A Rose by Any Other NameA Rose by Any Other Name by RosaryOfSighsx
In a white hospital bed, pale as the lifeless bones of a decaying skeleton, with my flesh exposed through the backless dress of my hospital gown, I listen to nurses discuss my mental health. I can taste the quiet tap of a pen on paper and their tiny smiles of contempt.
Shame comes in waves. Its not like a scalpel or the cold touch of a surgeons hand. They never tell you that it can eat away at your insides like a virus. (That it eats you alive). Shame is not a symptom of the mentally ill. Its just a side effect.
In my creased hospital dress, I wish for death. The sweetest sleep away from detached, gloved hands and dissociative expressions. The never-ending hostile questions and the silent blame and accusations lying unspoken on dry lips.
You did this. Youre not sick. Youre just a twisted, manipulative lunatic.
Under medication and the slow Novocain drip of sedation, I wish for another disease. I want a tumor in my head something t
On StarsI was once told not to reach for the stars because I would get burned.On Stars by AlloenDreams
The sun is a star, my Father reminded me, his hair white dwarfs atop his head, fizzling out towards the front to show his age. Stars are balls of gas that'll burn your pretty litl' frame to a crisp; don't get hurt, aim for something concrete, solid.
I was thirteen. I had told him how I wanted to be a writer. He called me a dreamer, caught up in the Milkyway.
But Dad, I pleaded, and I could feel lunar quakes wrack me from my core. I love it. I love the feel of a pen in my hand, the crinkle of paper under my palms, the ink blotches on my fingers. I love all of it. It makes me happy.
It's not practical, he chided, shaking his head. What if you only sell one hundred books, or a thousand. That's hardly anything, not even enough to get you through two months. Hardly any writers make it big.
Falling stars crash down my cheeks and fall off my jawline, on to the floor. I could. I
Ode IV.She was a sixty-eight-year-old lady with fluffy grey hair and an old-fashioned nightdress under her white johnny gown. My tutor was her neurologist and that afternoon he asked me to help him out filming some "cool signs". When you're a fourth-year medical student, you're all for cool signs.Ode IV. by Exillior
My job was not complicated. It involved me holding the camera, pressing a button then keeping my hands steady for three minutes, while my tutor ran the sweet old lady through the neurological exam. I peeked above the camera and spied on the procedure. It was a running joke among my three other colleagues and I who shared the same tutor that he was a brooding Ian Somerhalder, twenty years down the line. Picture Ian Somerhalder carrying out a neurological examination. You'd peek over the camera, too.
My colleague assisted with the examination. It started off with inspection. She had abnormal posture in her left arm, held too close to her despite my tutor asking her to hold her arms out by her side, bu
Beware the PoetBeware the poet's silver tongue;Beware the Poet by TheScorpionBoy
it will make you scream
in more ways than one.
The inky spit
that lines this tongue
though blacker than the night.
From this tongue
played upon the heartstrings
composed of pain,
joy, suffering, and
In the ear this tongue will pour
the secrets of a heartbeat,
hiding lies between the truth,
writing beauty into death,
finding triumph in defeat.
Though the hand that feeds it withers,
decay harms not this tongue,
for life will pass it on
from one soul to the next,
and so on through the ages,
for poets rule the world.
EnoughI'm holding on to secrets so tightly my hands start to burn.Enough by AlloenDreams
Winter has come full-force, wind sending the windows quivering against their panes and snow blanketing the Earth in an ivory sheen. We're all bundled up inside, pressed together for warmth to maybe give a bit of it to the not-still-living locked up in a metallic casket no bigger than a shoe box. The mix of flowers yellow roses, her favorite and the musty smell of the funeral home permeates everything, makes my nose crinkle up and eyes sting, spilling over with tears.
The sea of nameless, faceless acquaintances part as I walk forward, cold hands on my back and muted, guilty I'm sorrys assaulting my ears, prolonging my mission. I meet the table, watch my Aunt sniffle and move on her way, pausing to wipe her tears on my shoulder and hug me tight.
I take my turn, all eyes on me. They know,
Her face stares back at me, a dozen pressed beneath glass, her hair in a bob the color of driftwood a
Stitches, To Be - Draft OneStitches, To BeStitches, To Be - Draft One by BloodshotInk
I won't need to ask the question,
You've heard it before,
In my mangled trivarications of the truth.
I've told you all that I am,
and feared that some of it is true.
I read the news today, oh boy -
I absorbed the worries of my society
I am too tired to think and worry,
and write it all down for translation,
To write it all down for prevarication.
The truth is, it still hurts.
Just, over there -
Somewhere over the rainbow.
I miss you.
A Little About Me on DeviantART:
I have been writing since I was about six years of age. I write for my own enjoyment, a sense of inner fulfillment, and I judge writing that I read on the heart and soul of a piece that speaks to me in that fashion only. I write how I desire to, and what I desire to...I have always had a rather personal rule of thumb that I live by: write to please only myself, and for the sheer enjoyment of doing so. I do not expect to earn a "quick buck," or even to "change the world," I just want to express my feelings through the hearts of my characters. I enjoy writing and reading novels of all sorts, but my favorite genres are Historical romance, fantasy, and suspense.
Away from DeviantART, I work daily in an Emergency room. Not surprisingly, there is always something exciting going on there. I do consider it my life’s work and love every minute of it. I also deem myself as a rather serious Abraham Lincoln scholar, and spend a great deal of my free time when not working studying, reading, learning, and eagerly collecting all things Lincoln.
What Can I Do For You Here?
As a former Literature Community Volunteer, I am very familiar with the community and will happily offer support to anyone who has questions or concerns at any time. I continue to strive my personal best to do whatever possible to make everyone’s experience here on DeviantART and beyond the absolute best that it can be.
Any other questions? Please feel free to send me a note.