[x]

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?

NecromancyI wanted to see what makes a human heart
beat,
so I took a scimitar and ripped apart your decrepit
flesh,
and inside that primordial ribcage I found nothing but
corruption.

And you merely gave a cruel parody of a
smile,
dug your bloodstained claws into your
chest,
and tore out that infestation you called a
soul.

"Analyze that well, my little necromancer," you
sneered,
fangs dripping with the acid I once begged to
taste,
"Perhaps you'll be as wise as me once you find the
pulse."

I could only watch as you sunk back down into
Hell,
clutching that contaminated Philosopher's Stone
hazardously,
knowing you had replaced my heart with the pois

-My mind
just can't
seem to

s h u t u p.

Too many "fuck you's"
that morph into
"I'm sorry's"
drip off this
dagger-tongue
like acid.

Monster.
Grotesque.
Liar.
Erratic.

Try and make it better. Fail. Try again. Break down.

So many faults
that seem to just
turn me into someone
I'm not.

Look into the mirror. See nothing but a clone. Fabrication. No longer me.

I stare and want
to break that glass
so that I can also
b r e a k.

Try and say something. Turns into nothing but rage. Take it out on you.

This shattered heart
only wants to make it
better
and become one again.

"I want to hate you."
"But I can't."
"So I hate me instead."
"But

Poetry is:Poetry is:

the adhesive to
a fragmented soul;

broken wings that still dream of

F L Y I N G

how snapdragons breathe stardust
and orchids perform ensembles.

when 'imagination' and 'reality' at last discover a
c r o s s r o a d s,
and rush to embrace one another with fervent limbs.

why gravity seems to f
a
l
l, taking the world with it.

what flows through the veins of every pair of [shipwrecked; star-crossed] lovers.

who I am; who I was; and who I want to be.

24 Hoursi.
Dreams will slowly fade
as dawn breaks through the windows;
morning’s here again.

ii.
Stomachs growl and groan
as smells from the kitchen waft;
afternoon is here.

iii.
Dusk paints a red sky,
the sun retires for the night;
evening shall bring peace.

iv.
The stars and moon dance,
a waltz of shining passion;
night has come at last.

.I stare at the screen, waiting for some burst of inspiration to rain upon me like a meteor shower sent straight from the gods of literature heaven.

Nothing.

A sigh escapes my lips, and I haphazardly bash random buttons of the keyboard, watching as the blank document before me is littered with an incoherent placement of characters. The monotone click-clack seems to just resonate with the narcoleptic beating of my heart, further fueling my senseless crusade.

Where has all my writing gone?

It feels like it was just sucked right out of my soul. Ideas constantly plague my mind, yet all I can do is write them down. When I go to type them out, n

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

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

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.

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

GlacialJanuary wolves stalk her shivering heart;
bitter ice-fangs sink into feverish skin.
Frost devours slowly, succinctly, shamelessly;
yet the howling tossed chains around her
paper-thin limbs and dragged her down.

Arctic icebound lips quivering,
silver eyelashes fluttering emptily,
alabaster fingertips reaching out;
frenzied yet frozen and fractured.

"Drowning," she whispers in a winter song,
and places her mouth upon snow-dusted fur.
"Blood freezing in these frostbitten veins."

And then the pack of aurorean wolves bolt away,
leaving her smiling in the blizzard of humanity.

Freedom.

SadieA decade she was there
always watching me grow.

A decade she was there
through sunshine and snow.

A decade to laugh,
a decade to cry,
a decade to watch as her years went by.

Always a smile, never a frown,
she was constantly there whenever I'd turn around.

Wading in muddy rivers, racing through golden fields,
throwing snowballs for treats, catching unsuspecting birds for meals.

She was my protector, she was my friend,
she was my precious companion until the end.

Watching her brightness dim made the tears run dry,
and the limp took away that glorious freedom,
as each stumble and crash made the sobs escalate.

She was cradled in my arms

Storybook EndingHer ink-stained lips have kissed too many a forgotten page,

[dragon's blood
and phoenix down]

And her Prince Charming has yet to come,

[glass slippers
shattering like stars]

So all she can do is gaze out her tower window,

[enchanted forests
concealing poisoned apples]

Clutch that corroded and timeworn blade,

[cursed beasts
tearing down castle walls]

Toss her childhood fables to the waltzing of the moon,

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

Witch OilThere's magma boiling in her frostbitten veins;
incandescent pixie dust and
soot-stained stars,
sluggishly making its way through
a childish heart — wishing for one last chance
to spread her wings and soar to
Neverland.

