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Never too old to hurt...I look down deep to try to find
some compassion in an arid land,
and wondered if in my lonely soul
they might find their long lost role.
But welling up like a bubbling stream
pain and longing as a living dream,
my loss is so loud and ringing clear
profoundly shaken and clinging near
a child who wished she might be better
more loved and worthy, valued and clever.
Never more sadder and weary as dust
settles on hopes that turn to rust...
ElementalOver Sunset and Seas I cast my voice,
to the four far corners I made my choice.
To heavenwards I raised my eyes,
as Apollos rays witness my demise.
Pulled from the earth I struggle and rage,
discordant and still my earthly cage.
Filled with gloom and pitched as night,
dour and dark filled an absence of light.
Fighting and screaming to be rid of the pain,
flying fast free through winds and rain.
Scouring the earth and straining my will,
shedding remains of a shadow that still,
chases relentless on a quest never done.
Times catches up but still I must run,
as the moon ever rises and the day is long,
to wander and thrill to the earths strange song...
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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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