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Literature
The Love of a Mermaid
Night washed over the rocks like a breaker, splitting on the mountains and trickling across the valley. It was a slow flood, this sunset, and it promised to leave the world breathless, as always.
She sat on the rock and counted the stars as they sparked into life, the elusive glimmering slivers of God knifing through the sparse cloud cover like a quiet promise. One, two, three, four… one hundred and eighty….
Sometimes the sickle of the half-moon scythe seemed to prick at her heart, and sometimes it felt like it was simply too close. Beyond her reach, but still just a little too close, so beautiful sometimes she couldn't breathe.
She looked down at her hands, the dark stains on them washing away in the water, as it lapped at her palms, the backs of her hands resting on the scaly lower half of her form, the serpentine scale that made her a mythical beast.
She let the man's blood wash slowly from her hands as she gazed at the remains that were him. He had been handsome, very handsome, whe
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Mature content
Scorned :iconcaeli:caeli 3 5
Literature
Burden
Nothing.
Eyes opened to a reality that doesn't exist
my world on a rollercoaster that doesn't feel;
sick to the core with emotions that are not real
burdened by a cold weight that will not let me forget.
Burden.
I never wanted to be your burden,
I wanted only what I gave.
I only wanted what I shared.
I gave all I had, and wanted only your love
and I became a burden.
Pity.
Holding me close from some sense of misplaced honor.
Sheltering me vicariously with a hand that can't heal me now.
A frayed cord sparking with the nightmares that wake me
and your form so long away.
You pity me.
Broken.
Plucked bare of you, these wings cannot fly.
A toy taken out and cast aside.
A movie watched too many times.
Given a gift that was too rich
turned away.
Fuck you.
Fuck you and your breaking;
I will live, and do so without you.
Fuck you and your pity;
I never wanted it. Don't cheapen me so.
Fuck you and your burden;
I wanted your love. I wanted happy.
Fuck you and your Nothing;
I have enough of my own.
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Literature
One
One.
It always begins with one. One becomes two, becomes four, becomes eight; splitting its way into life. One molecule becomes two, and the world erupts into a blinding mass of…nothing.
One.
It's really easy to forget yourself. Time flickers and slips between one's fingers, one minute at a time, one life. One voice. One answer.
It was entirely too easy to become part of the many, entirely too easy to forget that one is the first number, the beginning—creation; Far too simple to see that fine line as nothing more than nothing. Just one.
One life. One voice. One vote, one question, one lie, one laugh.
Jane opened her eyes and looked over the rail. One. It was so easy to lose one in the throbbing press of humanity. It was so easy to forget that only one cancerous cell is needed to start the infection over again. So easy to forget that one man left standing can bring the whole house of cards down.
She watched the flowing river of brightly lit humanity cascade across the bridge, headlights
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Literature
Fear the Dawn
Light, it's an interesting thing, isn't it? It lingers, pools, flows, and is a matter all unto itself. Light can make the difference between an illuminated museum, full of awe and wonder, and a cavernous thing that threatens to consume the unwary live, to leave no trace behind.
Light can refract, it can blur, it can fill and brighten. Light is the human representation of goodness, so ingrained into the diurnal subconscious it is, that its absence fills your average human with dread. Light makes things that were hidden visible, and the absence of daylight has been proven to make humans depressed.
We need light.
We need it like we need answers.
Thalin watched the light, for the first time, it seemed. It pooled in the safe circle of the streetlamp, its gleam reflecting off of oil-bedecked puddles in the rutted streets like fantastic, glorious gems.
The light gleamed off of the blades in her hand, the short weapons were curved like the scimitar, blessed with an armor-piercing tip, and was
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Queen Of Hearts by caeli Queen Of Hearts :iconcaeli:caeli 0 0
Literature
In Memory
I open my eyes and truly… truly open my eyes. Feet sink softly into raked sand, the crabgrass that tries to grow here isn't doing too good of a job, just what you would expect so close to the shore of coastal Georgia.
But I was talking about eyes, wasn't I?
I open them and gaze into the scenery before me. A cemetery. Oh, yes, I know… silly goth-type of writing, some sort of monologue where this angst-y kid is trying to seem dramatic, setting her scene in a cemetery.
Let me tell you something. I've never really been classed in any category. I can blend in with all of the seeming outcast circles. I'm not here trying to say something about how dreary and drab the world is, woe is me woe is me.
No. I'm here because I'm glad I'm alive. It's a beautiful, if not a touch cool late January afternoon in lovely St. Mary's, Georgia. I'm standing in the St. Mary's cemetery. I'm here because this place calls to me, because it's a piece of history that is linked to me through one tenebrous strand. Ho
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Columns by caeli Columns :iconcaeli:caeli 1 8 The Fountain by caeli The Fountain :iconcaeli:caeli 0 4
Mature content
To Fall :iconcaeli:caeli 4 11
Literature
(5) A Few New Rules
Have you ever seen the sea just after a storm? Have you ever known the glory the ocean holds just after Nature has released her wrath upon herself, where she is strongest, and yet most delicate? No? I suggest you do so.
This is the backdrop of the next tale, fifty miles out from shore, in international waters. No Man's Land; here nothing stands between Man and God, except that annoying thing called the flesh.
But that's not what's important to our twin heroines, is it?
Eloa sat on the bowsprit of the Angel's Tear, feet dangling towards the spray. She gripped the pole with both hands, stretched forward, head held high. She enjoyed the feel of the spray on her face, the wind in her hair. She laughed.
Peter stood at the bow, watching her. He contemplated her. So beautiful, so perfect she was. He stood astounded. Oh, he remembered who he was before she had chosen him. Phillip West, taking internship at Westlake Memorial Mental Hospital, a nobody nowhere place for the forgotten ones
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Literature
The Game
"I was twelve years old." Green eyes, like emeralds with catslit pupils gazed at me from above a veil constructed out of outrageously expensive blue Tukka stone. The deep cobalt of the priceless gems winked to match the starlight coming through the mess hall's circular view window, like her eyes; gems of unconquerable beauty.
She and her veil looked so out of place here, someplace just past Betelgeuse on a space station in a quickly deteriorating orbit around an acid-atmosphere planet. This place was hell, so what was this angel doing here?
"I was twelve years old when I killed for the first time. My father." Her voice was soft and silken, gossamer. She belonged in a palace, with her exquisitely pale alabaster skin, and ebony, wavy hair. Some of those locks were captured in braids, with beads of more of the expensive Tukka stones, both round and tubular, adorning them.
"Tell me about that night." I folded my hands over the tabletop, pushing the Chai away. I didn't feel like Chai all of
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Literature
Eyes of the End
In life and death, the child of the modern era. In life, the gutter child of a whore and a drug pusher, clinging to her religion as her last vestige of saftey, sanity, and peace in her mad, terror-filled world. She's a child of a home that never knew repair to begin with, her entire world a sanctum for the demons that plague the holy ground of the great god Commerce, and it's twisted twin, Greed.
A hooker with a heart of gold for a mother, an absentee father with lots of debts and running out of fingers, she found her moments of prayer in the church enough to keep her in school, and enough to bind her family together. Two brothers, one older, one younger, and a beautiful baby sister, they somehow looked to her for support.
After the first incident in which her father's debts were paid with the currency of her mother's flesh, blood, and self-respect, Aimee's mother decided then that her children would not be the target of these imps of the broken inner city. She did the only logical thi
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Goth Deck : Back of Card by caeli Goth Deck : Back of Card :iconcaeli:caeli 0 8 8-Ball Productions: Phase One by caeli 8-Ball Productions: Phase One :iconcaeli:caeli 0 1
Literature
Prices
What is the price of a dream?
measured in "wasted" hours
contemplation of the soul in time
time is money
money is time
counting the heartbeats as you reflect,
no longer reflecting.
Counting.
One.
Two.
Three.
The end beat ticks away into deafening silence...
Sleep when you're dead.
We're too cool to care.
Don't be a baby.
When did we stop dreaming?
When did it become a crime
to savor the sweet tricklings of sand
the few precious grains allotted to us.
No.
Time is money.
Can't you see the glint of gold in each little grain of sand?
Mine.
When did it become a crime...
to wonder?
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deviantID

