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TemporalI am the yesterday waiting for my tomorrow,
and you are the future waiting for your past.

Let us correspond our oscillating hearts,
hidden behind adamantine bastions,
and together we shall fabricate a new

today.
For YouYour heart may bleed diamonds,
but they all they see is dust.
Your soul may run black with ink,
yet they see it as pandemonium.
The miasmas you feel in your mind are not discord,
but a precious, beautiful gift meant solely for you.

The letters care not
however you arrange them;
perfection is perfection
when it comes from your veins.

These worlds exist for you created them—
there is no such thing as
“imaginary”  
as long as you know their universes.

Cry and laugh and weep and smile,
for the blossoms you water shall grow
into a microcosm of your own design.

You are a god and a king,
a queen and a demon,
whose words
RebirthFalling further down into the
abyss of agony with no way
to go up; and these chains
that bind wrists in iron so
cold that it burns like fire
refuse to shatter; drowning
in tidal waves of chaos and
venomous malevolence.

Give me a blade to cut away these sulfuric bonds at last
and throw me a rope to pull me up out of this hole;
I'm weary of dying inside the coffin they call "the self"
and ready to crawl from the grave in armor woven
from the chains of misery and destruction.
A Scholarly MasqueradeSometimes I like to pretend,
I'm like the Mariana Trench with my words.

That my fingers construct such eloquence,
as abyssal and profound as the Grand Canyon.

Yet the truth of the matter is that,
my heart has not been pulverized into dust.

I am about as succint and poignant,
as a rusted bucket.
They say beauty is only skin deep,so hand over that defected scalpel in your bloodless hands
and watch carefully as I peel away this tainted skin
to make way for my blackened and corrupted
insides.
And everyone can finally see
the grotesque monster that lies deep within
this soiled excuse they seem to enjoy calling
a heart.

If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
then why is it that I can't stand
gazing upon my reflection
every time I pass by a mirror?
the meaning of lifeGod is dead. No one knows.
Her Aesthetic CrusadeShe paints a world of crimson midnight,
and you watch the sanguine colors drip down her skin.
Wilted rose petals stain her wrist scarlet,
and canyons are carved deep in porcelain flesh.
"Battle scars," she tells you simply with a flick of the paintbrush,
meticulous as she resumes her sanguine masterpiece.
"Have you won?" you ask,
though you already know the answer.
She smiles fondly and holds up the tormented easel,
for all to see the newly wrought crevice of flaming burgundy.
"How can one win this war against the burning red, my friend,
when you can barely win the battle against yourself?"
Into the PlungeBuild me a sandcastle on the edge of the sea,
where the cliffs are sprayed with the salty tears of the tide,
and sirens cry into the night for the arms of a lover
to whisk them away into a dry night free of brine;
Where we shall dance the sunset's furtive sigh of redemption
on the edge of saline bluffs, and kiss with the gunpowder
of forgotten cannons high on the waves of an abandoned ocean;
Teetering the edge of the world, where the Kraken and Leviathan lay in wait
for lost-lorn victims of broken hearts and brackish undertows
coursing through their veins.

            D
                 r
                     o
                 
HellfireYou see her nonsensical whims and think to yourself,
"nothing but a simpler state of mind."

Yet —

She hides behind an ivory mask,
skeleton smiles
and torpid mirth;
Radioactive sulfuric masses of artificial
crystalline lips upturned in an adamant curve.

Laughter echoing throughout hollow bones, concave and
just as empty as the cartilage ensnaring the vacant
smirk.

You can't fathom the netherworld tucked deep in her translucent limbs;
nor comprehend the frenzied howls from the fangs of a decaying Cerberus.

For when you will at last board Charon's ferry and float down the conflagrant waters of
Styx, regarding her perched upon a thro
Mute TranslucenceShe is trapped in a glass box
One which follows her every move
It is always caging her in
With invisible walls so everyone can see her inside
Yet barriers so thick no one can hear her pleas

A cry of desperation rises up from her crystalline prison
A lamenting wail so loud it threatens to shatter the mirrored bulwark

"Why won't anyone listen to me?

