|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Maggots, Little, MaggotsBreathe.
The candy-apple red frames shine in the sun. Gleam and break light off in your eyes. A punchy feeling swallows through to the back of your head. When it gets like this - the nights so bad, the mornings so raw, the afternoons so in between - you can't help but believe that one day, you'll both drown in the rain. Even if the sun is melting the plastic to his cheeks. He'll look at you. He'll say that wasn't all of this - it was worth it. To feel you. All over. Tasting all of you, what's your flavor?
Everything leaves a good and bad taste in your mouth.
In your mind, he feels like daydreaming. His skin is made up of mid-afternoon ADHD symptoms. Smooth and tight. Soft and salty. Bitter in the sense that, oh god, he'll never ever come back if he dies. If you die. If you drown under the rain, soaked to the yellow-green grass. He feels like - oh man, he feels sugar-coated. At least his mouth is. Two sweet, sweet, plump lines of a
Worlds of StringYour parents would ask each other what on God's green earth possessed the two of you to be friends. Your parents with martini glasses half empty with their third or fourth of the night, an olive floating around in the glass like somebody's eyeball, they would even ask you what the two of you were doing with each other. The real answer was, well, since your parents were chummy, didn't it mean that the two of you had to be friendly to each other?
The world seemed to actually start when you met Ryan. He was this little boy with brown jeans and a plastic gun holster. His cowboy hat threw even your four-year-old brain for a loop. Then again, Ryan told you that you had grape juice on your shirt. So, things pretty much evened out. And you and Ryan had gotten along ever since. He let you use his finger paint to streak across your chubby cheeks when the two of you played Cowboys and Indians in the summer. The world seemed to actually start. Memories built up in the back of your head and gushed
The In Crowd - Rydon
"If all our life is but a dream " Brendon sings as the crowd dies down from cheering after I said, "Our next song is Northern Downpour!"
"For diamonds do appear to be" Brendon pauses and throws it to the audience,
"Just like broken glass to me." The thousands of boys and girls sing.
By the middle of the song, he throws me a smile. I give my best attempted smile back as I sing, "Sugar cane in the easy morning."
By the time the concert ends, we make our way to the side of the building to say hello to some of the fans. Some of their faces screaming in enjoyment, others drowning in happy tears. I give out my best smiles for photos, my best signatures for the young 14 year old's arms. I see old faces and some brand new ones too bad at this point I feel so out of tact about everything.
Zack says, "Alright guys time to come in!"
The crowd of kids that probably spent hours in line all say, "awwww" almost in perfect unison.
I give my last waves and hugs to the kids.
We then make it t
Last Chances, Heart BreakerAutumn;
When he wakes up, everything is dark. After a few minutes, things start coming into view, blurry. He can hear a rapid rush as air moves in ragged, heavy breaths into his lungs. As his senses slowly return, he can feel that hes laying half on concrete, and half on something hard, yet unsteady. He can smell garbage, mixed with the left-over scent of stale alcohol and cigarettes. Then, suddenly, everything hurts.
He almost cries out, but his throat is dry, and produces no sound. He curls in on himself, but that doesnt help, just makes the pain worse. Blackness swirls in front of his eyes again, but he takes a few deep breaths, and manages to stumble to his feet. He still has his cell phone, wallet, and money. Grabbing a cab crosses his mind, but at this hour, it would be faster to walk.
His legs almost give out on him when he starts walking, but he balances against a wall, and doesnt go down. He ends up limping most of the way. He wasnt far to begin
Break It UpIt's been there forever, the crack in the front door. Somebody - the previous owner or renter - slammed the door too hard, threw something at the door too hard, hit the door too hard, and from the middle glass window, a crack slides down the wood in a zig-zagging line, like a chart of descending popularity. The crack, it's not deep enough to let the cold in, but enough for the heat to get stuck in the wood. They fixed everything else that needed to be fixed in the house. But they left the front door handicapped. A little fragile. When something is threatening to stay forever, it's hard to fix it.
Once or twice, swimming at Brendon's parent's house, his mother will ask what happened to his back. He'll say nothing and it's dropped but not forgotten about. Like there's a twisted looking line seperating Brendon from his family and it's all Spencer's fault. Forever. When that happens, he feels like he should be punished for it. Confess. Then again, Brendon's dad always had that effect on Sp
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.
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