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Take these drugs and feel the fun,
smile once and then you’re done.
Click our ad and try your luck,
elation-fit, and then you’re stuck.
For just another little dime
be happy, happy, all the time.
Melancholy’s for the saps,
put your boredom in our traps.
Once you need a stronger fix,
Give us money, get your kicks.
Hear our pitch, ignore the slime,
be happy, happy, all the time.
Real worlds do not exist,
lance that sadness like a cyst,
Make your own world, make it true,
Use our rules, made just for you.
Where sadness is the biggest crime,
be happy, happy all the time.
From out of the heavens, they sing all the truths,
about the generosity and fear of others.
About the depths of pity,
atop the mountains of ambition.
About the roads that cross between
but never through heaven and hell.
They cried in joy! They sung of
those who woke up and saw they were alive.
They wept about the isolation,
the isolation we give ourselves, and others.
They sing! And amongst the unimpeachable noise,
only the quietest voice is heard.
It says, “Be calm, and know you are loved.
Those who can not see you know you are there.”
Howard walked onto the stage in front of all of his peers, and spoke into the microphone.
“Our world is facing a crisis. We’ve all heard the articles about nuclear missiles, greenhouse gasses, disease, poverty, etcetera. We’ve heard about these problems, but there’s one we haven’t considered.”
Howard paused for dramatic effect. “Intangibility. These are problems that don’t have any form in the physical world. Why solve these problems? Because, how can we expect to solve real problems if we can’t solve ones that don’t exist. A lot of people approach me and ask, “Why study fake things?” First of all, I don’t like to call these things “fake.” I prefer to call them “non-real.””
The audience let out a small chuckle. “My second point was, “Why does a unicorn only have one horn, anyways?” The answer of course, is that they don’t.”
At that remark, Howard let
They stole my loneliness,
my precious, precious loneliness.
They watched and listened to my words.
recorded them, made transcripts,
and sent them over the wires.
Everybody read them intently,
because now that I might
have said something incriminating.
And then I realized I had the spotlight,
So I opened my mouth to speak,
and they went back to ignoring me.
Nobody was interested in my motives,
only the incidents that surrounded me.
Haiku Set 2
You are ugly. Your
children are really ugly.
Do I have the job?
My YouTube comments
somehow got dumber. I need
an oxygen tank.
Something smells in this
house. Did you remember to
feed the fucking cat?
The chest is solid
mahogany, oh, and the
feet are leopards’ feet.
Look at me, with the
lampshade on my head! I’m drunk!
I’ve NO dignity.
I hate to work. I’d
rather play video games!
Do I have the job?
Smells like chicken soup.
My nose must have chicken soup
in it. I’m not smart.
are nice, but it hurts when I
try to put them out.
I ate too many
Cheetos, now my asshole has
turned a bright orange.
I have too many
clothes on my floor, guess I’ll just
burn them or something.
Sorry, there’s a smudge
on my tie. How’d that get there?
Do I have the job?
Dali, did you melt
ALL the fucking clocks? What’s with
Man With A Gun
So he found my wallet,
and gave it back to me.
My money was gone,
so I yelled at him.
Then he gave me his own money,
to replace the missing money,
so I punched him.
He apologized and I kicked him.
I hurt my foot kicking him,
I couldn’t walk home anymore,
so he offered me a cab ride home.
I put him through a window.
He kept me company all the way back,
while I screamed at him non-stop
for the duration of the trip.
Then when we got to my apartment,
he opened the door for me
and I shot him.
You have to understand, officer,
it’s the WAY he did it.
Below the rusty chain link fence
kids found an empty parking lot.
the air around was warm and dense,
the ground below was scalding hot.
The parking lot stretched miles away,
you couldn’t see the other side,
just heat waves flowing like the tide,
so they decided they should play.
They ran between the faded lines,
played tag until their legs were sore.
They dangled from the parking signs,
Not knowing what they’re hanging for.
The clouds above grew dark and grey,
The kids decided they should stay,
but not without a little pain.
The kids were hit by bullet rain.
The faded pavement turned jet black
There was no cover in the park,
They couldn’t hide from the attack,
just watch the pavement turning dark.
The rain cleared up and on the ground
Reflecting pools infinity,
Along with crimson and its sound
they marveled at the trinity.
They left the lot with no more light
And jumped the fence with no resistance.
What an amazing little sight,
A thousand headlights in the distance.
And The Rain Spoke
I looked outside,
maybe I didn’t need to,
and I saw the rain,
dotting the ground
in a brilliant lattice.
And so I stopped the
humming fans in my room,
and I heard the faintest sound
of a billion drops,
begging to be heard.
They whispered to me,
Can you hear it?
There is no reason,
there is only sound.
