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Dig your own grave, bury...Dig a hole, down deep into the earth.
Feel damp soil, moist against your skin.
The dry dirt embedded beneath nails.
Silver glint, shovel raised high into sun.
Dig a hole, deeper wider into the dark.
Feel satisfaction as sweat beads fall.
The dry dirt runs with glistening drops.
Silver glint, shovel moves rhythmically.
Dig a hole, plunge into earth's bowels.
Feel the world shift below under you.
The dry dirt flying away with winds.
Silver glint, shovel cast aside in grass.
Dig a hole, fill it with painful memories.
Feel the relief as they're hidden away.
The dry dirt masking the old sorrows.
Silver glint, shovel falls bury them all.
Drowning in empty promisesFalling upwards towards the sky,
Sky painted grey by sodden clouds,
As they drift freely at their melancholy pace.
Beneath a swirling mass of ferocious waves,
Suspended gently in free fall,
Each minute taking endless hours to elapse.
Elegantly painted face once more at peace,
Hovering motionless in the shimmering blue,
Salted water washing everything away.
Mascara bleeding into the blue expanse,
Lipstick running with the perpetual torrent,
Nail varnish chipped and cracked from frenzied struggles.
Her face now clear and released,
No unnatural pigments tainting it,
Just soft waves caressing her cheeks.
Eyelids caressed by natures wrath,
Snapped open awake once more,
Surveying the depths below and the light above.
A feeble stroke and she sinks once more,
Sinking into forgotten memories,
Content in the confines of her chaotic mind.
Thoughts battering like waves,
Crashing against the walls of her mind,
Washing meaningless debris on the shores of memory.
Wearily remembering first loves,
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More