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Alice, Alice.Alice, Alice. Don't go down that hole.
Alice, Alice. Please don't lose your soul.
Alice, Alice. Don't follow that rabbit so close behind.
Alice, Alice. Please don't lose your mind.
Alice, Alice. Don't stay in a wondrous land so new.
Alice, Alice. Please don't lose my faith in you.
Alice, Alice. Don't eat any magic food.
Alice, Alice. Please don't be so rude.
Alice, Alice. Don't talk to any strangers.
Alice, Alice. Please don't tempt any dangers.
Alice, Alice. Don't lose your way.
Alice, Alice. Please don't stay.
Alice, Alice. Please do come back.
Alice, Alice. That's it, right on track.
Alice, Alice. Please do not be seen by the queen.
Alice, Alice. That's it, keen on those so mean.
Alice, Alice. Please do get home.
Alice, Alice. That's it, now look at all the actions you have shown.
Cinderblock.When it replaces your heart. It sits there, heavy. There is no hole within you, but, a lingering weight. You can speak, but, nothing comes out because there are no words to say. Space seems smaller, you want nothing but to sleep forever. The cold mass numbs you. Sitting there, where your heart should be.
Forget.What if we could forget everything? Everything we did. If we wanted to know, people could tell us. But, we wouldn't have attachments to those missing in our lives. People could tell us what we have done. It'd be a better story than we could tell ourselves. There would be no mistakes, or thoughts. Just what happened. We would pay the price of losing our good emotions, but gain in losing the lingering ones.
To want more.Is that so strange? To want to live for the sake of living? Why is this not an option? Why live to work? Even if one loves the job, life doesn't exist for us to fill it with work. So many things to do, yet this world only disadvantages itself. Everything made has a consequence. Why were we then made? Not to have so many tragedies. I just want more. More to life and more for this world.
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More