|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
wishes are a lot like regrets.i say a lot of things that maybe i dont mean so while we were sleeping in glass covered streets. i was talking about being a lot like twenty four hours that are disappearing. like i could make something pretty or poetic out of the fact that im a complete waste of your time.
we were leaning against the curb trying not to cut our skin on the sharp pieces of our shattered reality as i said that we cant age backwards and this is as young as were going to get and that you should just pretend i never happened. pretend i dont exist because i cant say what i should to you. i cant say the words to fix this. i cant say the things you deserve to hear anywhere but in our dreams. i cant and im sorry.
i believe a lot of things that i maybe know arent true so while we were lying among glittering blades of grass. i was counting all the stars in the sky and rationing my wishes so i could make one each night for the rest of my life. and
bromide and other nonchemicalsshes empty mouthed.
she cant explain but its like that pins and needles feeling except in her heart. its like she could have said twelve thousand and four different things and she picked the wrong one. its the way shes no good with words except she tries forcing her ideas into verses and stanzas and neatly packaged displays of her individualism. so its as if shes set up an exhibit in her mind, complete with glass windows for people to press their handprints into, staining her already disheveled head with traces of themselves. shes empty mouthed since she just realized that not a single bit of her is original, and in all this clutter, shes finally seeing tiny pieces of everyone shes ever met.
shes broken hearted.
but not in the sense that shes ever been in love. its like she lives in a room built for two, but shes sleeps in a bed thats half-empty. shes heard all the stories
we could be like venn diagramsi fall down a lot
and while i'm laying back to the ground, somewhat starry-eyed with both my palms slightly grazed, i've been reduced to trying to explain the size of the sky to you. this is what i do when i have other things i should be saying but can't cough up right now. instead i'm mumbling about how the clouds have been wringing the bright blues of the sky dry with sapphire ribbons of raindrops for days. or about when you meet me at the shore and send shivers down my spine, all i can think about is how the sky never ends. i want to stand up and explain to you that i like my lightning without thunder and that i want whatever it is that's beyond the horizons. i want to say that i stopped listening to the radio since you told me silence is a better suited soundtrack for falling in love and that my blood is rushing through my veins so fast that i swear you should be able to hear it. i want to tell you that it's just become completely obvious what i'm living for.
but it's autumn and i'
the past is just practice.we spent last summer blowing kisses that never made it to their destinations. and now i dont know what to say to you to make all those wasted words seem right. its like we were waiting for our first kiss but neither of us had the guts to make the first move so instead we lay side by side not touching, not moving, breathing on opposite intervals. id say your name but you werent listening. youd whisper i love you but you didnt mean it. it was summer and you should have tried smiling with your eyes.
last autumn, we were flying paper airplanes with our wishes into the wind but they kept coming back to us. so you would tell me that we were young and we still had time. that the wind would die. that everything dies eventually and then we could finally breathe wishes that we wouldnt have to swallow again. we could whisper the words weve been needing to hear. but every other day, i was losing track of what to say to you. we were sitting in the
it's raining in our hearts.four months ago, the weather was warm but the sky was dark except for little glowing drops of light that sliced through the darkness and pounded on your cracked windshield. the wipers were screaming back and forth cutting the comfortable silence we sunk into. your knuckles were white on the steering wheel as if the bones were begging to get out and i swear, i could hear your heart beating from my seat eighteen inches away. your eyes kept straying from the road to my face as i stared decidedly out the window watching the storm build and calm in the reflection of my eyes as the sky poured color infused water droplets on us. i wanted to pretend like this wasnt the most beautiful thing id ever seen since that would never count for anything. i wanted to pretend like this wasnt perfect since that tends to be so short-lived. but it was beautiful and perfect as you parted your lips and let your heart sing. it was raining outside when you said you loved me.
a week a
tell me something that mattersyesterday, you were sorting through your pullover sweaters waiting for the winter to come as you thought about how you never feel warm even with your hands tucked into stretched out sleeves. you were wearing your favorite cardigan, buttoned sloppily down the middle so that the sides hung unevenly as you sorted through your even sloppier feelings.
tell me something that matters.
