| My name is ~death-by-cyanide, but you may call me Sciatan or Scee. Besides poetry and prose, I am a traditional/digital artist whose abilities consist of all talent and no skill. I live way out in Ye Olde Country, so my internet connection is both A) slow and B) dial-up, which is the source of constant rants, so please plug your ears when my connection goes offline. I tend to either accidentally or on purpose adhere to stereotypes, and there's a lot of them. Some of my favorites are Victorian loligoth, electrogrrl, gamergirl, and conspiracy theorist. I'm also a leopard contherian. Lastly, my llama is missing. If you find it, please contact me. I will not be in Russia. Ways to contact me may include: LiveJournal; my traditional art account; my FanFiction account; Wordpress; my llama may give you directions. Avatar by ~Teh-Payre. Literature tag made from stock by ~piccolinobellezza. |
Newest
I am tiredI am tired.I am tired
I am tired of doing this, all day long, every day, every second, waiting like a clock about to tick, like an alarm about to sound, like a corpse about to fall, because this is the black plague and you are both the rats and the body collectors.
I am tired of being the rubber band about to snap, the rope that ties you together, the pin that holds the scale together until it shatters and I am sent toppling one way or another and I am heartbroken again, because there is no way to balance us, no way to make one and two equal an even two, because I cannot be in two places at once and a needle sends everything s
by ~death-by-cyanide
night feverIn the city, It is the thrumming of it – Its heartbeat – The fluid hearts, continuous, Of the people that give it breath.night fever
In the old country, It is the silence – The undeterred wind – The loudness of your lungs, In a quiet glimpse of empty space.
by ~death-by-cyanide
volumei.volume
I told you once before to get that tune out from your head, I told you it would scar you, didn't hear what I had said, And now you're all gone and holed away Eyes so blind for another bright day, When the lyrics will narrate your fingers rapping, Toes tapping, head bobbing, jaw dropping, Like reliving the past.
ii.
I told you once before it would be all your fault, A drowned mental prison where notes are the bars And your fingers twist over the dial Up another notch to see yourself smile. When the headphones fall away from your face, Yo
by ~death-by-cyanide
the murderer's songthe death walks along here, punisher of those who believe in sin. among the blank old graveyard faces, gray, the earth, the home. where we all return.the murderer's song
come, little child, to rest your feet. under the shade of your mother's old arms. and swans and cardinals die with each wingbeat, where silence soothes long words, to the land where nobody cries.
where corpses rejoice in the cavernous dark, my heart is buried 'till I rest, no rejoice, no remorse, I keep quiet until the dead man sings, holding on to lost fantasies.
I see you wither away
by ~death-by-cyanide
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Not all Treasure is gold and silver mate- Jack Sparrow
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"I must remember it has always been like this: those Trojan women learning their fates; the simple sharpness of the guillotine. A filigree of cruelty adorns every culture." (Linda Pastan – A Rainy Country)
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