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TornadoesTornadoes rip through the empty plains,
taking away all the sorrow and blames,
there it all goes,
all my pains.
Patience is my virtue,
waiting till there's nothing in my view,
everything gone with the wind,
everything becoming new.
A new clean slate,
reflecting the wishes of my mind's state,
thank God for tornadoes,
taking away all my hate.
they rip up from the ground,
leaving just the bare foundation on a mound,
on a hill, nothing but a flat surface,
nothing left bound.
Today is a new day,
everything pushed away,
thank god for tornadoes,
I'm still here to stay.
Candy Land, Dreaming of HalloweenLiving in a candy land,
with a candy king,
dreaming candy dreams.
The licorice trees swing to and fro,
while the chocolate river flows and flows.
The aroma of sweets and treats fill the air,
little gum drops here and there.
Large stocks of peppermint stalks,
stand tall with lollipop sticks.
Being with the sweet taste of taffy,
that's all I need to be happy.
Watching the little candy king wave from his castle,
you can hear happiness and joy ring.
Across the chocolate river,
far beyond the soda pop glaciers,
the land of baked goods are hither.
What a happy world this is!
When dreams come to end,
this, I will surely miss!
But for right now, lying cozy in my bed,
I will sleep my small little head,
and dream of Halloween to come again.
the Unfortunate Life of NoelleI awoke with a start from the crashing sound of the thunder. Lately, my dreams have been nothing; just black. No meaning behind them, no substance to contain them. Tonight was no different. This time, I'm glad to have been thrust out of them with force. I couldn't go another night dreamless. Downstairs, I could hear the piano being played passionately. The thunder outside was drowning it out here and there, and the rain complementing the notes pouring out of the player's soul.
Lying in bed, the thought occurred to me, should I stay in bed or follow the sound of the music? I couldn't think about falling asleep again to stand in blackness in my dreams, and to follow the music, maybe will help ease the emptiness that not only fills my dreams, but my heart as well. Rising out from under the covers, I carefully light the candle on my bedside table and make my way out into the hall. There were multiple pianos in the home, making it harder to determine where the sound way coming from. To my r
SalvationI'm reaching up,
so far towards the stars.
They climb out of reach,
I'm losing motivation.
The ladder grew and grew with innocence,
now it wobbles,
threatening to crumble itself,
weighed down with evanescence.
Still, I reach higher and higher,
my arm out of it's socket.
Can't give up,
can't give in.
yet so far,
the harder I try,
the faster they go.
I've always wanted my own star,
why can't I have it when I try?
When I fall,
please be there to catch me.
I can't reach any longer,
please grab my star,
I need you here,
help me breathe.
Beneath the ladder breaks,
snaps, sways and fall,
crashing down on my dreams,
I'll feel everything.
Forsake me not,
I'm just a sinner.
Take my soul,
devour it amongst yourselves.
My demons can still reach me,
even from this high.
I need to reach my Salvation.
Take Me DownYou can take me around,
pull me down,
watch me drown.
A sin to atone,
my energy blown,
I can't do this all alone.
I sit back and cry.
Waiting for my turn to die.
No one to give a final good bye.
A long ways away,
in my own grave I lay,
I will not rise after today.
You can break me down,
push me around,
but you'll be the one to drown.
PhoneSometimes, I'm afraid to answer the ringing phone.
It rings, and rings, and rings.
I'm not sure who would want to contact me so desperately,
I'm sure they know I'm not interested in what they're selling.
Sometimes, I wish that the person on the other end of the line,
where ever they may be, might be someone who could help me,
take me away to a place I've never seen.
But why would any phone call be like that?
Sometimes, when the phone rings, I'm wondering who's voice I will hear,
a human voice, or an automated recording of someone's voice.
Maybe I can recognize their voice, I've probably heard them all by now,
for now, anyway.
I could come up with so many imaginary fantasies about who they are,
what they could be calling about,
how it would affect me.
But alas, none of it would be true.
No fairy tale story to the endless ringing.
Nothing special about that pre-recorded voice on the line,
just some drab and dreary purpose to only serve themselves.
The only way to cancel it out is just to
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 1Marisa hesitated, anxious suddenly, before opening the doors. She looked down at the keys in her hand, trying to get past this nervousness, playfully pinching the meat of her fat, flabby belly with the other. She shouldn't be so nervous, she knew this club perfectly, she'd worked here for a good six months, this should be easy.
Only, it wasn't, because what was behind that door was new. It was hers now, and she had plans.
For a second, she just stood there, nervous, but all of those concerns flew away only seconds after opening the door. She just looked, wide-eyed, and excited now. It was better than she'd imagined. Not finished yet, though, it just didn't seem quite done, she couldn't tell why. Eh, she'd figure it out later. She called back out the door, "Come on in here, Gwen, check it out!"
A few seconds later, Gwen came in, bigger than ever, looking positively massive as she playfully dragged the giggling mass of the helpless, struggling former manager of Porker's, Jo
Death Battle: Deadpool vs. RED Team pt. 2
Deadpool was standing around, playing a handheld game console, then looked up and noticed the camera was focused on him. "Oh!" he said in surprise, "We're back? Well, it's about freakin' time! I swear I beat this game a bajillion times by the time you got back to me!"
White: Technically, it was only six.
Yellow: Really? Seemed like a lot more. Guess time really DOES fly when you're having fun.
"So, to anyone who missed the first fight, here's how things are goin' so far..." Deadpool said, cueing a chart.
