| Like, my favourite of my sonnets so far that I have up here so far..may change soon, though, because I've got one I LUFF that I just need to find. |
Alice in Verse
Newest
Stream of ConsciousnessYou'd hate it here.Stream of Consciousness
I know it, I can just tell. You'd hate every single last person on this godforsaken campus. I'm not quite there yet, but its coming. Rambling points, hands shooting up for the sake of saying nothing. Points that are decidedly incorrect the very second they trip off the tongue.
I can't focus on their bullshit. My body is too sore, a wonder its not covered in sprawling purple-green bruises already. I can feel it in my spine, though, each vertebrae rubbing against its adjacent brothers. Boring into the back of m
by ~disdaining-fortune
the Curse of PeterA sleep lapsed corpse does not a person make With battered spine and bruised bony limbs And eyes are drooping, slumber soon to take But fighting soldiers on, and none can win. As frozed skin does not create a corpse Although my body feels as though it is And yet the cold is such a biting force And naught will warm my heart, least save for his. A walking corpse is frightful, this is true A body sleep deprived is much the same But dreams are plagued with images of you And after sleep won't go to whence they came. Hearts of the dead're incapable of pain, And time to tithe Curse of Peter
by ~disdaining-fortune
Sonnet for SAs fingers shake against the biting cold The gloves that hold them giving simply aught Their bony flesh search for a hand to hold But hopes and dreams of warmth are answered not. And on the bed on which a head is lain Though not its own, it feels almost as mine The bodies dance across yet naught is gained And sleep is coming fast to claim its prize. And ears, they hear a faintly strummed guitar A simple tune, yet perfect as it seems A string is plucked, the sound wave leaves a scar And yet the sound is gone before explained. And eyes are searSonnet for S
by ~disdaining-fortune
Frm an Ailing Poet to her IllsI hold in hand my pen in gentle dark My mind it lingers under nightly star I try to write but cannot find a spark And bid the words to come but all seem far. 'Tis thee who frightens words from writer's tongue And leaves a heavy burden in your wake; 'Tis through my heart I fear I have been stung And bid you now to leave for both our sakes. This malady it pales my skin so fair And heart it threatens for to break my chest And yet I feel that death will hasten here If farther from me you shall choose to rest. For wanFrm an Ailing Poet to her Ills
by ~disdaining-fortune
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AngstydeviantID
| What? Bunny rabbit? Yes, I am a mad manipper. Its fun, what can I say. No judgement, peas. keep in touch, dears. -Alyce |
Devious Info
- Current Residence: A little cave underneath my roommate's bunk bed.
- deviantWEAR sizing preference: mm...tiny
- Interests: O.O like, everything. Seriously, I can't fit my answers into these tiny spaces.
- Favourite movie: ....don't go there. There's too many to choose from.
- Favourite band or musician: .........also, don't go there. There's waaaay too many.
- Favourite poet or writer: Poe and Shakespeare, gotta love the classics, right?
- Operating System: Get this: I LIKE VISTA. if you're not cool with that, too bad.
- MP3 player of choice: ...I'm lost without my iPod....
- Shell of choice: mm....peanut. or snail.
- Skin of choice: y'know, I rather like my /own/ skin, thanks..
- Favourite game: Egyptian ratscrew. And TES.
- Favourite gaming platform: erm...well...I was a big PS2 fan, but then I got an XBox. O.O That thing rocks my life.
- Favourite cartoon character: psh. Hands down, Pig from Pearls Before Swine.
- Personal Quote: Harry Potter characters. They're like pringles. Once you pop, you can't stop, I swear.
- Tools of the Trade: anything I can write with, I'd write in the sand if I had to. Prefer pens and notebooks, though
- Website: http://alyceinneverland.multiply.com/profile
- Email: little.crocodile.13@gmail.com
- MSN: littlecrocodile@live.com
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New work
Star Trek 4 [link] S+B Family [link]
DC Women [link]
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An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy that sustains him through temporary bouts of joy.
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"It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream."
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See enough horror and experience enough pain and you become separated from your self.
- ETY
An artist must create as often as possible. To cease this task is, to the soul of an artist, as ceasing to breathe.
- ETY
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"It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream."
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"It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream."
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