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DreamAmongStars

I'm a mess
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5496 deviations
Wrong turn

Featured

159 deviations
Still

Photography

610 deviations
Literature

sludge

you bleed like a fountain when the tides aim for saltwater sky & all you want to do is drown- i wonder how long it’ll take for you to stop writing like that. once upon a time, you were blue train tracks rolling down cigarette addiction and soft metaphors. your mother had no way of recognizing you from the sallow skin and crevice-deep wrinkles. you were a cliche romanticizing the evenings, wishing you were dead on paper. a beating heart floats for 30 years in stagnant waters, fragmented like glass windows & diluted bottle messages. you were polluted rivers, deadfish-the flow of words gone as you sit there with your computer static el

Literature

282 deviations

Random Cartoons

475 deviations
small piece 27

Traditional Art

71 deviations
Golden Hues

Photography 3

943 deviations
L a k e s i d e

Photography 2

668 deviations
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Digital Art

177 deviations

Happy Birthday feature for my twin! :D

She is going to kill me, but I love her. I love what she creates in sleepy moments, words and analogies whispered to a matchstick horizon, though she tries to make similes of my hair as embers and claims that is where the beauty lies. I love the art she makes and hates - there's this one titled "inspiration" that I helped her splatter paint on. It featured a lightbulb she smashed with a hammer, and some wire going up and about and crazy through different drops of paint, all placed on a canvas. Someone offered her money for it, she won a competition with it, and she said "no, it's trash" but I snagged it so she wouldn't throw it away. I love t

Journals

55 deviations
Rainy Day

Photography 4

205 deviations
Literature

Bullets, Flowers, Leaves

I have drawers for bullets and flowers and leaves. The rain sometimes comes more sometimes than other times. The sun sneaks out and splatters waves on the wall; trees in the wind. Bullets, flowers, leaves. The world here is made of rocks ground down some and some leave me to wonder about the works of simple men that do so little, not even as much as the rocks. Bullets, flowers, leaves. Spring in Winter Winter in Summer and Fall never, with the sea angry at your elbow and the people the people the people who drive the roads back and forth howling the pavement to the next whatever that cannot ever arrive. Bullets, Flowers and Leaves.

Daily Deviations

122 deviations
Literature

lessons in humanity

Life is just a box and how you disappear inside of it; because if anything dangles ov er it’ll be bit off.

Nullibicity

104 deviations
Literature

Historia

It started when I was eleven, my own twisted conception. My initiation into the underground. A whitewashed 11. A rather symmetrical and elegant number, but nonetheless insignificant. I was old enough to embrace the decaying concepts paving paths for the monsters that slithered from under my bed and into my head, and so they seeped unhindered through the fissure cracks in my innocence, birthing chasms. It started with the little things, almost miniscule in the eye of some strange perception. The simplest things. I stopped cleaning my room. How that amounts to prescription pills and suicide attempts is a stretch, but it started. It began like

SoundlessWhispers

139 deviations