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Assassin's Tango IntroI had always walked alone. Never knowing, never loving, never caring. It was as though I didnt exist, I was just another pawn in Gods almighty game, but I was fine with it. I had traveled the world and I had seen many things and done many more than that. Some people regarded me with suspicion and fear, others merely ignored me, while a few select people cared enough to try and change me. But they always died, and for that reason I work and walk alone. My name is irrelevant. I am the shadow. I am death. I am fear itself. Yet you would not know I was by merely walking past me, my soul is a painful and haunting place, a dark void where nothing exists and yet without it where would I be?
For many years I lived alone and I killed alone. I rid the world of that which is evil and of that which harms innocents. Yet sometimes I worked for these evils. Sometimes I would kill innocents who were not so innocent in reality. I am an assassin. A contract killer. One could even
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More