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The PainThe pain of suffering,
the feeling of loss.
The person is near,
but will not speak.
The wound still fresh,
the pain is too great.
The person has spoken,
but will not go on.
The end is near,
the pain almost gone.
Their presence has passed,
but the memory remains.
The endeavor is over,
the memory forgotten.
Time stands still,
as the world starts to crumble.
An Escape from a Romantic TragedyI can only think of you -
when there's a thunder storm,
because like you, the rain makes
me want to scream until I'm ready
to forgive and forget.
But as the thunder steals my eyes -
Silence is kissing me under electric skies,
whispering against my listening lips that
I'll die if I let you return.
I'll kill myself with sarcastic
smiles along with my famous
misleading chuckles that makes
you think I'm really sane.
If only I didn't know you
were a vampire -
who fed off my misery
Too bad - -
my misery didn't want your company
to help finish what you wanted.
This is a SongThis is a song for the lost, the broken and the damned,
This is a song for the hopeless, the outgunned and the outmanned.
This is one for the sinners, and the non-believers too,
This is a song for all those people, people just like YOU!
This is the anthem of the normal, the oppressed and the abused,
This is a song for those people hidden from everybody's views.
This is the prayer of the unwanted, the unneeded and the small,
This is one for the unheeded, so let's give it our all!
This is a song for the people, who always just want to cry,
This is the anthem for those who have once wanted to die!
This is a song for all the people, that are dead inside,
This is a song for everyone, who has ever cried.
-by Forgotten-Reaper, 24th July 2012
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