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lost.

by *PrussianPersephone, Feb 9, 2013, 8:50:55 AM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

Wandering,
waiting for your voice to
reach out for mine.
Fingertips of satin,
caressing the confines of my
soul;
whispering a thousand constellations to my waning sanity.
Promises upon promises,
mosaic labyrinths etched into mutilated
flesh.
Trembling lips — July's blasphemous sun
lingering above December's intangible moon,
and these looking-glass limbs scream for your
tongue to shatter me into one million
pieces.
Rose eyelashes; iron thorns and liquid petals
flutter open to the dull luster of our 
salt-licked sarcophagus—
and in the end, your nebula fades away
in the disintegrating morning, just like my _[heart] broken
heart.

lost.by *PrussianPersephone

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

And it's so damn laughable,
the way I keep believing I'll wake up from those dreams that turn my mind to nightmares;
and you'll be tangible at last...

Critique by !TheLunarDragon Feb 16, 2013, 8:26:46 PM

This Critique is on behalf of

Vision: 4.5/5

The reason I have docked a half of a point here is because of the fact that there are so many metaphors used in this poem, that some of them have caused a bit of a disconnect. To explain... during Christmas when you see homes with beautifully decorated yards and it all goes together... and then you see that Yard with Blinking Lights... a blow up Scooby-Doo and Santa Riding a Motorcycle... and you start to say "Thats a bit much"... this piece was a bit like that. You should make the Metaphors more subtle, and use less. Metaphors are a poets friend... but you CAN have too much of a good thing. However... it wasn't really THAT bad, this is more of a warning. Hence only docking half a point.

Originality: 5/5

This poem is definitely original in the sense that it doesn't have a genre to fit into... it is it's own self-encompassing genre. This piece definitely came from your heart and it shows in the writing.. you definitely spent time on this piece rather than pumping out something generic. Well done!

Technique: 5/5

I love the style of this poem... the changes of pace... and the changes of tone to place emphasis on certain parts. I particularly liked the end, when you made the word "heart" decent as if it were breaking... almost like a poem within a poem. Brilliant.

Impact: 4.5/5

This goes back to the first category. The impact of this piece would have been a complete five stars if it wasn't suffocated with metaphors. Beyond that, this was an amazing piece. Just work on toning down the metaphors a tad and you will definitely start getting 5 star votes from me. Good work!

What do you think?

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4 out of 4 deviants thought this was fair.

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Critique by ~Michel-le-fou Feb 10, 2013, 5:58:55 AM

Although I do agree that the above commentaries are fair enough by my standards personally, I would add as a matter of protocol that the choice of punctuation and other mechanics of writing whereas generally and universally accepted as standard should in this case remain at the command of the writer. I have been asked about using _ in my poetry instead of commas. That is style. Rather, I wish to critique general style and expression. After all, they count more than grammar or punctuation. I like the use here of italics, as mentioned with other writers, as asides or as emphasis. The use of bold type too has that emphasis which I feel surely was intended. Generally, this was very standard and well-conceived. Never mind your use of semicolons.

What do you think?

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7 out of 7 deviants thought this was fair.

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love 2 2

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

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~~neutral 0 0~~

*prettyflour Feb 28, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Hey there,

Prettyflour here on behalf of

with the critique you requested.

Oh my, I quite like this. I will agree with

on the point that you use a lot of metaphors but I for one, really love your metaphors. You painted pictures with vivid imagery. I espeically loved the line:

whispering a thousand constellations to my waning sanity.

Gah! Beautiful! Another thing I enjoyed was the way you structured this. You added visual appeal with the bolding and the fading of the last line, but it was more than just visual- it worked well when I read it.

Overall, a beautiful poem. Well done and thanks so much for sharing!

*PrussianPersephone Mar 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you very much!

~Hetalia-Spain Feb 27, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

((R.I.P. : My feels.

))

*GermanyXItaly1000 Feb 22, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

... Beautiful.

I'm speechless.

You're pretty awesome, so... HERE COMES THE BROFIST!

~Tymbir-Howl Feb 10, 2013

Wow that hits home for me..

*PrussianPersephone Feb 10, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

It depends on how you've perceived this, then.

~Tymbir-Howl Feb 10, 2013

Yes it does but also how my mind wives things together compared to how you think and interpret things but that's my genetic engineer talking

~CrazyCharlette1415 Feb 9, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Wow.

*PrussianPersephone Feb 9, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Ehe. Good wow?

~CrazyCharlette1415 Feb 9, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Yep.

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