Two Second ShutterSun-rimmed glasses magnified hidden eyes,Two Second Shutter by TwilightPoetess
the leopard's sleek fur a mosaic of leaves.
Tempting irises with an earthly fury
shift as forest shadows dance and writhe,
breathing so close, you can't believe
the trees haven't fallen silent yet.
Sunlight spirals twinkle down to fireflies,
tiny flares lighting on quivering whiskers.
The stage is set for unrequited desire;
you pack up your camera as she stirs, languid.
Some things aren't meant to be captured
and out here, your camera is a cage.
Faery CirclesI watch the modern world pass me by, stretching bark-hardened arms--broken at the elbows, ligaments torn, fingers splayed in all directions--in a balmy breeze. Centuries ago, I stumbled into a faery circle; I wonder how many lost souls, like me, are still screaming.Faery Circles by TwilightPoetess
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Thorny CoconutThe truth is, this isThorny Coconut by TwilightPoetess
how the world will end: cake,
ostracized and waiting to be eaten, will go on
rampage, pie guts left spilled--oozing and warm.
Notice how the coconuts,
strung high above, stare...and laugh.
Tentacle TressesIn her hair:Tentacle Tresses by TwilightPoetess
a thousand things
I could never put to words,
of her leaving
tied 'round the ribbons
woven with each braid.
I wrap the locks
between my fingers,
imagining she'll stay.
Pretending her soul
to the changing tides.
Spaghetti SauceTomorrowSpaghetti Sauce by TwilightPoetess
lurks beneath your tongue,
with hefty promises.
I'm false bravado
in human confinements,
the goodbye exists,
beneath your baggage.
I pile more sauce
onto your spaghetti,
praying it will settle--
in your stomach
and keep you loving
the flaws of me
for one more day.
Blank SpacesI don't rememberBlank Spaces by TwilightPoetess
the way they say I should.
When I go,
what I'll see.
if it will even matter.
Nature's SymphonyPainted mustang manesNature's Symphony by TwilightPoetess
flow, liquid, across the breeze;
rain falls, a solo.
by now the bathroom tiles are stainedand i'm sitting hereby now the bathroom tiles are stained by ghearradh
slathered in water droplets and
a bright light about to
meet my skull.
ground breaking into
fourteen hundred hundred pieces.
the rain isn't rain anymore because
it’s stopping two inches
hits the ground
and my ankles are dry but
the rest of me isn't because my mom
always told me never to get
my feet wet so i don’t catch
and i'm only fourteen
episodes in and my
shoulders are too bony and
my fingers never touch
the broken bones scattered across the
bathroom tiles. i let a
broken machine control
my life and every single goddamn
day it disappoints me. numbers
can’t be low enough but
they only go lower and
lower. i’ve been
searching and waiting for the right words
to be written on the page
but all that comes out is scribbles.
my life a lie and i’m the one telling it.
on clarity, seeing yourself as you arewe're all hypocrites here.on clarity, seeing yourself as you are by diddlyhohum
and we're all artists.
we paint ourselves
onto someone else like
it isn't painful for them,
like it isn't killing them
in the process. we give them
ownership of our failures,
we lay our flaws under their
tongues so when they speak,
more often than not, we hear
some distorted version of
ourselves. we expect them
to love the way we love. we expect
them to fight the way we fight. but yeah, we're
all fucking artists, right?
and we're all individuals, of course.
we're all on our brave, one-man
trip to enlightenment,
we're proud of the way
our word has been shaved
down to feelings, and moments,
mood swings, and oxy
off the bathroom sink.
well i can't be the only fucking
one who's tired of being an artist.
i can't be the only one tired
of seeing my skin stretched out over
everyone i know. i am tired of watching
my reflection shimmer and fade in their
smiles, in their wrath. i am tired of becoming
silver in one moment only to tarnish in the
next. i am tired of asking
Daily Lit Deviations for December 19th, 2013Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff OpeningsDaily Lit Deviations for December 19th, 2013 by DailyLitDeviations
Daily Lit Deviations for December 19th, 2013
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nocturnehere is the testament:nocturne by toxic-nebulae
the arch in the back,
the crook, crook,
in elbow, knee,
the dull gaseous pump
in the stomach,
I am not a goddess,
not even an altar
with tight magnetic pillars;
more of a sacrament,
if you must have a word.
stretched out on the pyre
I burn and I burn.
4 things about a boy who called himself man1.4 things about a boy who called himself man by A-Lovely-Anxiety
he would reply,
"well, you asked for a man, didn't you?"
and i would have to press my
whole-lotta-honey colored lips together
"and i got one, didn't i?"
his words were always cold when he was with me.
the thing i loved most
about him was the fact that he wanted
to teach me.
about the things he loved,
about music, about appreciation,
and i think at some point he wanted to teach me
(he just didn't go about it
the right way, i don't think.)
"i want you to have these experiences,
even if we don't
end up together."
and i guess that should've been
my warning sign.
that we weren't going to end up together.
it's not easy to remember the little
stuff about me.
it's not easy to remember
all my little dates and the fact that
i'm sick or need medicine.
(and i guess
that since he was the first one to do it,
it just attracted me more,
and i suffered for hoping that he loved me,
it's not easy to remember me.
but i don't think he'll forget me.
To GrandfatherI lost himTo Grandfather by brokengod--veins
in the ruins of his lungs.
I go out of myself
looking for him
in the mirror
& autumn eyes
filled with dirt water
is the only resemblance
to paint his face
I go out looking
for you everyday in the cemetery
hoping your soul
could knock at my eyelids.
I lost everything
in the ruins of your lungs
but your hands
are the only things
I yearn for.