tonight, youre in love with this wool coat that buttons uneasily and has pockets with holes in them so you lose both your rhymes and your reasons. youre finally realizing that your favorite song is the tune hummed by train horns at 2:40 am since you can hear the sound while you're lying awake thirteen blocks and four houses away thinking about how that was the backdrop to your late night romances in his house that lies parallel to the train tracks. youre convincing yourself that your heart isnt broken and you wear that coat even though it makes you sneeze since its dusty with memori
regretstop looking through empty windows
and thinking it never rains enough indoors.
stop tracing outlines of dusty coffee cups
thinking you'll grow accustom to tainted teeth.
you won't love him tomorrow. this feeling you're feeling, it's not going to just go away. this feeling you regret that you got yourself into.
you won't tell him the truth. no, i won't tell you to either. i believe one sad soul is better than one guilt ridden, over rehearsed one.
you won't know what to say when he asks you how you feel or how you are or what he could do to make it better. and when he jokes he'll have to leave, you wish he would.
you don't know what's wrong with yourself. you think you should be happy but he's like a closed door without anything worth opening for. but they love him so much, why can't you. he cares, he says, about you that is. but he's so careless, he's still stuck in reverse. he's happy with bringing up the tortured souls of noshutupidon'twanttohearit.
to err is to learn is to love:i'll be your spelllcheck,
if you keep making mistakes
you want me to fix.
losing everything i never hadit's an early morning as the sun is rising, stepping into my mother's room and moving towards her bed, careful not to disturb the dark shadows on the walls, or the lulling silence that's filling the steps between us, i ask her when she wearily opens her eyes, "why was i born?"
her face held no expression, and she didn't reply
she didn't reply
i might as well not have gotten out of bed today.
i might as well be -
and sometimes as i'm sitting in the passenger seat, i lose track of where i'm headed. i lose track of the fact that i'm moving, i'm moving somewhere slowly across a map. i'm moving with the world, and i'm just one person out of so many. so fucking many. i watch the rode beneath the tires blur passed us. i watch the clouds drift along with us, the trees look like ghosts. i feel the time move along with us, as the sun falls to the floor and gives up letting the stars take it's place. the moon has painted my skin white, just as i sputter out my words and let them fade
i am writing into my skin everything that i happen
to like about you because i am afraid to forget
it; the ink is sinking into my fingerprints so that
i cannot find the line where you begin and i end
i think i would like to take you out to the baseball field and
spread out beneath a hurricane so we can let our heartbeats
match the thunder; i created the perfect image of you in my
mind and i am scared it might wash away in the downpour
see, i have this habit of taking needles and shoving them
through my skin to forgive my past sins; i pierced my
tongue for you to see the true hues of my words and every
night i wonder if you will suddenly tell me you are colorblind
maybe one night i can forget that i am afraid of closing
my eyes and we can fall asleep with fingers intertwined;
i have become accustomed to dreading nightmares but waking
up to find you missing would turn my dreams into havens
yet the ink in my pen has run dry and i am finding it hard to
form my words; the
rabbit heart, in headlights"so, tell me something about you." he whispered into my ear
tracing my body with his lips instead of chalk, on a bed instead of pavement
my life is an experiment of bad choices and regrets."
"would you say i'm one?"
"no, you definitely are not."
and we moved against each other. believing this wasn't a
m i s t a k e
regret number one,
i breathed into telephones
and left you brokenwhispers in phrases like, i love you
i was too preoccupied with six vowels and two consonants to sputter out ten digits, redialing you to my heart - a nine zero five (i love you too) eight two seven (inhale and exhale) three nine two four (mistaking, that you knew it already) but you didn't.
you told me that my number had been unintentionally erased from your arm with soap and water
(but i had a hunch it was really a bar of dispassion and a running tap of immorality)
regret number t
mornings on suburban trainsdearest, you have thunder in your eyes
and lacing your fingertips
the mornings that you sit across from me on suburban trains; they are the brightest mornings of all. i could spend the whole trip admiring each curl in your hair and the shape of each fingernail if only i had the time. sometimes our legs brush when we sit across from each other, and my heart skips, but i don't think you even notice. your gaze lingers on the scenery outside the window; as if you wished you were outside too. as if the train was a cage.
