|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Holy Ghost: Chapter 2Lovino scrambled out of the bed, but fell to the floor with a smash.
"Ugh...hurts so bad...but so lazy...to get up..."
He crawled on the floor trying to find his way with his eyes shut from the brightness of the morning sun. 'How does Maria deal with this every morning?' he thought. He finally reached what he thought was a door handle and turned it. To his surprise and dissatisfaction, what he thought was the exit door was really the laundry closet. All sorts of assortments of clothing fell on the sleepy Italian. He try to crawl away, but the weight of dresses and parasols were far too much. He laid there with a pile of clothes on his back.
"Well, at least it's the nice laundry smell..."
He started to doze off once more, letting the warm clothes overcome all of his senses,
Maria's little feet pattered against the hard wood. In her small voice, she mumbled, "They'll never find me here!"
She ran down the hall into her large room. The large balcony window was open, and the sun was se
Holy Ghost: Chapter 1Maria had awoken from her deep slumber.
"Aye, today seems like a wonderful day, I must seize it! Hehe, sounds like something Grandpa would say..."
She stirred, but oddly enough, bumped into something. Under her covers was her older brother, Feliciano Vargas, dozing off. She smiled, kissed her brothers drool-drenched cheek, and went on the other side of the bed. To her surprise, she found yet another body! This time it was her other, more serious brother Lovino, deep in sleep.
"Even when he sleeps, he seems so pensive!"
She quietly went over her brothers and tiptoed out the door.
"Pleasant dreams, my brothers."
She closed the grand doors, leaving her brothers to dream.
Maria Constantina Vargas. That's what it said on the card the Vargas twins received so many years ago. It was like a present from God. Well, it WAS a present from God, as addressed in the gold-ordained letter. "Take good care of her. Love, God." It was strange. The brothers were devout Catholics, but this, they could
Running through my veins,
Like marathons, it rolls
Down my spine
Up again along that line
Heading towards the crook of my neck
I got to make sure
That I'm all set and checked
Like the bomb I am.
Because this heart
Is just too big
And this soul
Is too large
For this small,
Body to take.
Take them down
Take them all down
Because this world spins too fast
And I can't make it last.
It's too loud for you guys to take
The ringing in your ear might make it break.
It's just fascinating!
Thousands of pieces fly
Making their places in the earth, wind, waters, and sky.
My words are that powerful
I will reach you with my lines
I don't need any other sign
Before I blaze
Ten years old
Nine years to come
Eight years gone
Seven years lost
Six years remembered
Five years forget
Four years gone
Three years my return.
Two years done.
There is always one more year to go.
There Was A GirlThere was a girl, maybe 3 or 4 years old
And she didn't understand how real this world was.
This girl lived life happily, until one day.
One day, her daddy left her
And her sister.
And her mommy.
She watched him turn his back.
And all she heard from him was
"I give up. I can't handle you crazies anymore."
Her mommy cried.
Her family cried.
Heck, that little girl cried too.
But not because he left, no.
Because she thought it was her fault.
She thought she hurt everybody.
Was it because she didn't like her daddy?
Is that why everyone was sad?
She lived life like that for awhile.
Thinking she caused pain for others.
She was quiet, scared to talk, scared to stand up for herself.
Her daddy always told her that she was better off with him in her life.
Always telling her that her mother
Who worked from 9 to 5 and came home to cook the dinner
Wasn't doing a good job.
She hated herself as a mother.
She thought she wasn't a good daughter.
A good sister.
A good friend.
Then, she realized
Silly NotionsAt times, I don't much understand.
The world is so very fast
How is it possible to keep track.
Then again, you come to me
And find the guts to say
You don't very much like me.
I don't very much care
It's funny how
You think I might care
I do care, to some extent,
About you, that is.
Why come up with such a notion?
Don't I try to be nice and considerate?
So what if I'm different, isn't everybody?
Do I need an excuse to voice my views?
This is who I am, I'm already made, no need for extra clay.
I have no need for your silly notions.
What? Please, don't roll those eyes.
Because those who do that,
Just can't face the harsh reality
That silly notions, such as yours
Will never receive good criticism in our very changing world.
Good-bye. Have a nice day.
And please, make sure
To wipe that disgust off your face.
Like Any...Normal Day?Arthur was making his way through the International School of Worlds. He had a pile of history books that Veronique had forgotten to return to the library.
"Oh dear...it's another one of THOSE days..." Arthur grumbled to himself, not paying attention to where he was walking to. He knew the halls of the school like the back of his hand, usually dodging the other walking nations. However, this time, he crashed into someone out of uniform.
