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PICK POCKETING VOICESWhat had stolen you?
You stood bones locked for three dreadful hours,
each second collapsing onto the next.
static...wearing swollen veins upon clenched fingers.
At times you did sway slightly
only enough to allow your shadow to creak,
before it stained the floor with its fleeting void.
If you settled any stiller they would pronounce you dead!
We gathered around you
tossing terribly empty ideas
as to what had trapped you
in such an unnerving stance
I piped up, shrilling against their noise;
"An invisible force!"
They fell silent then murmured amongst themselves
in some form or another "That's simply absurd!"
I know what had stolen you,
deserted you sheet white,
took your will and your tongue
fleeing into the night.
you couldn't speak for yourself
leaving fools to ruined you
while it voiced its banter into stark night
all you can manage is a booming silence
all it can manage are whispered roars
dream inducing pillowsIn one seocond I am reading in the next I am sleeping
found by a father who seems to belong to me!
My size is quite comfortable so fitting and familiar
not like poor alice’s who grows out and up peculiar.
my window is gaunt, ancient and reveling
only letting away shallow misty breathing
Fortunately nobody points their head and kids continue to frolic
I draw no attention myself, these sheets so smothering
Meanwhile the temprature sears from piping hot to the cold of stone.
Am I still awake?
My limbs are the same in height the clocks are phasing.
Prehaps i am sleeping Ha.
and with this realisation i listen in intently,
into my pillow that this dream is depending.
RIDEnvelope within this thinning air;
Allow breathing in ease.
Dont keep the atmosphere heavy
They are heaving,
Tip toeing on the ground ridden with desease where footsteps are misplaced.
Transfuse with the surrounding light and mirror or even Take up Translucency.
Dont let being block anything beyond it.
They are squinting,
Many eyes burning.
Create illusions of the eye
Let voice ring within white noise
The static will cleanse all impurities
Their ears still bleeding
muscles fitfully twitching.
Morningslong and drawn out inhalations
Flustered cheaks and a sudden restlessness
Lungs burning, head spinning
Body shaking vision blurring
Rain against glass spells doom and gloom for most but being a day like today, bliss is all that dances benieth the foggy window pane. lying here for a few more hours wont prohibit the earths rotation, conversations will continue to spark and people will roam the land like ghostly figures weaving through time. May I distatch myself for a couple more minutes? The boiler still rumbles and charasmatic voices sing low benith the floor boards. May I just close my eyes for a few seconds? the sun wont stop setting regardless of my witnessing. For a moment longer, the world will not stop even deprived of my participation. It will learn to grow without another voice in its mists. I'll get up soon, but my dear earth, you must learn to hold your breath.
another cliche poem .-.Athough you give me shifty eyes
That sticks to your direction
I cant help notice your blissful sighs
And awe at your perfection
Although you keep me on the edge
Perched high on fluid ground
I cant help trod this brittle ledge
Just so you are sound
And although my heart knows not of love
From savage heartbreake afore
I cant help forge a rapid pulse
When you walk through the door
when hit which is felt first, pain or pressure?The brick wall slammed first against my defending hands, effortlessly shattering brittle bones. I had not yet registered the collision regardless the fact I had forseen this wall heading towards me many miles before. Immense pain, sharing the same path as lighting, diverged its way to my collarbone.
Anything left of my hands, once machines of creation, was a little less than a compact mass of flesh, bone and blood. My knees,oh my knees; I couldent bare to look down at what had come of my knees! I My skull, brain and mind once throbbing in groth, had been compressed. Was it pain or pressure I felt?
ProgrammedYou are programmed for self destruction
Diseased with leaching viruses
Destroying for a promised peace
Sabotaging rabid with delusion
But of course it will not come
Oh how this tricky has consumed you
You thought it had ended did you not?
Well I'm terribly sorry
I can’t let you win
Nothing is owed to you
You will be left with nil
Because it’s the least I can do
Say thank you
10110110And so they sing. Riddle upon riddle, word upon word. It seems all that radiates from their gaping mouths are deafening tones. Wave upon wave come the discorded banter. What am I to do with this senseless shit?
