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Moartea vrabioareiMâinile construiesc
visuri, vise, dorinţe, iluzii.
Colivia de mucegai,
cu pereţii săi negri,
sugrumă şi ultima dorinţă de viaţă
din sufletul vrăbioarei.
Penaju-i tot mizer şi ciufulit,
ochii săi de onix abia ce mai mişcă,
Mâinile ce ar putea să dărâme
stau nemişcate, plictisite.
Visul tacutNecunoscutului ii ard
în timp ce simte, atinge,
Punând mâna pe pieptul visului
atinge văzduhul şi negura vremii.
Moartea tace, timpul trece.
Pendulul încă mai vorbeşte.
Tăcere ce o poţi tăia cu gândul,
precum întunericul coşmarului.
The Last CallBound by shackles
so old, that they,
they have etched their way
under the skin,
no longer to be seen,
always to be beneath my skin.
I see your face in the mirror,
I see mine, I see the other,
I see no one.
The cold, sweet,
tender kiss of the bullet awaits.
It keeps circling my path,
it smiles at me.
The guard shouts:
“Step away heathen,
come right up to the merry-go-round.”
The vile scum I am, I see it now,
in the mirror.
The puddle of water that has become my mirror,
in this hole of a cage.
“The scum, the devilish scum
must cry and cringe.
It must work itself into salvation.”
But there is none, no salvation
to hope for, to wait,
Tis only minutes till they off us,
tis only minutes till the darkness.
We Were Ahead of Our PackBottled tension,
Shards of ice running through my cheeks
and I am still doing alright, doing alright.
Freezing hands, freezing eyes,
freezing bodies that must get closer
to get warmer.
Give me your hand and let me be your lover,
let me hold you when you shiver in spasms
of deathly inner coldness.
Don't go down into the dying light,
don't go down into the dirty mud.
Bottled tension, bottled love,
I stand before you, ready to duel.
My blood runs quicker and quicker,
it's like a train, or an airplane,
running, speeding, flying in my veins.
Amped up speed, dopamine, oxytocin,
I stand there ready with my hand on the holster.
I stare into your eyes, I draw, I shoot, I fall,
Stranger, Stranger, on the wallStrange, cold eyes
not looking at me,
not once, not twice.
Static time with bitter taste of lemon
stalls my growth, my fall.
But from whose grace?
Strange, cold hands
tap away, wave away.
My soul, my dreams are caught,
caught in violet velvet,
only to die,
smothered by your cold, strange hands.
Goddess of LightI saw her there,
The naked goddess.
Her body all covered with blood and honey.
Glitter gold all over the sweat and pale skin.
Shattered glass surrounded her
and wails and tears.
I saw her
as the iron spear went through hips.
She did not weep, she did not beg
all she did was stay and stare.
Her hands, all scars,
old cuts and bruises.
The wrists, the veins,
all covered with new skin
bearing marks of her past.
I did not dare to ask why
and risk her wrath,
I should have asked.
She should have told.
.just try not to
that memory, that one
wolf that calls
for the rest
of the pack;
you'll spend all
with them inside
Keep your secrets, wolfgirl.I have been suffocating
on the stars of my past
like horny gentlemen
do with innocent looking
wolfgirls at 3am- their bite
fearless as thieves.
My lilac lungs are breathing in
dust and the tears of Saturn’s
while the rest of me -
well, shes warm off wine
and poems left
gossamer loveyou will love a woman
who uses the word
too often. she will
diagnose dead artists' descents
into madness and laugh
too loudly at jokes
no one understands.
she will braid crowns of
flowers, she will write poems
in constellations, she will
try to walk like a dancer so
no one can hear her
leave. she will be
an ice sculpture, and when
she cries, you'll convince yourself
she's melting, she loves you, you've
changed her, you've
changed; she will wear you
like a comma, like
an incomplete thought,
in her story, and
she will leave you wondering
they say his bark is worse than his bitethe lime green telephone
demands to be answered,
its bell-biting voice
a wolf in sheep's clothing.
she picks up, yawning,
invisible to prying payphone eyes
in her blurred lipstick
and last night's dress.
"who's there?" she asks,
and the man just laughs
because he knows she's already
caught in his fishing net,
the poor discounted mermaid
flopping in the moonlight.
she can't remember the last time
her mother called, or the last time
she rode a bike.
one day her childhood got fed up
with her wicked ways and left
without a trace.
for some reason, she keeps looking for it,
the convict joyriding down a nostalgic road
closed off by orange cones.
the phone call lasts thirty seconds
at the most.
she bites her lip and stretches,
slips into stilettos by the bed.
her joints creak as she stands,
warning her, telling her
she's too old
to be breaking her own heart like this.
she pretends she doesn't hear,
purse noisy with quarters.
outside, a mosquito
hits the bug zapper
she shakes her h
crooked kissesAn old man sits at a bus stop,
his ragged clothes soaked
through to his creaky bones.
He grips his beggars cup
tightly, but instead of coins it
overflows with rain water.
Passersby pass by without
giving a second glance, brief
cases clenched in swinging
hands, Bluetooth plugged into
their ears. A little girl dressed
in pink polka dots prances
to his side. Her mouth moves
quickly and his takes time to
form words. She giggles,
drops coins into his cup, and
gives him a kiss on the cheek.
He laughs a crooked grin.
CatatoniaShe scrawls life line tallies on her wrists in scars
to mark each year passed
and haunts bars looking for the love of strangers.
she finds malt whiskey and vermouth; strange mouths to kiss
she tips them back the way a lover might tip her chinny chin
She whispers slurs and looks into the abyss of gin.
He inhales death with the smoky kisses of cigarettes
injects life paraphrasing echoes of love with hypodermics to keep
the hypothermia of loneliness back
but it creeps and creeps
a slow paralysis
under the windowsill, rain falling bleak on the pane to drip
into her veins
soft dark over the threshold of the doorway to her soul
writing ink into her shadow, there -
melting behind the lidded stupor stare of dreamless minds
it stirs and wakes,
invisible monsters sleeping in her chest
they bare their teeth and bleed
pain naked in the light of morning
ugly and beautiful in the honesty of strangers unable to turn
from a car crash in the dusk.
walking in darkness
searching for touch.
Cigarrete Smokesometimes you want to
kill the world inside you,
but you can't
because you're too worried
because you can't see the consequences
because you don't like modifications
because you can't make up
well you're excused,
excused from giving a damn,
for the cigarette lighter
(I'm too tired to stomp out the ashes
and blow the smoke away).
Vis de iarnaCâteva coroane, sfântă domniță?
Câteva coroane, brav rege?
Să pot și eu să cumpăr ceva de mâncare
pentru mine, pentru familia mea.
Să îmi schimb zdrențele de pe mine,
să îmi iau o cârpă să m-acopăr.
Dați-mi două minute din viața dumneavoastră
să vă spun povestea mea.
Scumpă domniță îmbracată în mătăsuri fine
vă puteți despărți de ceva galbeni?
Un miros de scorțișoară umple bătrâna stradă
acoperită de o pătură de ninsoare
Clădirile ponegrite se apleacă încet înspre mine
parcă să mă sufoce, parcă să mă încălzească.
O, tu Lună amară, pleacă să vină Soarele.
O, tu iarnă, dispari să se întoarcă ghioceii pe pământ.
Dead Man's SwitchIn control, then not -
Sudden loss of grip.
Headlong to where?
Details lost, smudged, streaked.
Careening; no system of
No dead man's switch,
On a fast track -
With or without a god?
Keep in Touch!
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