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What's a Revolution...She was strolling, back heavy, mind low, feeling old…
Then the song drifted on a breeze…
She began to dance, feeling young…
Dance of the broken and the fixed,
The fighting and the asleep…
Her moves jerked silently, the record was scratched…
The song was corrupted…
to the point of no repair,
by the sound of metal and gunpowder hatred….
She stopped dancing, heart heavy, mind sad and cold, feeling old….
Put a finger on the record.
Make it stop.
For the music means nothing,
When there is no love.
Justice for the Pale and DowntroddenHer eyes glistened as she strolled down the dark alley of snow. The hands of a raggedy man were shaking. The girl stopped cautiously a few feet away from the man. Change jingled lightly in the pocket of her over sized flannel shirt as she swayed slightly with the sensation of a few drinks. The man looked up slowly, as not to alarm the girl. His eyes widened ever so slightly, his eyebrows raised. The shaking stopped, and he got up leisurely.
The girl’s mind was tingling with drink, and the man seemed to have a warm and beautiful aura about him. She could somehow tell he was scrawny under his multiple layers of mud encrusted clothing. Her hand shook the change in her pocket momentarily before she built the courage to take it out. What did she have to lose anyway?
“Here. Take this.. Should buy a sandwich or something… I think it’s about $5.00… In coins…” She coughed into the crook of her arm as she extended her thin and pale arm forward. She ha
ExtinguishWhen your love says they want to take their life...
Is the worst feeling imaginable.
And be a hypocrite like me:
You've been the inflicter of that pain.
So, what can I say?
Self DefenseBeen torn from you so many times..
What we took as insignificant goodbyes,
Built up to disconnects...
Building my walls higher and higher.
I am growing colder and colder.
Will you be able to knock them down, love?
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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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