Rubbing his head, he asked in a fury
"Excuse ME, but watch where YOU are going...Why aren't you in uniform? Do you know I am school president? I can get you detention.
The young girl bowed furiously in the middle of her apologies. Her voice was sweet and high, almost like another person he knew. She had long, raven black hair, untied, that ended right at the base of her back. Her clothes were...not very much in style, but not very raggedy either. Her large brown eyes contrasted strangely with her tan skin.
"I'm so sorry. I am a cousin to many countries
Sunburnt Tomatoes: Chapter 3It was raining.
She hated the rain.
"Why does it have to rain today out of all days?"
Maria looked out her large window to the garden. The roses weren't shining as they usually were when the sun shined. She left her room, her dress dragging at the tail, for breakfast. She rushed to the kitchen, but she bumped into someone as she made her way.
"Oops sorry-ah, I am terribly sorry, your holiness..."
She bumped into the current Pope at the time, Pope Clement VII. He was a stoic man, his face pointy looking. His long beard was ragged and tangled and gray, and his nose looked as if it was going to point an eye out. He was a Medici, the most powerful family in all of Italy, centralized in Florence.
"Maria, watch where you are going next time. Next time, instead of your eyes wandering the Vatican, let it wander through a Holy Scripture."
He walked away. his red, white, and gold robe gliding along the carpet. She wondered about that man. He always seem to be scheming something.
A Little HopeIt flickered my way.
Like a little piece of hope.
How are you?
Will you help me?
It flickered a yes.
And I followed it.
Out of the dark labyrinth that 'was' my mind.
I was so young.
Looking that far back.
I wonder what that light was really doing there.
Was it there to save another lost soul?
I was lost.
But was I lost enough?
It makes me laugh now.
The thought, I mean.
Hope made its way down the long, dark corridors.
Cobwebs for drapery.
All of this.
Hope floated along.
It ignored all of this.
As it passed
Cobwebs became silver.
Dust was swept away
So windows can be seen.
Look, said the small hope I had left.
I looked and was surprised
At what a world 'could' be like.
I looked at my hope and faith
Gathered in that little ball of light
With tears in my eyes.
Can this really be?
Can such a world really exist?
It flickered a thoughtful yes.
And like the young girl I was
I popped open the window
I can tell you, it was
IdeasIt crawls up my spine.
Through every vertebrae I can feel it.
One, two, three, it went through.
This thing that crawls up my spine.
Right where my neck is.
It sits there.
Making the little hairs stand on end.
Does it really have this much control.
It continues through the back of my neck.
It drills into my skull.
Making one small hole.
Big enough that it can fit itself through.
These monosyllables, these words
Cannot express it.
It courses through my brain.
Swimming through all my thoughts.
Until It lodges itself somewhere
In the soft tissues of my mind.
This wonderful thing we call an idea.
One, two, three more come.
Up my spine,
Through every vertebrae,
Resting at my neck,
Making the small hairs stand,
One, two, three more,
Drill holes my skull,
Courses through my brain,
Swimming in my thoughts,
And they all take their place,
In the vast web that is my mind.
Taking a corner there, and a corner here,
And they work.
These 'its,' these ideas
naught but to dreamStars cluster at my window,
They watch me lay back
Trying to sleep off the pain -
I want naught but to dream
Of your eyes once more.
Morphine to my mind
Crystallized over hours
Watching wind swept clouds.
Weary, windswept -
Just let me lay back;
I want naught but to dream
Of your eyes once more.
Easy MelodyThere is solace
in the empty spaces of existence,
but those are few and far between.
That’s what I used to think,
but there’s a fine line
between company and chaos.
It seems either the walls scream
or I am lonely.
What I need is a medium;
voices of monotone,
of reason, with no burden of my life
or their own,
just a nice easy melody.
A girl named Neon(poem)In a dark cruel world
A girl was born into
She was gifted with many talents
Yet she was denied
She had a distinct look to her
Abnormal to her kind
A bright pink hue to her fur
Like a bright rose
She was consumed in grief
Afraid to be free
Her mother showed her the way
Now she's believes
Her name was Neon Rose
She is an Umbreon
Her light shines brightly
As she runs around in the night
Now she is loved
Never to be alone
Showing new confidence
That she has never known
Let her aurora shine
Showing the kindness within
Now she is loved
Like a StoneI saw you last night.
And you were the sun.
But Icarus flew
I was a raging torrent
Like the sea.
And when he plummeted
He was a whistling stone.
I swallowed him whole.
AnteriormenteAbridle el cráneo, que fluya su sangre
de arriba a abajo, hacedlo, que muera,
pues sus gritos no le importan a nadie
si no queda escrito en papiros de seda.
