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Constant MiseryThere’s a hole where my heart used to be,
Too much regret and constant misery.
No amount of masochism can rectify,
The heart wrenching pain I feel inside.
A constant disappointment to everything,
A constant reminder everyone’s better than me.
Though I know I can be free,
I’m trapped in constant misery.
There’s a pain I feel so deep inside,
I can’t run or scream or recognize.
The harmful emotions coursing through me,
They make me want to hide.
They make me want to cry.
The constant fear of being wrong,
The sinking feeling that I don’t belong.
I feel so out casted with everyone,
Even with myself.
There’s a hole where my heart used to be,
Too much stress and constant misery.
No amount of sadism can help me realize,
That I am still so dead inside.
Bland Love [Honey Rose]The world is a harsh place full of disgrace,
But we keep on living here in its cold embrace.
Our friends and families think nothing of us,
Yet we believe they do and in time they'll surely love us.
Every word I've ever said is worthless now,
Every word I've ever said is futile now.
Everything I've ever done is pointless now,
Everything I've ever done is useless now.
You are a cold man taking your time,
Telling me I'm no good and past my prime.
You are a heartless little girl,
Nobody wants you to live in this world.
Every breath I've ever taken is worthless now,
Every breath I've ever taken is futile now.
Everything I've ever wanted is pointless now,
Everything I've ever wanted is useless now.
I am a skeptic romantic tool,
No one would ever love this wretched fool.
But I can't blame them I understand,
Why love me when my love is bland?
1420 MHzHe keeps a list wadded in the depths of his front, left pocket: where he holds his keys, and the forgotten/abandoned shell of a lone pistachio. The list is his biography, written in the shape of Argentine Spanish:
Me gustan los tomates en verano.
Yo amo a mi novio.
Nos besamos. (Mi novio chupa mis dedos de los pies.)
Las estrellas cantan sus canciones.
Mi nombre no es Eduardo.
Vivo con Jacobi ahora.
His pants are wadded, now, on summer-warmed hardwood; his shirt is draped over the back of a cane-back chair, the most incongruous of antiques in Jacobi’s tech-nerd lair. Headphones clamp his ears, and fill his head with the lisping whisper of interstellar hydrogen, broadcasting itself at a neat 1420 MHz. Bedroom is the wrong word for a place like this, despite the sorts of furnishings one might expect. There is a bed, a dresser, a bookshelf and two nightstands cramped with magazines, graphic novels. An alarm clock
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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