Somebody please transcribe this intrusive nonsense;
for I cannot listen, but only hear...
and Im one chord short of sane
Moment of death (part 1)
Fog seeped effortlessly into the cracks of the small, hollow window. Creeping solemnly, it surrounded the lone figure, daring not to disturb its restless sleep. It danced around the silver floor as if it owned the place and through the grey abyss sang a low slow; thump, thump, thump. White noise gradually filled the room as the thumping grew louder and faster, surely poisoning the ears of silent ghosts that roam the heavy air. However it was not nearly enough to awake the slumped, shadowed body. The thumps became booms.
“DON’T!” he screeched. His own heart beat awoke him from the twisted dreams of faces he use to know. He turned slightly to face the patch of light that lay across the cold metallic ground; the light rays were less comforting than he had hoped. He looked
~ Unique Human - Izaya Orihara x Reader ~
"Oh, [Name]-chaaan~" The raven-haired informant's voice rang throughout the large room. No answer. A small grin appeared on your face as you heard him get up from his chair and approach the sofa you were currently occupying. Stopping directly in front of you, a pair of crimson eyes bore down at you.
"Hello Izaya-kuuun~" You finally answered, mocking him in a sing-song voice.
"Where is it?"
"What on Earth could you be referring to, Izaya-kun?" You asked, trying to hide a smile from your boyfriend's obviously irritated state.
"My cell phone, [Name]-chan. Where did you put it this time?"
From the very first moment you met him, Izaya took every possible opportunity he had to annoy or tease you in one way or another.
After a month or so of his relentless tactics, you decided to start giving him a taste of his own medicine by getting a certain angry, street sign wielding ex-bartender to catch the informant off-guard.
Claiming you were an 'exceptionally interesting human', you slowly d
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 1Marisa hesitated, anxious suddenly, before opening the doors. She looked down at the keys in her hand, trying to get past this nervousness, playfully pinching the meat of her fat, flabby belly with the other. She shouldn't be so nervous, she knew this club perfectly, she'd worked here for a good six months, this should be easy.
Only, it wasn't, because what was behind that door was new. It was hers now, and she had plans.
For a second, she just stood there, nervous, but all of those concerns flew away only seconds after opening the door. She just looked, wide-eyed, and excited now. It was better than she'd imagined. Not finished yet, though, it just didn't seem quite done, she couldn't tell why. Eh, she'd figure it out later. She called back out the door, "Come on in here, Gwen, check it out!"
A few seconds later, Gwen came in, bigger than ever, looking positively massive as she playfully dragged the giggling mass of the helpless, struggling former manager of Porker's, Jo
Cheryl's Night ClubbingCheryl smiled when she accepted her third drink, a long island iced tea, her favorite, from a lusty young man passing her by, but winced when she sat back down, accutely aware of how close these shorts were coming to non-existance.
Her rump, overfed and under-worked, fattened up through a consistent theme of overindulgence and relaxation, was terrorizing the seams of these soft, fabric boyshort panties she let masquerade as club attire. She could feel her overfed stomach, fat and well-tended, pressing in front of her, sagging down just a bit more than she was okay with.
She clutched the drink to her chest tightly, pressing it between the plump, generous globes of her chest, resting the bottom of the glass on the convenient swell of her soft stomach, shivering a bit as the cold, icy glass came in contact with the exposed area of her cleavage. She set her back against the wall behind the bench, sliding down, slowly, praying the stitches would stay together, until she felt her cheeks maki
Good Ol' Days - TGThings were getting rather tough for Nick Kellins. At the ripe old age of 49, the big fifty was looming over his head. A bad construction injury left him rather immobile and confined to a wheelchair. His four kids had all but abandoned him due to the constant attention he needed; at least that’s what he told himself to ease the pain. Nick’s once thick blonde hair had faded to a dull gray, mostly from stress and the meds he was taking to help with said stress.
He let out a cough as he wheeled himself over to the dining room table which had the mornings newspaper sprawled over it. The old college he had attended was celebrating their recent football championship win and was headlining the news.
“What I wouldn’t do to go back in time and do it all over again…” he sighed while reading over the article.
Nick kept reading while sipping at his mug of fresh brewed coffee. The more he read into the article the more he wished he could be there-- as one of the
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 2The girls spent an extra forty minutes in The Cheesecake Factory before they were recovered enough to get back to Marisa's car, both of them groaning in unison as they collapsed backwards into Marisa's Mini Cooper, their combined weight lowering the car dramatically.