She listens for a response
As the crowds continue to rush past her enclosure
All brushing against the invisible walls
All seeming to forget she's there

There is no acknowledgement to her despondent appeal

but s i l e n c e
WhisperI want to create an aromatic sea of jasmines
and stardust mountains of silver and —

No.

Inkblot skeletons with paper mache
hearts, whose bones shall burn with one glance at the
sun; gravestones of blood diamonds and tears of thistles...

Harp strings ringing in grotesque harmony, screaming
for slender fingers to pluck and caress with devotion.

I want to write

gods

and

chaos.
Remedial OppositionCease with making promises that you cannot ever keep—
can you not see this loathing becoming even more deep?
Halt in your useless words of comfort, telling me everything will be okay—
how can you say such things so simply, when you are never here day by day?
Refrain from acting as if you can turn my world from bleak to bright—
when was the last time you truly changed every wrong thing to right?

It was such a simple pleasure, back in those days;
just one word from you made gold from the grays.
A luxury it was, I now see that more clear than glass;
for those times are done and gone, having long since passed.
Indulgence was my
The Fool and the Cynic"He's so sweet and amazing, I'm sure we're meant to be!"
That's what all girls say about their first boyfriend.

"You know, he's really cute too. Plus, he has cute friends!"
Your definition of "cute" normally doesn't include manners or intelligence.

"He took me out for dinner and kissed me after he asked! He's the one! We're going to go to college together!"
Are you an idiot? These types of relationships rarely last...focus on life, not puppy love.

"...hey...we're fighting...I think he hates me now...did I call him too much? Text him too much?"
Try "Was I too naïve?" or maybe even "Did I talk about myself too much?"

"Oh, God...he broke up
PulsateWhat is a heartbeat,
without the heart?
What is a dream,
without the conscience?
What is a word,
without the letters?
What is a hope,
without the faith?
What is a soul,
without the self?
What is a kiss,
without the love?

What am I,
without you?
Passionate SovereigntyI'm so tired of writing love stories;
when I've not had one of my own.
I'm so weary of pretending I'm beautiful;
when my looks could turn a man to stone.

I'm so fatigued waiting for my prince;
when I'm not even a princess.
I'm so sick of pretending to be a siren;
when I could barely pass for an enchantress.

I'll tear down this repulsive prison of a
castle
they call the mind,
brick by hideous brick;
and write my own fairytale at last.
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More from *PrussianPersephone

I Hate YouI have something to say to a certain someone. Someone who I know will read this. Do you want to know what my secret is--even though it isn't much of a secret to the person this is meant for?

I hate you.

I hate you because you're always lying, always pretending everything is okay and just making up excuse after excuse.

I hate you because you can't just suck it up and stop being such a child, trying to make everyone else just as miserable as you.

I hate you because you never seem to do your best anymore, even though you insist time after time that you are.

I hate you because you're pathetic and weak, and you're too terrified to go through
Arachnophobia :Captain AmericaXReader:Steve Rogers had seen quite a lot of things in his lifetime.

However, a woman cowering on top of her desk, cellphone clutched desperately in hand, was a sight that was all too new to him.

Especially when said woman just so happened to be you, (first name) (last name).

The Captain rose one blonde eyebrow as he stepped into your office, staring down at his own cellphone and the "text message" that was currently open on the screen. Though it had taken some time (about two months, give or take), Steve had managed to learn the basics of operating the cellular device under your supervision.

"Steve, get your ass in my office, I need your help! P
EeveelutionSo ordinary at first glance--just the type to be completely normal.

Yet you can become whatever you wish to be as easy as one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

You can be a siren of the sea, as noble yet deadly as the ocean waves itself.

You can be a burning ball of fiery passion, to which nothing can put out your flames.

You can be a thunderstorm on the horizon, quick as lightning and just as shocking.

You can be the sun, elegant and graceful in your clairvoyant ways.

You can be the moon, mysterious as you hide away in your shadowy nature.

You can be as calm as the forest, serene and sharp as a blade of grass.

