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SmokeA blissful disregard of everything taught,
Leaning into a future and past uncertain.
Torture and solace of distance
Embraced like the stuffed animal
That holds the memory of pain
And the comfort that it'll always be there.
Live, Living, Lived.
Wash, Rinse, Repeat.
Such is the motion that I move,
But not really too carefully.
Emotions teathered by reality's bounds,
A caged animal pacing,
Waiting for its chance to be free and open.
I haven't written so freely in a while,
Yet still haven't written freely at all.
My words are clouded and obscured,
But still speak truth to myself (and others).
No lies, only carefully crafted statements.
Dancing the intricate ballet around the minefield.
One wrong step, and everything's for naught...
Or is it?
Have things changed so rapidly and fully yet?
The rules of the game changed
So that there is not one winner,
But now many?
Ah, the game of ----.
Pity that hurt and longing enter
As consolations to those who don't win.
Not much of a consolati
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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