They spent the next fifteen minutes scrambling around, trying to find some measure of comfort in the hopelessly cramped space, and failing miserably. Marisa was fine, the car had been altered to fit her, but Gwen was struggling, her thunderous thighs spreading wide under the pressure of her almost perfectly spherical stomach and proud, heavy bosom, too wide for the passenger's seat. She didn't seem able to accept this fact, though, trying everything she could to get the door closed, with all of her massive, fleshy rump contained within the car, repeatedly trying to pull it closed, until Marisa spoke up, “Hey... Gwen? Yeaaaaaaah, maybe you should just get in the back seat?”
Gwen tried a few more times, wincing i
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 4And so the girls went, in a slightly different order than they were announced.
Lexi went first, her routine little changed from her older one, Aerosmith blaring, her fat, fleshy body writhing, flab jiggling in time to the sounds of guitar, more gymnastically at the beginning of her set, less so as the songs played on. It was getting difficult by the end, and the reason was clear, it was because of those little pauses she'd take every few seconds, grabbing food from the conveyor belt, working it into her act as smoothly as she could, eating more and more, and letting her fullness be seen by everyone, her belly proudly bulging forward, her hands rubbing across it, massaging it, looking for relief, and finding a bit as she made herself belch, audible even over Steven Tyler's wailing. There was no pause in the act there, she reached immediately to the conveyor belt, looking to fill what space the air had just vacated, cramming a cookie into the space between her breasts, leaning her head c
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 7Marisa didn't sleep well that night.
She tossed and turned all night, trying to settle her mind, to make all the little pieces fit nicely next to each other, but it didn't seem to happen. She was angry, at John, at Miracle, at herself for letting her emotions get the better of her. She couldn't sleep, not restfully, at least.
Nine thirty rolled around, and she was where she was supposed to be, in her office, ready for Miracle to walk in, but she looked rough. Her hair and make-up were askew, her outfit wasn't co-ordinated the way it usually was. She looked less like a domineering matriarch, and more like a stressed secretary, four years deep into a fast food binge.
And this was what Miracle saw when she came in, sitting on the other side of the desk, her eyes wide in terror as a fat, serious-looking woman stared back at her.
Miracle reflexively shrank back, "I-I'm sorry..."
Marisa shook her head, "It's not important. So. What happened to you yesterday?"
"I-I panicked." M
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 5Two months after that fantastic opening night, all good feelings Marisa had ever had about where she was going with Porker's had officially evaporated.
She rolled over in bed, slapping her alarm clock as she did so. She didn't want to go to work, she just didn't. Work meant not knowing what to do, or how to talk about it, even. Gwen knew the situation, that conversation happened yesterday.
She rolled over in her covers, remembering back to how that had gone...
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
It was 10 AM, the restaurant didn't open for another hour and a half, and Gwen had come bursting into her office, wanting to know about... something.
She couldn't remember why Gwen had come in, and Gwen hadn't either, forgetting the instant she'd seen her friend looking a mess, all disheveled and half asleep on a desk scattered with papers.
Gwen had been worried, “'Rissa? Are you... okay? Did you sleep here?”
She'd woken up, but she was a long way from alert, mumbling as Gwen moved towards her, waddl
Spot the liarthis little story is based on my own quote: "How can a person think if so many voices are screaming at them?"
what? Did you just smile? .Cover your face and feel the cold, red-rich blood stick to your skin.It still smells of him.That guy that use to be happy for the both of you.What did you do? Numb your mind of what you've done and get the hell out of there. No don't you cant look back. Its too late.Run as fast as humanly possible you selfish idiot, do you want to surrender to guilt?Let yourself tremor with rage...THIS IS FOR YOURSELF YOU BASTARD... FEEL GRATEFUL".No mercy
He Stabs Furiously at the fleshy mess.Each time the blade meets his bare arm they wince and smile, hiding the agonising reality that they cannot stop them himself he continues to strike, each one more painful than the last. It's if the pain is trying to escape in form of a smile. He stop. satisfied that its over. Slowly he bring the b
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
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