if only you would let me, i could brighten your mornings too.
the afternoons that we exit the train at the same stop, they are the warmest afternoons of all. we split ways at the end of the station; i go left and you go right, but listening to your heels tap against the concrete even for thirty seconds makes me want to hold you in my arms and never, ever let you go.
the morning you smiled at me, i think my heart stopped momentarily. you had off-white teeth and dimples
now you have not broken my heart yet
but you are bending it more than i am
used to; it is creased where you folded
its edges to fit comfortably in your pocket
and you have not stolen my breath yet
but i can feel stardust catch in my
bronchial tubes; we can meet at the lips
and you can breathe deep the butterflies
the words in my mind are not misplaced yet
but you are starting to disorganize them;
i am forgetting that it is politically incorrect
to tell you that i miss you, you are amazing
you have not blinded me yet but i can feel
the corners of my eyes begin to lose focus;
your freckled skin is exotic on its own but
the shadows of your secrets make you beautiful
truthfully speaking i have not gone and
fallen for you yet; lately my stomach
has been twisting and my balance is slowly
beginning to succumb to your gravity
to be a bird and fly awayhere is the caged bird,
singing his beautiful little heart out,
wearing watermelon seed eyes
and a sketch of hard dirt.
you are a poem in the making.
wordless spines and worldless wings;
watch me fall apart,
watch me drain my throat,
watch me close the blinds.
i sleep beneath a yellowed tree
in hopes you'll breathe in
its decaying leaves.
they have veins,
they bleed green blood
as i watch them die,
autumn after my own equinoctial heart.
the wind has teeth and my blood
runs, screaming in terror.
i am bleeding, you just cannot see it.
i love you, you just cannot feel it.
i am dying, you just cannot know it.
maybe in the morning,-
she remembers watching the sunset from her father shoulders and thinking that it was as if the sun was dying. as if its long life was slowly falling away behind the skyline and that it sprayed colors across the ever-darkening sky to remind people that death is a beautiful thing. that in the morning, a new sun would rise and everything will be bright.
when she dies, she wants to go out like a sunrise. she wants people to watch in awe as she changes everything just one last time and makes death beautiful.
she's older now, and she imagines that death is like being awake at night; the comforting silence and the dark that accompanies it. feeling like you're nowhere, that nothing exists. on the outside, everything will be like a sunset but on the inside of death you'll be alone, but you'll be safe and nothing will hurt you.
then a new sun will rise in your place as you watch the colors of the sunrise that you ever so often forgot about. this new sun will warm the hearts of your mourners
five.Five is the number of times you worry he’s stopped breathing, as the surgeons carve around his heart, twisting away the plaque ridden arteries, and pulling a vein out of his leg. Five is the number of heart wrenching hours you and your family were waiting in the hospital room, worried that your lives would crumble, that there would be five members of the family instead of six, that five days out of the week he would not come home for dinner, that five kisses from him would no longer be given to his wife and four children. Five was the amount of fingernails you bit off while watching people enter and exit the waiting room, and the amount of minutes your mother spent on the phone, explaining that something was wrong. Five is the critical difference between holding a father’s hand as your mother cries into his heart shaped pillow. The difference between rejoicing and smiling weakly because he’s okay or carrying your father’s American-flag-covered-casket and watchin
A Guide to Writing DialogueWhat is dialogue, exactly? The definition from Merriam-Webster’s dictionary was several lines long, so I shall summarize it in a short sentence for the sake of the readers; it’s the writing that illustrates conversations between two or more characters in a story. We read and hear it all around us, but creating it in your own work can be a challenge. However, if you find dialogue an obstacle in your writing, then don’t push the panic button. In this tutorial, you’ll find by analyzing what dialogue can do and how to use it, you can turn your greatest fear into your greatest ally in your story.
What dialogue is
Like I’ve asserted before, dialogue is basically what the characters are saying to each other. It can be found in multiple mediums such as books, movies, comics, video games, etc. We even engage in dialogue daily without even thinking. When you talk to your best friend, a co-worker, or even your dog, you create dialogue. It’s exchang
Keep in Touch!
Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More