RED Team: 6 (Soldier, Scout, and Pyro are dead by now)
"Yeah, I killed the guy stupid enough to wear grenades on his bandolier, the loudmouthed kid, and the axe-crazy pyromaniac." Deadpool filled in, "So, c'mon! Bring it! I dare ya-"
Deadpool flew backward. The Demoman had regained consciousness after being clunked in the head by half a baseball and was now brandishing a grenade launcher with a giddy smile on his fac
Death Battle: Deadpool vs. RED Team pt. 1
Ray: Alright, the combatants are set. Let’s settle this debate once and for all…
Steel: It’s time for a DEATH BATTLE!!!
All was quiet in the RED fortress, its nine resident mercenaries just settling down from yet another conflict with the BLU Team.
But none of them could have been prepared for what was about to happen next…
Intruder alert! An unknown entity has entered the base!
The administrator’s voice rang throughout the entire RED headquarters, earning the attention of every member.
“An unknown enemy is in the base?!” exclaimed a man in a heavy, red coat and an army helmet on his head.
Faster than he usually did before, the Soldier raced to his armory and grabbed his usual weapons: shotgun, rocket launcher, and shovel in that order. As he marched down the stairs, the administrator spoke again.
Protect the base!
Good Ol' Days - TGThings were getting rather tough for Nick Kellins. At the ripe old age of 49, the big fifty was looming over his head. A bad construction injury left him rather immobile and confined to a wheelchair. His four kids had all but abandoned him due to the constant attention he needed; at least that’s what he told himself to ease the pain. Nick’s once thick blonde hair had faded to a dull gray, mostly from stress and the meds he was taking to help with said stress.
He let out a cough as he wheeled himself over to the dining room table which had the mornings newspaper sprawled over it. The old college he had attended was celebrating their recent football championship win and was headlining the news.
“What I wouldn’t do to go back in time and do it all over again…” he sighed while reading over the article.
Nick kept reading while sipping at his mug of fresh brewed coffee. The more he read into the article the more he wished he could be there-- as one of the
Cheryl's Night ClubbingCheryl smiled when she accepted her third drink, a long island iced tea, her favorite, from a lusty young man passing her by, but winced when she sat back down, accutely aware of how close these shorts were coming to non-existance.
Her rump, overfed and under-worked, fattened up through a consistent theme of overindulgence and relaxation, was terrorizing the seams of these soft, fabric boyshort panties she let masquerade as club attire. She could feel her overfed stomach, fat and well-tended, pressing in front of her, sagging down just a bit more than she was okay with.
She clutched the drink to her chest tightly, pressing it between the plump, generous globes of her chest, resting the bottom of the glass on the convenient swell of her soft stomach, shivering a bit as the cold, icy glass came in contact with the exposed area of her cleavage. She set her back against the wall behind the bench, sliding down, slowly, praying the stitches would stay together, until she felt her cheeks maki
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 4And so the girls went, in a slightly different order than they were announced.
Lexi went first, her routine little changed from her older one, Aerosmith blaring, her fat, fleshy body writhing, flab jiggling in time to the sounds of guitar, more gymnastically at the beginning of her set, less so as the songs played on. It was getting difficult by the end, and the reason was clear, it was because of those little pauses she'd take every few seconds, grabbing food from the conveyor belt, working it into her act as smoothly as she could, eating more and more, and letting her fullness be seen by everyone, her belly proudly bulging forward, her hands rubbing across it, massaging it, looking for relief, and finding a bit as she made herself belch, audible even over Steven Tyler's wailing. There was no pause in the act there, she reached immediately to the conveyor belt, looking to fill what space the air had just vacated, cramming a cookie into the space between her breasts, leaning her head c
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 2The girls spent an extra forty minutes in The Cheesecake Factory before they were recovered enough to get back to Marisa's car, both of them groaning in unison as they collapsed backwards into Marisa's Mini Cooper, their combined weight lowering the car dramatically.
They spent the next fifteen minutes scrambling around, trying to find some measure of comfort in the hopelessly cramped space, and failing miserably. Marisa was fine, the car had been altered to fit her, but Gwen was struggling, her thunderous thighs spreading wide under the pressure of her almost perfectly spherical stomach and proud, heavy bosom, too wide for the passenger's seat. She didn't seem able to accept this fact, though, trying everything she could to get the door closed, with all of her massive, fleshy rump contained within the car, repeatedly trying to pull it closed, until Marisa spoke up, “Hey... Gwen? Yeaaaaaaah, maybe you should just get in the back seat?”
Gwen tried a few more times, wincing i
Porker's Pig-Out Palace pt. 7Marisa didn't sleep well that night.
She tossed and turned all night, trying to settle her mind, to make all the little pieces fit nicely next to each other, but it didn't seem to happen. She was angry, at John, at Miracle, at herself for letting her emotions get the better of her. She couldn't sleep, not restfully, at least.
Nine thirty rolled around, and she was where she was supposed to be, in her office, ready for Miracle to walk in, but she looked rough. Her hair and make-up were askew, her outfit wasn't co-ordinated the way it usually was. She looked less like a domineering matriarch, and more like a stressed secretary, four years deep into a fast food binge.
And this was what Miracle saw when she came in, sitting on the other side of the desk, her eyes wide in terror as a fat, serious-looking woman stared back at her.
Miracle reflexively shrank back, "I-I'm sorry..."
Marisa shook her head, "It's not important. So. What happened to you yesterday?"
"I-I panicked." M
The Brass RoomThere is a world beyond my reality, and into my dreams.
A magical place that isn't so special.
A room that doesn't exist, here it does. Only in my dreams.
Every time I visit this place, it's so hidden, and I don't think I should knock.
It's a tight squeeze in, but wary, things are not stacked properly, yet the never wobble, they never fall.
A room of brass where the bathroom should be.
Along the walls, overflowing shelves of lamps, cups, and containers litter the room neatly. I never touch anything, and I never know the purpose of this place.
It's a nice place, how bright but dull, a place I like to explore.
I hate to leave, but what lies beyond the imagination is left to the imagination.
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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