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What are you having for lynch?Thou seest objects silhouetted before thee
A milieu of hazy crimson mixed with burnished mercury
A murder of lachrymose crows is hanging round in a tree
For some strange funeral, they gather in many
They reveal unto you what they've unveiled unto me
Xenophobia will soon put an end to one thousand or maybe three
All in it's span or distance to see
It'll come on swift wings and none will be free
For hate itself can love nobody
A mirror breaks through the sight so stygian and shadowy
A reflection appears in the pitch-dark, pitchfork, high pitch, vehement pitch product of society
Thou thinkest, "I am on this tree
Could it really be?"
And if thou wast asking me, I'd agree.
I am HateI am wear and tear.
I cause without end disrepair,
The pain everywhere.
I have come to claim my place.
I am above the human race.
I, taker of happiness,
I croon hums of bitterness.
Of all sentiments of strength built,
I tear them down without guilt.
Destruction is not my name,
But it is my reason to fame.
But I'm not all for razing or taking.
There is a plethora of me to be making.
I make prisons and the people in them.
I built them up with my chords of mayhem.
Who am I, one might ask.
Finding the answer is not a difficulty done task.
Surely to be found.
I am, at times, called Disdain,
Because I am a master of pain.
Truly you must be Irate,
To know my first name is Hate.
Granite and marble, I chisel the dust.
Lumber and plank, I saw sawdust.
Iron and bronze, I weather the rust.
But you don't get mad at me because when you're mad at someone else,
'Tis me you trust.
LachrymoseThinking of how things were yesterday
I wondered if there was another way
To say goodbye
Without a lie
So I talked to you today
About all the troubled times
When nothing goes away
No, nothing goes away
You've left me alone all this time
I've been mocked in silence
Like a mime
I've had enough of these charades
I've been building bridges
While you build barricades
Now it's time for you to listen
Messages and messengers will not be shot down
I will not submit to your hand-me-down crown
I'm going to break through
And get deep in you
Bring a tear to your eye
Maybe even see you cry
This is our lachrymose goodbye
Let's raise a toast
And let out a sigh
Give up the ghost
The end is nigh
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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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