You can be as frigid
She Can't Help But Feel Itshe can't help but feel it, that sensation of despair

always creeping beneath the barriers of false cheer

she can't help but feel it, that loathing all for herself

always concealed behind a smile which she's painted on with stealth

she can't help but feel it, that yearning to hate the sound of laughter

always threatening her carefully-crafted walls to completely and utterly shatter

she can't help but feel it, that terror as she gazes upon her reflecton; which is usually the key

always making her say the words over and over again in her mind

"that isn't me"
Wolfsbane Part Eleven :wolf!PrussiaXReader:                 Wolfsbane: Part Eleven

Recap:

Gilbert seemed to take your silence to his advantage. Suddenly both his hands were cupping your cheeks, pulling your face closer as his leaned in. For one tense moment there was nothing but a couple centimeters of air between both of your lips.

"Ich liebe dich, (name). Ich liebe dich."

And then those centimeters of air were gone and replaced with Gilbert's smooth and confident mouth, and it felt like the entire universe had suddenly exploded.

                   xxxxx

Shock raced through your veins like mercury, making your limbs feel heavy and your eyes slowly slide shut. Your head tilted
''The dead have feelings, too.''"Aria."

Though I am still reeling from our previous argument, I force down my pride and turn my head to face where Darien's voice is coming from. I'm sure my cheeks are flushed with rage, yet I constrain the cluster of spiteful and venomous words that are still dripping on the tip of my tongue.

Darien's form comes into view--the rage from just minutes before must have made him lose his corporeal appearance--and instantly his eyes meet mine. They are still somewhat cloudy with anger, but as we stare down one another in silence, I see that anger slowly change into something more or less acceptance. He sighs, running a hand through his shaggy

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bioluminescence.

:iconprussianpersephone:

Your skin is of paper mache and
stardust, so fragile and coruscating
as I reach out desperately to grasp that
supernova you call a heart;
please, don't etiolate in their sunrise
and leave me marooned in life's black abyss...
I can't survive without your—
:iconprussianpersephone:
Feel free to interpret this in anyway possible, because all I did was suddenly form this in my head and write it down. It's way different than my normal "style," and I have no idea where it came from. It just popped in my brain, said hello, and I decided to catch it before it dissolved.

Can this even be considered a poem?
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:iconponygurl433:
~ponygurl433 Jan 8, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
beautiful. And yes. Any groups of word is a poem if you want it to be. That is the point. And that poetry competition you told us about in your most recent journal? This poem. This poem is lovely. The end is open for interpretation. For whatever you want it to be. So it is perfect for any audience. This poem is the poem that people LEARN to discuss literature by analyzing it. It is unique. It is gorgeous. It glows like its name. It should be shared with so many others.
Reply
:iconprussianpersephone:
*PrussianPersephone Jan 8, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks. The ending cuts off like that because the title is actually the last word.

I'm thinking of entering this into the submission thing.
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:iconponygurl433:
~ponygurl433 Jan 9, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
The title is the last word? I've never heard of that before. Nice and original! I would refrain from telling that if you submit it to something. What really makes this poem special is that the reader can decide what they can't live without. Just a suggestion.

And yes. Enter it. Out of all your poems (I've read them all). This one is special.
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:iconimagination-junkie:
~imagination-junkie Jan 5, 2013
:iconwhutplz:

Pretty. Imagery, imagery, imagery. You've mastered it.
Reply
:iconprussianpersephone:
*PrussianPersephone Jan 5, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Really? I think this is weird. ._. I STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT IT MEANS...

But thanks!
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:iconautumn--thunder:
=autumn--thunder Jan 4, 2013  Student General Artist
Beautiful work, and very in depth.

I must be off to interpret.
Reply
:iconprussianpersephone:
*PrussianPersephone Jan 4, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
When you've got an idea, tell me. :|
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:iconautumn--thunder:
=autumn--thunder Jan 4, 2013  Student General Artist
I will.
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:iconcrazycharlette1415:
~CrazyCharlette1415 Jan 3, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Whoa. Just - Whoa.
This has so many different layers of meanings that I can't count them. Well done on this little poem!!
Reply
:iconprussianpersephone:
*PrussianPersephone Jan 4, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
It's like an onion.
Reply
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