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Perfect and Mighty

this is about forgettingThis is the thing about forgetting:
                For weeks you bury your face in the clothes you wore when he was near and the smell is a comfort and a torture.  You decide that the torture is not worth the comfort so you leave them draped across the back of a chair and place things on top of them to stop yourself until one day you shove your hands through the pile until your fingers wrap around the fabric and you yank it free only to realize it was pointless.  Even his ghost is gone.
                The next thing that leaves is the way his voice looked in the dark.  Those few sentences become blurred and rough around the edges.  What you remember drops in your stomach in a different way. 
                You run your fingers over your

for all intensive purposesi am accused of being
a category five--
    but i will not excuse the way my skin aches.  
i want storms.
    i remember the way Katrina screamed &
    if you press your ear to my chest you will hear the same.  
the moan turning into a pitch, the pitch
screaming until the throat is too raw to be
more than a whimper.  
the way it stops
and pauses,
silently racked until it bursts forth once more.  
i will not apologize for being demolition.  
scars exist on every woman
too powerful to contain herself. 
LW: (title page - epigraph)"Camus said that the only true function of man, born into an absurd world, is to live, be aware of one's life, one's revolt, one's freedom.  He said that if the only solution to the human dilemma is death, then we are on the wrong road.  The right track is the one that leads to life, to sunlight.  One cannot unceasingly suffer from the cold. […]  The track he followed led into the sunlight in being that one devoted to making with our frail powers and our absurd material,  something which had not existed in life until we made it."- William Faulkner
"Betrayals, even your own, can surprise you.  They can make you do things."-Lorrie Moore

Foolish and Cute

The Library“This has always been my favorite room.”  Greyson's heavy boots echoed as he circled around the room.  Aside from his footfalls, the rest of the extravagant home was silent.  He gingerly hooked his finger into the bindings on the old books that were so carefully placed on the ancient bookcases, caressing the spine on each one.  “Even as a young child, I loved this room.  Uncle Damascus would tell Lydia and I the most adventurous stories in here.  Father told us not to listen to his tall tales and that Damascus wasn't his real name, but it's the only one we ever had for him.  I'm not even sure how he got the nickname.”
His eyes flickered around the room.  The dark wood paneling and floor to ceiling bookcases weren't the only attraction.  The second floor of the library had ornate stained-glass windows.  Each depicting a different vision.  Uncle Damascus once told Greyson that each Master of the house designed
Breakup SpeechIt's not you, it's me. I know it's the oldest excuse in the book, but hey, when it works, it works. Did you really see this lasting longer than a couple months? When does anything last longer than a couple months with me? I hope we can still be friends.
Yeah, 'cause everyone wants to be friends with the ex-lover. Like it ever works.
You know me. You know the type of person that I am. I've never been able to settle down. My heart wanders like a nomad. It seeks shelter where it's offered but only stays long enough to get warm. Attachment isn't an option for me. My mind is too warped. It's too dark to ever let someone in. Truly let someone in.
No, fuck! That's all wrong. It's too personal.  Too emotional.  Let me try again.
I don't want to do this, but I'm only going to hurt you if I don't.  And that's the last thing I want to do. So I'm ending this before it goes too far. I completely understand if you never want to talk to me again.

That w

Behind Blue EyesShe lay on her bed, unable to even get out of it and walk around her own home.  Having had visitors most of the day, she was grateful for the peace and quiet her empty room gave her.
Looking across the room to the long mirror on the back of her bedroom door, she saw her brilliant blue eyes sparkling back.  Not a day went by that she didn't look in that mirror and see those soft eyes returning her gaze.  Not since she bought that mirror all those years ago.
As she looked at her reflection, she wondered if her eyes had always been that shade of blue.  The night she was born, when she opened her eyes for the first time and looked at her mother, were they a crystalline blue?
She couldn't remember.  She couldn't remember many things these days.  Old age had taken its toll not only on her body but on her mind as well.  She was unable to remember many things, but the few memories she had were truly cherished.
As a young gir

edgea bundle of nerves and feelings
a complicated mess you can't help
but want to fix and make beautiful again
heartache surrounds her unfairly
circles her mind and claims her soul
she deserves special attention
a strong spirit, unparalleled
unmatched in beauty or ink
if she only knew how wonderful she is.



Journal Entry: Fri Mar 28, 2014, 6:35 AM

What up, dweebs?

It's me again, your local terror, updating for those who fear for my life. Considering my record along with my  lack of sense of self-preservation, you are justified, but hear me out-- If I did die, are you following?-- If I died, I would be dead. No longer alive, one might say-- so there is an upside.

So how about I started playing Magic: the Gathering. I just dismantled my shitty red black deck to make a red white deck and a blue black deck. I want to make my red white top tier so I am going to have to invest, but I'm kinda pumped about it. :eager:

On the writing front, I have turned my focus onto research for a project having to do with SPACE. :eager::eager::eager::iconlawooplz: SO EXCITE. Aside from that, I am also working on a prompt from IrrevocableFate because she is clever and witty and charming and beautiful and gorgeous and perfect and gives the best prompts. So you know, kinda had to go with the flow on that one.

Sorry for the slow progress with the letter writing thing. My o.c.d. tendencies have caught up to me and I have to write the date so it feels right before I actually start the letter or I throw it away. I have wasted a fucking lot of paper this way. Fuck. 



The Terror. :iconhumlaplz::heart:    :iconpandacatlaplz:


TheTerrorOfTheDeep's Profile Picture
United States
Hi. I am easily excited.

I only understand three languages: English, Waggle Dance, and Fear.

Do you have a tumblr? 

6 deviants said No.
4 deviants said What's tumblr?
3 deviants said Yes (Here it is)
3 deviants said Yes, but I'm not giving it to you.


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Nyanlou Apr 8, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the llama badge ! :3
You're welcome. (:
I'm bored.

And I haven't taken ANY pills today.  YAY me!
Me too.

Well, apparently I'm not supposed to not take pills.  If I don't take them, it gets bad.  So now I'm just on a constant muscle relaxer high.  :grump:
I forgot to take mine yesterday and my head got happy and chaotic. Strange things, my friend. Strange things for us.
Thanks for the watch. *waggleseyebrows* 
:eyes: I could not resist.

I'm bored.  

You have no idea how fucking excited I was when I thought you were thorns.
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