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How to Let Go"How deep is a lake
If it goes on forever?"
You ask me as
We tire swing over
Our feet painting the waters
A crisscross of ripples,
Too afraid to let go,
Release our hold and dive
For fear of never resurfacing.
I do not know
And I wish to never
The answer to such questions,
So I keep quiet
And speculate as
You loosen your grip
And fall back,
Letting the depthless
Catch your fall
To find out for
SlippingWhat happens if I go mad?
I do ordinary things. I type essays on steadily crowding Word documents. I visit friends' houses, wait until they leave the room, and then down a glass of vodka--pour myself another glass while they're away. I pet my cat. I watch TV and surf Wikipedia. I say hello to people on the street and thank clerks when they give me my bags and blush when I visit the gynecologist and apologize when I bump into people.
But at the same time, I don't know if I'm sane. Am I the appropriate person to gauge my sanity? Perhaps there has to be a second party, a person to examine me and bop me on the nose and tell me it's all right, there's nothing wrong. There's nothing wrong with me.
Or someone who smiles and then frowns and drifts into uncertainty, tilting their head and furrowing their brow and saying, "Perhaps you should visit me again tomorrow...."
I don't want there to be a second party.
If I lose my mind, will they let me still do my ordinary things? My pleasant things. M
TrainThe walls have faces.
They are blank faces; they are muddled and aged, wholly expressionless. They reflect their emptiness back into our eyes, scarring us.
They are alarmingly clear. It is alarmingly bright in here.
The light shudders out in dots and dashes from the windows, the windows that reveal nothing. The light scatters and bounces off the walls. Here, then there.
And now it is dark. The shadows claw their way up the faces in the walls, revealing a twisted countenance, a new vacancy.
The lights are shining once again.
They are spotlights, glaring down from above and behind and everywhere. It hurts. I can hardly see the walls in their astonishing sheen. I can hardly see the ghastly contortions amassing on my fellow passengers' faces.
The dark smothers us, mercilessly.
I shut my eyes. I can feel the wheels reverberating beneath us. It is undeniably a phantom sensation. We are still.
An abrupt and miniscule sound comes to my attention, and I open my eyes. A silhouetted man stands be
MothI'm caught up in the funny
accent, and the rugged
A smile wide and
White, straight teeth,
Illuminated dully in the
School is dull.
And yet, again, I find myself
Frowning, in something like
embarrassment at the
glare of your green eyes
on me, your face
too close for comfort,
There is something like
In your eyes, taunting
subtly, as you laugh
Such charm is
Enough to draw the
Am I a moth?
I hope not.
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More