- the past is the past
- theres no going back
- gotta keep moving forward
|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Life of a Rogue"GET BACK HERE YOU THIEF!"
I ran with a meatball sandwich in my mouth. A human man about the age of 20 chased after me, for a short period of time. But he eventually got tired and I claimed the sandwich mine with victory. I run through allies till I reach what I call home. Central Park, best place in all of New York. I run swiftly past couples of romantic humans kissing and speaking in this sappy goo goo baby talk, humans with their young, and humans with their dogs. I look at those dogs on leashes and compared them to me. There are alot of differences.
I'm a mixed breed, low percentage wolf, who is also a stray. My name is Rogue, I wear a forest green bandana around my neck and I'm a thief. I have a long scar on my muzzle from . . . Uh-oh animal control. I down the sandwich and throw myself in the nearest bush. They didn't see me, but they had a yowling tabby, tom-cat called Chief in a carrier case. I felt bad for him, so ran out of the bush and howled like a rabid, well, dog. They tu
LonelyI sit on my bed leaning towards the computer screen, scrolling through every comment, every note. I sigh, there was nothing that caught my eye. There was only comments saying thanks for the faves or thanks for the watch and stuff from friends. I stare at my message page with hatred.
"Is that really all you have for me" I murmur. The screen gave no answer, so whispered swear words at it as I cleaned out my messages. Once it was emptied and jammed my blue earbuds in my ears and began listening to my favourite songs to pull me out of my shadowy mood. I refreshed the page only to disappoint myself. Officially in a dark mood, I scowled at the computer screen which showed my personality written all over it. My music, art, choice of background, and everything else screamed me.
I turned off the music and switched my earbuds into my handy-dandy I-pod touch. I refreshed the page one last time, my heart raced, hoping for what I wanted to show. Empty, fuck you deviantART mess
Chapter twoI slowly wake up realizing the sun leaking through my curtains, even though they were closed. I yawned and looked at the time, 9:37 AM. Athena, my dog, sat by the door waiting for me to wake up, she did that every morning. I had named my Collie Athena because of how intelligent she was. I had gotten her from the humane society where I volunteered.
“So eager every morning, Athena” I say with a smile, she wags at the sound of her name. Shaking my head with a light laugh, I slip on the light blue slippers that were under my bed. She slightly moves out the way as I walk towards the door, I grab the nob and turned it. Athena dashes to the door and heads to the kitchen, I roll my eyes and take a sniff in the air. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and orange juice were this morning’s aromas. As I walk to the kitchen I hear my mom walk out the backdoor. I shrug my shoulders and continue on walking, Athena runs back to me with a piece of bacon in her mouth. I enter the kitchen to the sig
chapter 1She sat in a small room that contained white walls with free styled art painted on some parts of the wall. In the room, there was a dark chocolate wooded bed frame with a black comforter, black pillow, and black fleece, all with white polka dots. Next to the bed was a nightstand, which had a black digital alarm clock, a Nintendo DS, and a Kindle Fire. In the shelf, there were a few books and some chargers, which had formed a tangled mess of wires. Inside the drawer were mechanical pencils and erasers and lead, and most importantly, her sketchbook. Next to the nightstand was a bookcase, it had some more books and contained movies on the shelves as well. The book case was a three shelf dark chocolate wood shelf, it was the same color as all the furniture in the room. At the foot of the bed was her desk. On her desk was a desk lamp and pencil cup. Above the desk on the wall was a calendar with blue, green, and red markings on quite a few days on the month. Inside h
examining the worldI lay here on my back, on the couch. I'm laying here viewing the apartment that I live in with a different perspective. The wall has a long crack and and a slight bump. Huh, i never noticed that there before.
As I lay here and look around, I think of my life. What has happened to me, the good and the bad, and how they shaped my life. I can't help but to frown but smile too. They made me who I am. As much as I am self-consious and feel ugly, I love my personality. I love that I have friends like, being a tomboy, all the things I love, being an artist and a musician.
After thinking about the loves, I think about the hates. Boy, that list is long. I hated the man that ruined my childhood and is trying to ruin my life, I hate the misery my first crush put me through, arachnids (god they make me shudder in terror), and so much more.
Sometimes I'm angry, frustrated, hurt, conflicted, emotional, but I'm also excited, joyful, surprised, and happy in general. As much as I would hate life, I lov
lost my voice.I wrote "I love you"
in the sand at the beach.
The tide swallowed the words
and drowned them
before I could speak.
HauntedI see her there with
Coal dust carved
Into the icy skin
Under her eyes,
And on her lips
Dance a chorus
Of bitter lies.
A skeletal hand of smoke
Claws at my neck
Until I bleed;
She tells me that the pain
Is just what I need.
And her blood
Zooms in her veins
Like speeding cars.
She looks at me
At what I am.
She’s a snake,
In the guise
Of a lamb.
‘What happened to us?’
Of what I used to be.
‘I may be you,
But you are not me.’
The sun comes up:
Yesterday is gone
But see it this way;
The past is part of the future
But the future isn’t the past.
You choose which bits go,
You choose which bits last.
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed,
a field of wild flowered-
& an inability
Love them anyway.
Know that when they look at you
they are noticing the little things.
I Saw a Burning ManIn front of my house, he sat.
Skin burnt off, now charred and black.
Hesitantly, I walked outside.
And he followed me with his watery eyes.
With steps as nimble as the snow,
I hid my fear and continued to go.
Now before him, the Burning Man.
I kindly offered him my shaky hand.
No malice nor vice leaked off of him,
rather sadness and agony which simmered below his skin.
I could feel it around me, the pain and despair,
yet, physically the man was nearly repaired.
For his scorched skin was not his problem,
instead the bottled emotions that devoured all of him.
“Would you like to come inside sir, and stay?”
In which he replied by looking away.
Again I asked, and received no reply,
and was startled when the man began to cry.
Unsure of what to do, I walked away,
Yet I’ll never forget what happened that day.
Be it from pain, or mute, or undisclosed desires,
I watched as the man was engulfed in fire.
I stood back in awe, with my mouth agape,
and feared that he had fallen into
Loving A Guy Who Cannot Love Himself.Firstly, tell him that he doesn't necessarily need to be the “strongest” man in the world,
that if he cries, you won't look down on him for it,
that you won't call him weak.
Tell him that he doesn't have to like sports, or fishing, or football, or any of the “mainstream” things that boys are “supposed” to like.
Let him know that liking art, or dancing, or singing or acting doesn't make him gay, doesn’t make him any less of a man, it just makes him who he is.
A human being.
And for goodness sakes, tell him that blue does not have to be his favorite color, than he can indulge in pink, or purple or even magenta!
And to the girl who take on the task, remember please, that it is not always the Knight who saves the Princess.
No, this time, the Princess may need to save the Knight.
Do not pour your problems onto him, rather, balance each other out.
Be a shoulder to cry on. A friend to be there. A love that never leaves.
Perhaps more than often,
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
You Ever Felt ItHave you ever felt it?
When you lay there broken
And feel yourself so guilty
Eyes gushing red
And you want to sleep in a coma
Your brain swelling with thoughts
At the same time empty with nothing
When you can't suit yourself
And see yourself a place among the demons
that moment when you control your life
The moment when you choose between life and death
And then you yourself can decide either way
It's when you're on the edge
And want someone to pull you back before you make another step
A hook, to rip all the insanity out of your body
And suck all the madness that is growing black dead trees
Have you ever felt it, have you known depression
Did you ever seek a source of help, and did you ever find it
Keep in Touch!
Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More