago
screaming into pavement that gave away nothing
tears falling on to the hands clinging to her neck
There was no need to think about that anymore
there are too many men to conquer
too many hearts to break
Why remember when you can forget
in the same exact way
What I should have said. ...i don't want to tell you, but before you; he was there.
and he did some wicked stuff, that'll make it harder for you and me to be.
i just want you to know, it's not you. [it's not me either.]
i love you but because of.. something, i'm afraid to show it to you,
and i'm scared to let you show it to me as well; i don't want love to hurt.
i just want you to know, i have bad thoughts sometimes.
it won't be your fault when i don't want you to feel me.
and it certainly won't be mine, i know that for now, it's not. it's just.. not.
i just want you to know, something happened.
it will be strange being around me, maybe a bit too much for your liking,
and you'll probably leave me for it, eventually, if i don't push you away myself first.
i just want you to know, i've had nightmares and flashbacks for four years now.
in time i'll tell you i've been in therapy for ages, and i will be scared of your reaction.
and i imagine you giving me that look and then i will realiz
Tempting with beautiful wings;
-Chen Yuan Wen, 4th January 2013
Suicide On Your LipsI tried so hard to pull away
At the end of the night when we kissed
But as you begged me once again to stay
I could taste suicide on your lips
And such an intoxicating fragrance
Far removed from the stench of death
Such a beautiful perfume of life
Of a lost girl hollow from neglect
Am I too late to save her my Lord
Will those lips ever smile again
When razorblade remedies are scarring
Her beautiful porcelain skin
You spoke of your sorrows till midnight
Then you slept in my arms until dawn
Awoke and cried tears until midday
For your past and your present you mourned
And when the last tear finally fell
I explained I'd never leave your side
Heartfelt words alone wouldn't do
I painted our future with pride
Together we created a masterpiece
A magnum opus beyond compare
I now kiss those lips on a basis daily
The taste of suicide is no longer there
Ice Cold LipsHer cold lips
pink in nature
but cold underneath.
There's no life
in those two strips of flesh.
The rest of her is hot,
but her lips are always ice.
Delilah, do you love me?
Of course I do.
Her eyes are just as cold
as her cold dead lips.
Delilah, do you love me?
...yes, I do
Her hands leave hot trails down my back
but her lips leave frost on my skin.
Delilah, do you love me?
and her cold dead lips
touched my own.
Keep in Touch!
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