caeli
is so evil, she killed you twice
United States
Current Residence: Somewhere over the rainbow... or some similarly fucked up stuff.
Favourite genre of music: -twitch-
Operating System: heh-heh-heh.... XP corporate. Microsoft whore.... well... when you get it for free, don't bitch.
MP3 player of choice: Winamp 5 with the New-Clear skin... I want to see more color schemes out of this!
Wallpaper of choice: ZMatrix running over the Pentex theme. Because... they're inside your home.
Skin of choice: Thank you WindowBlinds, for the Matrix theme skin to fit with my new desktop.
Favourite cartoon character: GIR!!!.... then after that.... Me. Don't ask.
Personal Quote: "Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands..." -
Interests
I am so tired of it.
I'm tired of waking up and striving to prove myself to myself over and over and over again.
I'm tired of trying to validate my faith in myself.
I'm tired of feeling worthless.
I'm tired of feeling incompetent.
I'm tired of feeling hurt, I'm tiredof trying to make the world feel good.
I'm tired of feeling like a piece of me turned on me and poisoned me.
What's more is I'm tired of loving you.
I'm tired of feeling.
I'm tired of not being able to hate you as much as I hate how you make me feel.
I'm tired of feeling.
I'm tired of this nightmare that is not having myself under my control.
I'm tired of it all.
I'm tired of feeling.

Comments


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:icondecayed-brain:
decayed-brain Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2007
Woah, I haven't talked to you in foreva Chris.
How're things? I've been meaning to call since your birthday, but every time I remember to something else would pop up. Sorry.
Reply
:iconfleeet:
fleeet Featured By Owner Apr 20, 2006  Hobbyist Writer
:heart: beeeeeeen sooooooo lonnnng
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:iconsimex:
Simex Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2005
thanks for your support as always :)
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:iconfleeet:
fleeet Featured By Owner Mar 31, 2005  Hobbyist Writer
:heart:! Been ages since I last heard from you, thanks for the comment :D It was nice to open the inbox and see it.
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:iconcaeli:
caeli Featured By Owner May 20, 2005
It's good to hear from you, too. I should make my way into the IRC room sometime, but eh. lol.
Reply
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