Sound, and those
who notice it.
And if you’re careful,
you can feel the world
like it was tied to your feet.
So listen closely…
The Female SuicideTwenty years of nursing
emergency room wounds
and my grandmother
puts down her fork, rubs
her brow and tells me
the female suicide
is a more methodical,
A woman will close
the curtains, cleanse
their apartment of clutter
for the first time in months
and proceed to overdose
in the comfort of their
A woman will do this
because she is aware
someone will have to
discover her like this.
Someone will have to
bury her like this.
My grandmother says this
because when my uncle speaks
paramedic about the male
he pronounced dead from
a house’s television antenna
he never mentions a burial.
A Ball Of CherriesImagine life
like a ball of cherries.
You can't eat many,
Don't rush to eat them!
Some are soft,
Don't go too slow, you'll lose the taste.
storiesi begin and end with stories
where hummingbird hearts play sonatas
against my ribs and i drown in
early morning light and
the girl in me sinks into the sea
like rusting anchors chained to
ships and i sway port and starboard
the lion in me rises like lazarus
from the savannah where dust swirls
and i begin and end with stories
where i swallow the world and all
the rain and girls and lions in it
where i hold it up like atlas,
where i support jupiter with just
an index finger and where i chase
comets and cup them like fireflies
to hang on my bedroom walls
Blooming Through CrevicesBlooming Through Crevices
People are characters;
their personalities are not to be cracked,
but to bloom.
Codes and signals
Setting our sights
On how to see
Through the cipher.
Optics opting for options
As opposed to conscious.
Ardor replaced by harder
To break through exteriors.
But mortality is only one facet
Of the entirety of humanity.
It is a compass of one being,
But merely a piece of the puzzle
That makes up human composition.
let us not break through empathy
with deductive methodology
but rather with the rhythm
of a honeybee whistling along the hymn
of the wind whispering in the leaves.
humanistic, holistic ideologies
is what the standard can be.
it is the notion of being a metaphor
rather than being something to decipher.
because there are more stars and galaxies
in poetry than there will ever be algebraic
expression curls up with ambiance
under the window pain of a picture frame
because we write more about
broken bones and broken birdsdragonflies buzz between
your tangled fingers
seeking nectar under
your chewed nails,
but the bitter burn
of almond acid will
clip their mosaic wings.
you're centered at
nature's core, a
centrifugal force of gravity,
grasping and dragging
lives to your unforgiving
you strangled the wild
whistling hare underneath
the billowing willow, and
your tongue tripped into
compulsive lies and disbelief.
i mean c'mon, clearly,
it was an accident.
if that's the case
the blue-eyed raven
that crashed to earth
after striking a third
degree burn, should
have survived, but you
plucked feathers from its
wings and drowned it.
you have a way with
decaying everything you
touch, your soul, my
heart, a puppy in a
cardboard box, yet
we all keep coming
back to you.
i think we all know
that even though you
bend and break and
bully the world, you
are the most broken
of all, and i just want
to fix you.
I amI am a body of glitches;
one measurement short of perfection
and a lifelong supply of malfunctions,
achievements in your eyes
and defeated failings in mine,
sparks between wires that should never touch
and the defibrillator restarting your heart.
An inconvenience of challenges;
the questions of aggravation
and uncomfortable lack of answer,
sewn seeds of doubt
rising neck hair from toxic green eyes
as teeth are bared in defence.
I am a wealth of chaos;
the first raindrop to condense
and last breath over crackled lips,
in vast, complex patterns,
the whisper of shockwave destruction
creating a chain reaction star birth.
An ambush of strength;
the refusal to give up, kneel or surrender
despite beatings and promises of execution,
stubborn tugs of war
breaking frayed ropes,
a falcon's uncertainly spread wings
in the halted plummet of her first flight.
I am a frustration of absurdity;
hyperactive hysteria bursting seems
and sudden uncontrolled laug
train station souvenirsthe vibrations of the train rumble below me;
the clatter of my teacup on the table creates
an urban symphony that curls through the air,
igniting a flare of nostalgia inside my brain.
it wraps its dark tentacles around my frontal
cortex, pulling me deeper into the distant past
as the train bears me farther into my future.
This room keeps on rolling.
The furniture breaks as it hits each wall.
Papers fly everywhere.
Metal flies into the wall sockets,
And causes blue sparks.
This is the tumbler.
The stones inside become smooth
And get a subtle shine.
Nothing can get in or out,
But we know what's happening inside.
You can stop the tumbler,
But you won't.
People can only stare
At things in motion.
To interject would be asking too much.
The room keeps on rolling,
But nobody wants to step outside.
They don't know what's happening there.
The world may be spinning around them,
And nobody wants to make that adjustment.
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