The Reflection"When the gods return from the ends of the fasting sky, they'll stand in the rain and knock and knock." The line falls from Phora Bidden's lips with the heft of a habit. A mantra from his childhood, the words had acted as a lullaby, warding off the nightmares and dream demons. Chuckling at the memories, he hops from the truck with a box of bedding in his arms. Tossing it to the ground, Phora licks his lips. His forked tongue slips across the skin like a whisper. As soon as the packing's done, he intends to find a lake to slip into. It's hot; the air is drying him to a crisp. He needs the slide of water across his scales. Phora shakes his head, grabs another box from the truck, and gazes down the street. Drooping potted plants wave from his neighbors' porches, their leaves a sick, spotted gray. The pamphlet his last therapist gave him hadn't been kidding; he's been here one day,
The Secrets of Pink Phones--FFM 4Three and a half blocks away, a car alarm blares, the subtle undertones of Sim's next big hit pounding mails into his skull. Sim hates epiphanies, the ideas jumbled and melting like ice cream in the hit across his tired brain. When he made the wish to be a famous rapper six years ago, he hadn't expected everything to change. A small-town country boy, Sim never expected to make it here. New York honks, hoots, and screams around him, and all Sim wants to do is close his ears and get away. The midday sun, wrapped with city smog and the aftermath of last night's riots, is a broiled red. It reminds Sim a bit of his own heart, aching and torn from all the mistakes of his past. The wish, he realizes now, was one of them. So was marrying her and then locking her up for so long.
"Looks like tha moon, don' it?" The husky voice, wilting in the heat, leaps at Sim from an empty alley. Sim t
Watching Butterflies--FFM 17Sometimes, he wishes he had someone to talk to. Ray sits on a bench, his rusting, creaky elbows perched on his rusting, creaky knees, and watches the butterflies. Cumulonimbus clouds stretch across the sky above his head, the kinks in his metal spine curved against the wood and groaning with the breeze.
"Let's put him here," they'd said, a gleam in their eyes. "He'll make a great tourist attraction!"
They'd glued him to the bench, molding his rusting, creaky feet to a slab of heavy concrete. "Feed the birds with Ray," they'd yelled. "He's a great listener!"
And for twenty years, he was. He'd heard war stories and sex scandals and all the secrets a child could keep bottled up in their chests. He'd heard sob stories and comedic reenactments and over thirty-two million declarations of love. He'd kept count. Sometimes, people came back more than once. Often, Ray had been ignored.
Phoenix SongsBreath like smoke on cold mornings,
we'd watch the sun peak over the mountains
and you'd whisper,
"Phoenix rises in the east,
beak filled with song and feathers burning,
the hope of adventure at the start of a new day."
Phoenix was a mystery
to a twelve year old boy with big dreams;
in the hours that passed
from one dawn to the next,
I'd imagine a plume of red-orange-yellow-gold
and search the horizon
as if Phoenix would choose to enlighten me
on the ways of waking the world.
Twenty years, turtle slow,
and the only thing that changed was our routine;
we watched the day start
from opposite sides of the sea
but I always whispered your words
in the bustle of city mornings.
When the time came for your life to start again,
you whispered of Phoenix once more.
"Phoenix sets in the west,
embers fading to dust and song stuttering,
for a moment,
into a silence even man cannot break,
a last breath of peace before rebirth."
And Phoenix remains a mystery,
but I watched the horizon line this
Beneath a Crescent MoonBeneath a crescent moon, we lie,
our fingers linked and holding strong,
and watch the clouds move through the sky.
I hope this is where we belong.
Our fingers linked and holding strong,
a shadow falls on our embrace.
I hope this is where we belong,
two lost souls in the same dark place.
A shadow falls on our embrace;
fearing the dark, I start to sigh.
Two lost souls in the same dark place
beneath a crescent moon, we lie.
Fearing the dark, I start to sigh,
grasping your hand between my own.
Beneath a crescent moon, we lie,
so why do I feel so alone?
Grasping your hand between my own,
your heart is strong within your chest.
So why do I feel so alone?
I wonder: is this for the best?
Your heart is strong within your chest
somewhere beneath this cloudless sky.
I wonder: is this for the best?
Beneath a crescent moon, I cry.
is the scalding breath of winter.
the piss-thin streaks of dandruff snow,
is a kid afraid to be standing
in that corner because of that madman
with that coarse, red face and
but now he's sleeping
under a ragged coat,
so it might be safe? no, no,
this is the wrong memory,
this is not
how he would like
to have him etched...
standing alert and smoking
brand of cigarettes
and twirling that sad stub with
long frost-tinged fingers
back when he would respond
to his feeble
"what are you waiting for?.."
for a bark.
nothing else to wait for!.."
"the steel ship."
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 moonlight,
and in a
|Hey there. |
I need to say that you have made my time on dA the best it could possibly be. You've done too much for me, and you've shown me how much of a wonder you really are. I didn't know that deviantART could change my life, but you've shown me that too. You're such a kind and amazing human being, and I love you for everything that you are. Thank you so much for being awesome. --Aerode
Just wanted to let you know how lovely you are, darling girl. --LadyLincoln
i have no clue what we would do without TwilightPoetess in the dA lit community! she contributes so much and always does it so graciously --momo-madness
TwilightPoetess, you floor me sometimes with your words. it's scary. --toxic--sunrise
*whispers* you'reoneofmybiggestinspirations --DrippingWords
TwilightPoetess pretty much saved my life. When I was feeling really down, i knew there was someone I could talk to, and instead of turning me away and telling me that she had her own problems to deal with, she listened. I've come across some lovely deviants on deviantART, but TwilightPoetess is at the top of the list. --Anonymous compliment on DeviantArt Compliments