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The Face At The DoorThe face at the door is a demon, a god
He smiles through stitches, his stare rather odd
The face at the door is a cruel, silent being
Yet, people are calm, and the children aren't fleeing
Quiet yourself, for you're the only one
Crying for help at the point of a gun
Learn how to fly, rather, learn how to fall,
The face at the door... well... there's no face at all.
01. train tracks as it often does, an ego creates a universe of its own.
and my bones hesitate to endure the rattling of my ribcage.
i learned the significance of proximity by lacking it;
seems you have to lose
a whole lot of gusto
before you can convince
to stomach the unwanted.
we were unplanned for.
soft and delicate,
from each other's eye sockets
and flourished into an intangible possibility.
we were a maybe.
not quite there yet, but pretty much so -
enough to make our insides flip
with each other's budding promises.
every shined-brass smile, to us, was golden.
but you were fearful
and i had convictions.
i stuck to my past like hot wax,
and it burned me in places
neither aloe nor poetry
so now, i have invisible battle scars
that still fester under my skin.
and you, you are swaying in your Michigan wind,
hearing the hum of memories from time to time
but not saying a thing.
your spinal cord, taut and crooked,
the bones splintering your confidence.
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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