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someone completely differentlast night I sunk my needy teeth into his flesh and we collided skin
to skin and teeth to tongue, exchanging saliva and hungry whimpers.
I barely even knew how to write his name and I don't think he really
knew mine but it didn't matter because he looked beautiful when
I closed my eyes and he tasted of euphoria and a lack of care.
we pretended to fall in love for the night and I sighed into his arms
and closed my eyes, with his greedy hands on my bared chest and my
lips on his stomach. I spilled shampoo in his burning eyes and we
laughed like lovers, stealing candy from each other's lips and sucking
ice cream off of each other's chest. we spent the entire day wearing
nothing but our skin, watching children's movies and playing hide and
seek between our limbs. I fell asleep thinking how much I had missed my
skin tingling to someone's touch and how much I still missed something
even now that it did. because he was a lot but he certainly was not
you and I remembered how one day you were w
No PrincessI watched a story when I was five years-old. I watched the movie that I know by heart and backwards. The story every little girl believes is how life is going to be. The story every little girl acts out in her bedroom, wearing a plastic tiara and her mother's too-big high heals. It's a love story. I would always have my favorite teddy bear be the prince. It ended happily ever after each and every time I played. And I was the happily married princess.
Maybe I watched it too many times. I was eight and I thought I was in love. I thought I had found the perfect boy to be my prince. I would see him at school and he would be my happily ever after prince, in my imagination. The girls teased me for thinking so. I called them my step-sisters. They resented me for it, and I was ridiculed more. I stopped saying my romanticised thoughts out loud. I quit pretending I was characters when I was in front of people. It was the easiest thing to do.
By the time I was twelve, I was thinking I was destine
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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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