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Crimson Vengeance for CreepieMonetThe light browns of the Morrocan village once stirred the villagers' hearts; they loved their small town, they loved knowing everyone who lived nearby, but that had all changed
One night was all it took to rip out the peace and replace it with terror; one night of bloodlust flowing through the town; grown men were reduced to their knees; respected elders were reduced to the common rabble. Everyone in Asilah fell to the very ground they made their livelihoods on, and all because one man chose one town to run down.
Children and elderly rushed about the streets, seeking hiding places. Women and wives carried buckets of water to burning huts. Grown men planned an offensive, but nothing they did would work; they faced a mad man; a man who had lost all hope for his world, and instead turned to murder; he turned to rape. Any young girl that crossed his path became violated; a baker's daughter fell to her knees in front of the man; her hair a mess and her face splattered faintly in blood
Commission: Spoils of a Treasure HunterThe pizzeria had the finest take on synthesising the perfect Supreme pizza; the capsicum sat atop a bed of thinly sliced ham, and the pineapple rested in amongst the olive fragments. Øyvind Herstad considered it a marvelous indulgence; the perfect requisite for his next great treasure hunt with his delectably gorgeous companions Kaitlyn and Kara Walker.
"Ah yes girls" He spoke intelligently, although not so much the words, as the way he portrayed them across the thin, cool air "Another heist completed, another trophy to add to your walls. It is time however, for us to begin again. I've heard rumour of a treasure crypt in Greece; rumours tell of great fortune befitting a conquering knight. This is where we will head to next."
Kara smiled and glanced around the room, her long brown and white striped hair flowing over her shoulders. The drink in her hand remained still and unnerved as she examined the pizzeria.
"I've heard of this crypt" she spoke quietly, "I've heard t
The Truth Is Hard"Like a rock" she said,
Eyes glinting in the sun,
Shining in their purity,
Blink; then continue;
"Like a brick; like a bone,
Like the urge of a soldier,
trying to go home".
"Like the pain of what was,
And what is still to come"
In grief, she bowed her head;
With grief she became numb.
"You see, I lost the one I loved;
I don't know what to do,
I told him that I would change,
He said "It's me, it isn't you."
"Yet overtime I came to learn,
That what he said was false"
With tears she fell onto the ground,
Filled with dread and dark remorse.
"I would rather have lived with his lies,
Than to know what I learned today,
Because "It's not you" was a lie,
Just like my "I'm okay"".
"The truth is hard" I said to her,
And reassured her thus;
"But although he didn't count on it,
We're not you, we're us"
"We'll stick together; I'll help you through,
Get you back onto your feet;
You're not a victim; you're victorious,
And he, we will defeat."
Waiting Silently in a Tattered Rocking ChairSilence.
She sat in complete silence.
Outside the dull, grey walls of her twelfth-story apartment, the world moved endlessly, noisily.
But to her, there was silence. Complete silence.
A ceiling fan rotated slowly above her; a fly lay dead on the window sill beside her; the festering corpse of a mouse lay putridly on the carpet in the corner of the hot, humid room across from her.
Yet, she sat in silence.
The window was home to a single potted plant; a small green sapling growing hesitantly out into the ever-putrid air of the apartment. It's dish had long-since cracked in the heat, and rot where the water leaks through had slowly begun to develop.
A child's watering can, no bigger than her palm, rested - a faded red - on a table beside the window. The plastic bubbled in the heat; large bulbous growths protruded from its surface.
The spout rarely let out more than a few drops nowadays.
Back in its days - back when old Mrs. Adalai was young - the pot plant was large and vibrant. The apart
Odyssey into 2012 Chapter 1The glare of the first gate blinds her momentarily; her memories flooded with a luminescence overpowering. She can't remember who she is, or why she's here.
She is oblivious to herself and the world around her; all she knows is the gate and the surrounding darkness. Hesitantly, she steps through, and is blinded again by a bright white glare.
Slowly the glare dies down as her eyes adjust. She can see clearly now; both the gate and her memory. She had traveled a long way to be here, to open this gate. She had travelled across the galaxy in the blink of an eye, she had opened a portal through time and space, and she had climbed through it. A portal in her mind, and it was such a portal that she could grant herself this omnipresence.
Her people were the Skylarks, and they knew her as a Gatekeeper; they recognised her unique abilities as mirroring those of the ancients. She was the remnant of a past long forgotten
She arrived in a city overrun by smog and giant grey buildings. "Is thi
Almost in ComatoseYou wake.
Head swimming, eyes glazed over,
Throat red and swollen.
You throw a leg,
Misjudging the distance,
Between bed and floor.
Heavily onto the tatty carpet,
Unfocused eyes misguiding you.
Your body folds upwards,
Hands and feet together,
Ass in the air.
You can't get a grip,
You fall again.
This time you stay there,
You poor, poor baby.
Mental Disorder Discrimination"You said you've got depression?
No you don't, you attention seeker.
You're just an average teenager with the perfect life
Desperately looking for sympathy."
Stop crying, you coward.
You're just a childish "scaredy-cat".
Blaming your problems on a mental disorder
That doesn't even exist."
"So you're schizophrenic?
Grow the hell up, and stop acting like a child
You're too old for imaginary friends
You callow, juvenile, little twit."
But if we're attention seekers,
Why do we try so hard to hide our feelings from the world?
Why do we isolate ourselves in our rooms,
Desperately hiding the cuts on our wrists
Trying our best to live a normal life?
And if we're simply "scaredy-cats",
Why is our fear so vividly intense?
Unlike simple fear, our anxiety will stick with us forever
A severe long-lasting feeling of powerful panic.
A feeling from which we'll never be free.
Suddenly we're childish for having a mental disorder?
Schizophrenia is not something we can control.
YouIf you’re a girl, you’re a girl.
If you’re a boy, you’re a boy.
If you’re white, you’re white.
If you’re black, you’re black.
If you’re gay, you’re gay.
If you’re bi, you’re bi.
If you’re straight, you’re straight.
If you’re religious, you’re religious.
If you’re an atheist, you’re an atheist.
If you’re mentally disabled, you’re still human.
If you’re physically disabled, you’re still human.
For everything you are:
So who are they to judge you for who you are?
to me you are perfect
I do not know the reasons
for all those scars burning
against your bright skin
you've been soaking
a pain reminiscing from past
we both cannot recollect
yet you are so beautiful..
when night gets darker
and I am the one...
who's hungered to undress
the spirit of you
slowly revealing the layers
coming off from shadows
disguised in desires
craving to be fulfilled
I will caress every corner
of your silhouette
until I figure the true shape
of your heart
I will rub those blisters
softly until every nerve
of you gushes into a river
and you moan into a life
I had promised you
years ago when we began
to breathe into each other
for all the truths
I must swallow
and lessons I must learn
you are the one
I am destined to discover
what it means
to love in perfection
PainParalized by the suffering
A shiver down my spine
Images of my past haunt me
No one can save me from this hell
daydreams and monsters.she was a girl.
she ran with the moon,
chased fireflies in the bluegrass, and
watched the reflection of sunsets in rain puddles.
her name was Alice,
and she was a girl.
but to the dragonflies she was a queen,
and to the mirror she was a sister.
the moon was her prince, and the
blinking windows were the eyes
that kept her safe.
she spent her nights making wishes, and she
dragged her fingers along the shooting stars
that were tangled with her vertebrae.
her name was Alice,
and she was a girl.
her body was a river
her mind was an ocean
and her heart was the sky.
she lived in a world where
doves flew in the sea and
whales swam in the
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More