|I really only wish to gain points, so that I may either get a membership, or share them with the deviantart community |
If you like my work, you can help me out by donating here.
Thank you so much for your help!
If you donate a certain amount of points, you could receive the following
1-40 points: A llama badge
50-100 points: A llama badge, a watch by me, and a feature in my journal.
I believe myself to be a sporadic, overly emotional individual, who dwells far too deep within the depths of her own subconscious. Generally, I contemplate many aspects of society each day, and I desperately seek to improve the outlook of mankind. I appreciate many forms of beauty, including abstract art, illustration, conceptual photography, poetry, writing, nature, and the human figure. Creativity is my life; I draw, paint, sketch, play piano, and recently began taking photographs. Creation keeps me alive, and allows me to express myself deeply. Expression has allowed for me to swim through the darkest of waters, yet continues to plague me day and night. |
My Original Art Account:
You handed me a rose,
But I could not distinguish its soft red petals
From the ghastly thorns which were coating its spine.
For how many sleepless nights have the maddening echoes,
Which bounce aimlessly across the corridors,
Been my only companion?
Every aching second has been a blade,
Cast deep into the flesh of the future;
Puncturing holes through the fluid membrane
Surrounding love and acceptance.
But if I could measure my life in minutes,
Each hour would chime the death of a memory
Disintegrating into ashes of nostalgia;
Merely increments of time
Which hold no true sustenance.
In an attempt to feel what has been forgotten,
I would prick my finger,
Believing that the ruby blood would spill
To create a river that I may forever float upon;
Expanding veins which flow together,
To keep one body breathing
To keep both of our bodies encased in immortality.
But how is one expected to process oxygen,
If it were never present at birth?
When the world appeared empty,
And lingering souls did not pass
Mournful silence would wrap me tight within her clutch.
A hug as cold as a stone,
And as steady as a grief stricken vixen.
Helplessness I could not reason with,
A yearning, which could not be soothed.
(Where was my moment of truth?)
So when you taught me how to love,
I dove into the abysmal water.
Swimming though currents of passion
I plucked the deepest petal from your garden
And presented it to your lips
To prove to you that I was not blind;
Your intentions were not braille,
And my inability to recognize affection was not permanent.
The rose has not yet faded.
My moment of truth;