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The Insomniac's PleadSo melancholy, yet too numb to cry.
So lonely and scared, I thought I would die.
Plus, friends are in love, it's sickening, the drama.
Add schoolwork on top, thrice the trauma.
Affection, attention. Please! Any will do!
My future looked bright, but why don't I see You...
With work as my frenemy, life, dry as a bone.
Life feels so heavy, like bearing it on my own.
Not black nor white, or pale shades of grey.
I've drifted in nether, all fading away.
Giving Satan no foothold, pausing only wonder...
What is it in me, that deems me asunder?
(As you can tell, it's omitting my slumber.)
Music, art and laughter once treasured,
now lackluster privy, given low measure.
My life is uncommon, as is the spell.
I only want out of my personal hell.
I'm not giving up, I know I want better.
It's all that I need, aside from this fetter.
I know not what I desire, my brain is that irked.
Will clearance make way, after I've worked?
God, I still trust you, no matter the matter.
Come hell or high water, hurt,
My ReasonArt - A Real Thing
Honestly it's hard to portray what art is in black and white, which makes me wonder if I should've written this in orange ink. But to cut to the chase, I'm not here to educate the masses on what art is. That could go on for so long that C-SPAN and PBS would get jealous. Art is my imaginary friend and I'm here to explain my love-hate relationship with it.
I believe that art is a mindset. I can honestly say that you love art before you realize what it is. Art is everything but art does not mean everything. Beauty is within the eye of the beholder, so what is ugly to one may seem beautiful to another. However, as children of God, Philippians 4:8 states that we must recognize and think on whatever is right, pure, lovely and all that other good stuff. This means that we must do away with our prior way of thinking and learn to see the world - natural or artistic - as God sees it. When your focus is shifted from the carnal, worldly standards to an original godly mindset you
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