|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Between You and MeIf I had a screwdriver, I’d construct a city above the clouds and kick back.
When God tilts his chalice, I’ll be waiting for the other shoe to drop,
and watch as my socks keep dry while everything is turned to pulp.
I’ll send down rescue origami pigeons with a key and a pair of wings,
in exchange for the other side of the coin, a parable, and a lullaby.
And if that angel’s harp is broken, I’m going to throw down a shovel…
…along with a hymn to sing you asleep and put you to bed.
If I had a sledgehammer, I’d put a hole in the wall 20,000 leagues under the surface.
When the devil Houdini’s out the cuffs, I’ll be waiting for hell on earth to freeze over,
and watch as my skin keeps warm while I pour gasoline over the flames.
I’ll send up a rescue ball and chain without a key and a pair of horns,
in exchange for a chance to pass by on the other side, a parable, and an alibi.
And if that demon’s possession doesn't work
Locked Herself in The Dungeon to Chase The DragonShe’s crushing lungs with carbon copy footsteps.
Chasing pretty little fields of a blooming enantiomer.
Chattering bones break as the mercury bursts through the streams.
She’s brushing lashes with black hole eyelids.
Trading war hero marching for fully automatic gunfire palpitations.
It spreads like the bubonic plague only to be stopped from arterial plaque.
She’s buzzing, loving, and trusting in absolutely nothing.
Run AgroundI sailed choppy tidal waves,
just to deliver my heart in a bottle.
The blood it once pumped through my body,
now flowed along the current...
...before sinking into the bottomless pit.
Much like it used to, whenever I thought about you.
As I stepped back with both feet on shore,
watching the sunset for the last time...
...I fell face first on broken glass.
I am the Sky and the GroundWe found each other at the top of cloud nine,
playing me like a peasant, teaching me a lesson about how I could never sip your wine.
Maybe I over watered my lawn…
…or maybe I like being the soaked ground your feet walk on.
I’ll keep evaporating ‘til I’m nothing more than dry soil and weeds…
…or sink slowly into a hole because we know it’s hard to crawl out on empty wants and needs.
We lost each other at the bottom of a catacomb,
playing me like a fiddle in the middle of the flames wherever you roam
Maybe I overfilled my cup…
…or maybe I like being the set of lungs your ocean fills up
I’ll keep swimming ‘til I’m nothing more than food for the sharks…
…or float face down because we know it’s hard to light a wet match and keep the spark.
Straight, No Chaser.You take away my shakes, like an early morning romance.
I walked down those church aisles, like a staggering tap dance.
Married all my predispositions for something I never thought would happen.
Emotions wrapped in plastic, stabbed them, tied them to the tires.
Dragged them and watched as they hitched a ride from the band wagon.
I only touched foot in heaven once
‘Cause they must have seen me coming back,
Slammed those gates, must have felt my sin.
Untouchable like an itch buried underneath infinite layers of skin.
Waiting for it to open up, like a first showing at a theater.
Gripped on the wall of the court room corridor,
Like numb hands pressed to a space-heater.
Divorcing it all for something I never thought I’d want back.
Fell asleep under the cloud and woke up wet,
Paint you a picture, this is what it’s like to bleed a verse
When you know you’re only moments away from rolling in that hearse
‘Cause when the head tastes the grips of fingernails from the
In Comes The ThreadEarly morning coffee, cereal bowl filled with nails.
I’m playing on your tongue, like a cat looking for answers
Playing on your head, like two tiny tap dancers,
Causing your corpus callosum to shred,
Into tiny perfect pieces which I rest my head.
Ceiling leaking, kicking the bucket through the fourth wall.
Chalking up art, like a body outlined on a one way street.
Playing on your heart, like the queen of spades
Never want to see that quiver on your lip stop,
‘Cause love won’t taste unless we’re hanging from that blood drop.
In comes the thread, a noose from my snag
Tied it out on a limb and made a nest from the broken outshoot
Untied the laces just to give you the boot.
‘Cause this is my tree house I play make believe in your shoes
If I want and whenever I choose.
Why are these demons in me so hard to resist?
When the angel in you, just doesn’t exist.
Puppet String SymphonyHere come the snares,
wrenching at my heart;
like my tongue can’t find the words to say.
