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not for the cutters' pleasure,
to waste the strained human voice,
not for my soul to be purchased
for a grand collection of sins,
to win respect,
for logic or sense,
to trigger disgrace upon vice-stained pages,
not to bridge phobia with format,
to repent for the corporate destruction of man,
not to escape,
not a game,
not to dine off of palms,
nor seduce the hungry
in exchange for applause.
with the absolute certainty of breath and time
and the criminal perils
of having never saved trace
for neither fog nor trample,
crease nor contempt,
art nor passion,
triumph nor descent;
for the unmistakable proof of phrase
Immortal as life
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.
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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