|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
The Gatsby AffairIf we must be the Buchanans, then dearest Tom, who is your Myrtle Wilson and I wonder if her George knows anything about what is happening. But if I must be Daisy then who, pray tell, is my Jay Gatsby? Where is my Jordan Baker and my Nick Carraway? And if I must be Daisy Buchanan, then dearest Tom, couldn't you atleast hide your Myrtle better? Oh how I wish I was a fool. A beautiful little fool.
After GatsbyGatsby. The word I feel has begun to define my life.
Not the book, not the movie. The mysterious Mr. Gatsby. A character that only comes along once in a lifetime. A character that I've begun to understand on a level that I rarely understand characters. Sherlock, the show. Not the movie. Not the book. Enigmatic, sociopathic, withdrawn, and oh so very controlled. So unemotional that it's almost terrifying.
Curled up in my vintage misery, I feel so controlled; without a strict purpose. I wrote this feeling off as a fluke, that the brief adventure of Sunday caused it; feeling bad about not mentioning it. But really, the detachment is stemming from so many other things. I can sense it, like roots are stretching from my toes and sinking into the earth, grounding me in place. Making me solid, so I can weather my storms. The storms in my nightmares and the storms in my life. As though I am a ship and there are chains extending from my ankles, holding me still in the harbor, so that I cannot th
My Little Monstermy little monster,
lives inside a cage.
he gnashes on the bars,
whenever he's in a rage.
my monster has long gnashing teeth,
all gleaning and white.
he has big green eyes,
hard, jealous, and bright.
my monster is a little one,
i keep him very small.
because when he was bigger,
i had to chain him to the wall.
my monster isn't scaley,
he hasn't got dark fur.
he doesn't bark or howl
or caw or hiss or purr.
my monster has no cavities,
he will not eat your sweets.
and though his teeth are razor sharp,
he has no taste for meat.
my monster feeds on memories,
from oh so long ago.
he likes to put them in his tea,
to sip them nice and slow.
my monster likes to keep me sad,
to lure me to his door.
he doesn't want me to leave him there
on the cage there on the floor.
my monster likes to bite me,
but he barely leaves a mark.
my monster longs for the days
when i was sobbing in the dark.
my monster isn't happy,
in fact he's in a fright.
because i'm about to open the window
and let in all the light.
Craving The Paingive it to me. hard, rough
make me hurt, make me scream.
make me cry, make me bleed.
i don't want to make it out of this with my mind intact.
tell me no one will ever love me the way you do.
tell me no one wants a broken doll,
a useless whore.
lie to me.
tell me i'm beautiful then stain my skin with bruises.
tell me i'm clever then break me down, word by word.
tell me just how terrible i really am,
that i'm worthless and that i deserve to die.
tell me these things that i need to hear.
i need to feel the sting of your hand on my skin.
i need to feel the cool, coursing tears on my cheeks.
i need to feel the dull ache of my muscles after you hit me.
i need to feel the heat of your anger when you get close to me.
i need to feel the burn of you tugging at my hair
i need to feel the tightness in my chest when you don't let me breathe.
scream at me, tell me that i'm a monster.
tell me that i'll never be good enough for anyone.
tell me that i'm a pointless bitch.
just give me
What is it like?what is it like to lie awake at night, unable to sleep?
what is it like to wrap yourself in blankets, unable to stay warm?
what is it like to feel the cool chain around your neck?
what is it like to cling to a stuffed animal?
what is it like to have a pocketwatch beneath your pillow?
i'll tell you.
lying awake at night is a nightmare in silver
[it is a constant roar inside my head, telling me to leave. to get out and get away.]
wrapping myself in blankets is a defense mechanism
[you see, i'm trying to smother my demons.]
the cool chain is a reminder that i'm alive
[but my chain weighs a thousand pounds, it's dragging me down.]
my stuffed animals smell of the hospital, sterile and alcoholic.
[i'm really just willing it to have some warmth, to feel alive.]
the pocketwatch keeps ticking away, marking the passing of seconds, minutes, hours.
[it's really just a surrogate heartbeat, so i don't feel so alone.]
these things feel like this
and they feel like s
Conflicted, Mistaken MonsterSometimes, I wonder if she knows.
[He couldn't be so irresponsible to not warn her...]
But maybe it'd be best if she doesn't.
[But if he didn't, did she find out on her own?]
I don't want to be the one to say those words
[I hope she knows, just so she can protect herself. Be prepared.]
And I doubt that it'd be a subject of conversation
[Maybe I should say it... But I don't think it's my place.... What would happen?]
I hear about it so rarely... We just don't discuss it...
[Would she even believe me? Would she distance herself? Would she understand why I am the way I am?]
My anchor, my compass, my notebook. All of these things.
[I'm not callous to be awful, I'm just trying to save her...Now I understand what the cat was trying to do....]
But the rocks to shred the rope tying me to my anchor, the waves to toss the compass overboard, the sea to soak the words....
[Why am I always mistaken as the bad guy? She thinks that I'm the monster for bein
KismetAre you there?
Are you watching me?
He says you're gone [but I don't think he's right....]
I can see you there [just below the surface....]
Waiting to get out.
I can see you [even in his eyes...]
that twinge of fear that he always has [terrified you'll pull to the surface....]
[but, I wonder, my dear, does she know?]
They say you feel what I do, that you're here every moment.
[What do you feel about me, then? Because it's been so long since you told me...]
I remember what you told me, telling me to give up.
Telling me that I could have everything pulled away from me [in an instant]
By a figure from his past
[but you failed to mention the future, dear. Did you see this coming? What do you think about this, now?]
Do you remember me telling you I didn't care? [Do you remember the conviction in my eyes?]
Do you remember being surprised that I kept on?
You said it seemed so strange, that I cared about him. [I wanted to help..
Graffiti On The Trainthe more i think about it,
the more i feel like i'm nothing more
than the graffiti on the train.
i'm not a permanant fixture in your life.
i'm not sure you want me here at all
i hear the words you say
in fact, you say them alot
and all i can do is cry and cry,
watching my paint run
down the boxcars.
and it's a strange feeling.
to feel like the graffiti on the train.
beautiful, [in an unwanted, nuisance sort of way]
sad, [because i'm just a blight to society]
scuffed, [nobody takes care of me as i weather this world]
and consistent. [i'm a fixture in life, always showing up where i'm not wanted]
Had to do something with Photoshop for one of my Art classes. So I made a musical zebra.
It seemed like a good idea at the time, folks...
Stock Image: [link]
Time: 3 hours approx. on and off.
Program Used: CS5
I don't own the brushes used, they belong to whoever made them. I just can't find the original ones..
Keep in Touch!