I've been resurrecting your skeletons,
just to place broken flesh over it and watch it all decay…
…scratching at freshly picked scars and rose petals,
while digging up old habits and hatchets;
just so I can whistle a tune so tragic.
Here comes the wind,
stomping at my lungs;
like my emotions are gasping to be released.
I've been coughing up your cover-ups,
just to place my index finger over it and watch it all cease…
…living in this darkness, sulfur-tipped match tossed in the breeze,
while thinking it’s just not worth the candle;
just so I can hum a song you can’t handle.
Here come the keys,
playing at my mind;
like all eighty-eight demons and angels serving one star.
I've been worshipping my self-inflicted headache,
two times twelve and that’s how many bars…
…I've got to show you the color I feel.
When the puppet string symphony beg
By A ThreadYou've placed your chess pieces on my table of elements.
You've attached your puppet strings resulting in third degree burns.
Left with cardiac arrest.
You've crowded your funeral pyre inside my box of matches.
You've penetrated your dirty nails burying them in frostbite shakes.
Left in itchy skin.
You've tossed your two rigid stones riding on broken wings.
You've installed your knitted noose hanging around in sunbathed rays.
Left me by a thread.
Word Spoken Is Past RecallingWords can turn a molehill into an erupting volcano… putting an entire city
on the rocks and covering the populous six feet under in ash.
Words can make a great debater shower his mouth with a chunk off his own soapbox…while he steps off it
and throws a dozen babies out with the bathwater.
Words can place your moods on a swing set, giving them one last push…causing the chains to break and leave you falling while walking away, as the playground bully comes along to kick you around.
Words can rip off all the faces in the audience, while they applaud the echo…before the corpulent femme fatale shoots off the soprano.
Words can make you trip, while tiptoeing along a yo-yo string…as the dog being walked out from under your feet is chasing the cat and mouse playing with your tongue.
Words can leave you sweating bullets, locked inside room 101...playing Russian roulette and constantly having you spitting it back in the chamber, because you just can
i speak too fast for necromancya cigar-store solipsist
stuffing towels in doorways,
i was crowned prince asphyxia;
oh, do not fall in love with
dead boys - you can't make
martyrs out of suicide drones.
is the sky evergive me something
I can work with,
the chameleon walks:
I read that somewhere.
and there are scars
at the base of
dog attack or
that is what
we should be
is imitation at best.
has the flower
the breath of a woman
is the sky ever
I think not.
my bottle asks for nothing.
my dog sleeps,
twitching with dog dreams.
we can be more
you are this halfyou are this
with the rafters
all in rows
along the pavement.
sweating in the sun
are they smiling
I do not know.
I floored a house once
it was hard work.
I installed the fridge
and was zapped
by a wire.
we sang no songs.
just like now,
this night with its
thin and waiting.
moving through the rafters
resting on their side.
the abyss of
the roof that
i am made of nights like theseativan boy, you cannot empty out this skull -
not with a pen nor with a bullet. you can
be my hallowed head(case) for spitting out
words like teeth; oh, but i will only love you
when you're weary. i will keep crows caged
between your lungs like veins, like palpitations.
i will rot you through bones & car radios,
but i will never get (you) out of your skin.
i am worth it.and if this feeling
only lasts for tonight,
i'll swallow the night;
rearrange the stars
to map the
letters of my name
because i am worth
every second it takes
to let the world know
Running Dry in a White Paradise.Every bottle that she tipped, he filled with emotion.
Bigmouth never managed to land his staggering foot in it.
Her clock ran silent, they chuckled out, one twenty-something broken,
and the polar with no intent to commit.
Couple bought a cheap motel room, broken glass refurbished the flooring.
She with the llelo, he con gusano soaked mind filled adoring.
Next was the couch, self-medicated comatose sex.
Sun burnt lights off the Venetians. Inside milky cloud rainy season.
Happily together from complex to rough.
Hex marked the spot when his paychecks weren’t enough,
to rebuild her flurries back to mid-face avalanche.
She said, “Your life is a laughingstock, chasing nine to five o‘clock, your talk is babble, you should really consider kissing a smoking hot barrel.”
She knows how to exchange punches but prefers her pen and how to look ladylike on all four limbs.
“Take a walk, before talk becomes fuss and if I’m a lucky little lady, your
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
Keep in Touch!
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