Gritos en silencio por solitario,
pues haciendo algo malo
que se acerquen los iluminados
es gritar sin dar medio bocado.
Con el gesto en tu ceño destapado,
sin gorras, pañuelos o cabello
veo el centro de tu central de miedo:
tácito funcionamiento. Traumatizando.
Pues miras tú y yo ordeno
cuando en segundos fue al contrario
porque tú eres el hermano que no tengo
fundido en un estilo olvidado.
La sombra del cazador de sueños
que cobra vida mientras ando
se precipita en la alegre ponzoña
que rezuman los humanos.
Gritadme con los ojos, mirando,
y aunque pesen vuestros párpados,
seguiréis señalando. Dormitando.
Que se calle el fuego: apagadlo.
Reaching for the StarsThey told us to reach for the stars
without ever telling us what we were reaching for
because they thought we'd figure it out for ourselves.
The more we reached for the stars the more we realized what we were grasping at.
Desperately trying to hold in the palms of our hands
tiny pinpricks of hopeful light
against a backdrop of darkness
surrounded by the hopes of the others foolish enough
to try to touch something that was light-years away
and probably already dead for aeons.
We reached for something that had left us behind long ago,
we reached foolishly trying to touch space with small hands
that still coloured with crayons and hugged teddy bears at night.
We reached for the stars
without ever knowing how far away they were,
and when we finally realized how far they were
we were already lost in space,
or had figured it out early
and crashed back to earth in a fiery inferno of broken dreams.
See, they told us to reach for the stars so we'd k
AnonymousI’m sat here, trying to write out the words that I want to come out ever so much. Everything from how I feel and such, to how I miss your ever so soft touch.
I once knew that lovely feeling called “bliss”, one of the many things I miss, one of the many things you made me feel. All this sadness, all this hurt I’m trying to conceal. I don’t know if it’s working or if it’s not, maybe it’s all just for naught.
I know it’s pointless and I know I shouldn’t. But I still love you, even though you couldn’t.
I know I shouldn’t, and I know it’s pointless. But I still love you and it leaves me voiceless.
I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted to hear, I really am. I promise, I’ll do my best to make these feelings disappear.
- Not so yours truly,
Shadow and violet at five nights at freddys ch.1"I can't believe this.I thought this was all a game!"said violet as she look at freddys pizzeria."well it's real if it's base off the game."said shadow to his human girlfriend."Violet laugh at shadow nervously."c-come shadow.it's not real."she said."then why are you so nervous vivi?"shadow said with a smirk."I'm not!and I like to see you prove your point!"violet said."okay then.you at me sneak in tonight."said shadow."WHAT?!NOO WAY!!!!AND WHAT IF IT IS REAL?!?!I WANT TO LIVE MY LIFE NOT END IT!!!!!"violet said."you want to prove if this place was haunted.plus you the five nights at freddys expert."Shadow said.he was right.Violet had pass the whole game but the she had nightmares for weeks."well I guess your right but-"when she turn around shadow was running to g.u.n."race you to g.u.n!"hey!wait for me!"violet said running to shadow.
Wiersz Nr.18 MantraOstra krawędź, lśni kwawałek szkła.
Nagła wilgoć, czy to krew czy łza?
"Radość Przez Cierpienie", motto mi wykuli,
Na dnie mego serca, w świecie szklanej kuli.
Staram się poskładać losu swego części,
Z frustracji znów wbijam paznokcie w swe pięści.
Krzyki dławie w gardle, i tak nikt nie słucha,
W koło pełno ludzi, brak żywego ducha.
Pośród tej ciemności, tylko jedno słowo.
Twoje imię, szepcze wciąż na nowo.
Krótka mantra, źródło mojej siły,
Wiedzie mnie do światła, przez życia szlak zawiły.
These HandsThese hands,
Worn out from the long years of before.
I find it
Harder to breathe sometimes, I suppose.
But today, for some reason,
I lay here
In my old, musty bed,
Gasping for whatever air I can find.
That was once fresh and young
Is on the verge of total insanity
And slowly, just slowly
Taking away what I thought I loved.
Made these hands
These hands, now thin with age
Has made scratches throughout the decades.
With these hands
I have hurt
The ones I should've loved.
And with these hands
I pray with.
The same hands that I hurt with, I pray.
Please, take my already resting soul.
It is prepared to go.
I am sorry for all the hurt I have caused.
These hands then clench my chest.
My last bit of air, I suppose.
These bloodshot eyes
Slowly come to a close.
These hands then free themselves from their
I can finally rest
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
Keep in Touch!
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.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More