Newest
Favourites
MineMineMine
The machine that brought us down to the pit was loud and obnoxious, clanking and emitting steam. I was in the third group, descending from the early morning dimness to the icy void below. We all looked fairly similar: hair cropped short, our thin bodies barely covered in rags. Everything was covered in a coating of fine grey dust, encrusting our skin, turning us into a group of leaden ghosts. No one spoke, pitiful creatures that we were, hunched over and shying from the light. Today, I promised myself silently. Today I will escape. Then we were in the pit, receiving that frigid-moist embra
by ~emotionaltulip
My OceanMy OceanMy Ocean
A silver chain connects me to a decision I will not make. Stuck behind glass, A flash of red-stained lips reminds me of how hard it is: being away from you.
Some days I am caught in a whirlpool, kept from reaching back. So many things need to be realized, but all is lost down the drain.
But life goes on, and I avoid the real world, staying within my shelter of glass and concrete, rescued only by my electronic tether.
I am eroding.
by ~emotionaltulip
Watchers
Journal
No journal entries yet.
deviantID
Devious Info
- Current Residence: Thorold
- Interests: Things that catch my interest.
- Favourite movie: V For Vendetta
- Favourite band or musician: Keane
- Favourite genre of music: Alternative/Techno
- Favourite poet or writer: Philip Pullman
- Operating System: XP
- Favourite gaming platform: PC
- Favourite cartoon character: I have several
- Personal Quote: Normality is overrated.
- Website: http://bitium-ribbon.newgrounds.com
- Email: pages_spirit@hotmail.com
deviantART Community Board
Comments
Site Map
©2009 deviantART. All rights reserved
--
"Ask the tulips," scoffed one tigerlily.
But of all the flowers in the garden Alice did not talk to one tulip... they were too busy cutting themselves and writing sad poetry...
--
"Ask the tulips," scoffed one tigerlily.
But of all the flowers in the garden Alice did not talk to one tulip... they were too busy cutting themselves and writing sad poetry...
Previous PageNext Page