Theme

Display Mature Content

Suppress AI Content

xxDearOblivionxx on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/xxdearoblivionxx/art/You-Can-Have-The-Bedroo-253938392xxDearOblivionxx

Deviation Actions

More by xxDearOblivionxx

xxDearOblivionxx on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/xxdearoblivionxx/art/DeviantID-7-517255236xxDearOblivionxx

xxDearOblivionxx on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/xxdearoblivionxx/art/Clarity-255672684xxDearOblivionxx

xxDearOblivionxx on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/xxdearoblivionxx/art/Earth-Ship-Lotus-02-340784873xxDearOblivionxx

Suggested Deviants

MikkiMarie

Literature

Her Silent Suicide

Solid oceans, liquid skies, a silent suicide Close your eyes and hold your breath so you'll enjoy the ride Drink the vodka, drink the wine, and drink until you're dead Hush the others, let them go, and love yourself instead Bathe beneath the alcoholic's secret wonderland Medication in your throat and whiskey in your hand Solid oceans never beat the sand among the shore Liquid skies melt through the wind and slowly hit the floor Silence drowns the universe as all does fade to black.. Through a silent suicide… now there's no turning back…

Literature

Anorexia

Meet a girl named No One, with a heart of shattered stone Staring at the other girl, the one that's not alone Girl with skin that glistens, with the eyes of crystal seas Grin of shining diamonds and a laugh like a disease Flashes just a glance and soon, she's every trouble's cure She has everything… and No One's off to be like her. Eating turns into a crime, she'd rather be away Thrusting fingers down her throat to make herself okay Watching as her very bones are seen behind her flesh There she drowns in tears, for she has not yet seen success. Minutes turn to hours, and these hours turn to days Every moment slipping, slowly fading

Literature

Myself To Rest

I'm standing in the middle of nowhere Such a scary place to be Standing in the middle of nowhere And there's really nothing here to see Everything inside is screaming Go and set your mama free But I'm young and not strong so all that's left to do Is scream... Mama I'm coming home And I'm gonna try my best Never to let you go To the deep, long rest And sorry if I let go On accident But I won't be alone 'cause if you go I'll put myself to rest. Sitting by your bed for hours I'm too scared to walk away Sitting by your bed fro hours Maybe that'll turn to days And mama, I don't really care it Goodbye, is all you say 'cause at least it's your voi

QuirkyCuriousBex

Literature

Dead Bodies Don't Cry

i. You are born with twisted feet and a pockmark on your chest. Your poor mother is drenched in sweat, straining to breathe, thanking God that it's over. She cradles you in her arms and kisses your forehead with curved lips. Your father reaches out to hold you but has to pause because your mother will not release you yet. The family pays a visit, hovering in awe, praising, laughing. You look around for someone to blame. ii. When you learn to write you use all the wrong letters because you feel sorry for the ones that get left out, like X and Z. And you wear mismatched clothes because you don't like the idea that only certain colors "go t

Literature

I never cry in the daylight

I know what it is to die, curled up on the bed with the sheets strewn about, leaking regret into a pillow case while daylight shines through the window as if everything is ordinary— as if nothing died and the world is as beautiful and logical as ever. I know what it is to sit in a lonely room with a dim lamp for light, wanting desperately to cry, but only able to sit in silence as the nausea gnaws and the images of toxic cleaner fluid cocktails won’t subside and cars keep driving by outside the window, their ghostly headlights illuminating the darkness— reminders that some people still have a reason. I know what

Literature

Doll

Barbie’s thighs were not meant to touch; her hair is devoid of split ends and there's this deadness in her eyes, impossible to mimic—a quiet crawlspace without light. There's a pastel pale to her skin, hairless and unblemished, a blank un-crevice between her legs and her rouge-stained lips are ever smiling. She is nothing like you, child. But do not forget that she borrows your voice.

Suggested Collections

Poetry

Literature

Ich bin

Ich bin, der kommt, ich bin, der geht, ich bin, der immer schon hier war. Ich bin, der wacht, ich bin, der spricht. Ich bin der Hauch vom letzten Jahr. Ich bin die Nacht und bin die Früh. Ich bin der Mond (die Sonne nie). Ich bin das Wort, ich bin das Buch, ich bin, der all die Worte sucht, bin der Fürimmer, bin der Moment und der die Zeit manchmal verpennt. Aber ich bin. Ich bin der, alles, der nirgendwo zu Tod betrübt und liebesfroh. Ich bin, der kommt, ich bin, der geht, ich bin, der immer bei dir war: Ich bin der Wind in deinem Haar.

Literature

A Sudden Flight

Ink-black birds scatter, Writing lines of free verse Across a paper sky.

GhostOfTheEmptyGrave on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/ghostoftheemptygrave/art/Existing-848491101GhostOfTheEmptyGrave

Literature

How To Be Normal

HOW TO SUCCEED AT BEING A NORMAL TEENAGER: (In 15 easy steps!) 1. The first step in becoming a normal, bland, and spineless individual is very simple. Never think. About anything. Ever. If you have a thought, let it go. Let someone else think for you. Thinking is hard. Let someone else do it. Save your little conformist brain cells for something less difficult. 2. Now let's talk about music. You like unique music? Not anymore! You get to listen to the same generic, repetitive sound that everyone else does. You know, that one beat over and over with the words "Yeah", "baby" and "ooh" being repeated. Lucky you! 3. To be normal, you've gotta

Literature

Lovesick Fool

I was not in love Love is for fools I hate the word I haven’t seen you in years And dare I admit, I miss you I’ve downed bottle after bottle, Taken pill after pill, I still can’t sleep I can’t stand waking up Without you here, yet, I still look for you I search everywhere But you are nowhere to be found I think I would rather be dead I never thought you’d leave me alone You still haunt me here I see you everywhere but I can’t ever find you And I don’t know why but I feel like a lovesick fool Without the love

Literature

Too Late

The ceiling above, And walls around. The ground below, And nothing more. But it's far too loud. The room sways And sits. In its center lays a figure, A figure nothing more but A shell of one who has lost its view. It screams and thrashes. Aches and cries. Begs and kills. And bleeds out. But nothing happens. It is just there. Alone Lost And forgotten Forgotten by itself. For who knew him, It destroyed With nothing more But passion. Its life tumbled away, And fell six feet under ground In the body of a pretty redheaded, Green-eyed lamb And who has it to blame? No one but itself. Or rather, the body of him. He who cared so much, He car

Poetry

Literature

Something Sinister

A ring around the rosy Let them laugh lightly Pocket full of posies Watch them sleep tightly Something with poison And pleasing to the eye Poppies to make them sleep And sleep until they die Something sinister is stirring Beneath the fragile skin A daisy for lost innocence Scarlet rose for my sin Not once have blossoms healed Not once have petals saved Something sinister is stirring There's lilies on my grave Something sinister is stirring Buried in the ground Dust to dust, and ashes, Ashes, we all fall down

Literature

Clipped Wings

It begins slowly As such works of veiled wickedness do So soft and gradual that the perpetrator himself does not even guess At the sheer nauseating extent of his control He starts with the foreplay of caressing words - Insidious whispers slithering across a moonlit pillow Forming a chain around the young girl’s mind Like the tender entwining of his fingers around her slender throat So white, swan-white, in the waning night As he suffocates her with his dominance And so it goes, night after night Day after brittle star-haunted day Manipulative words sliding into seashell ears, gently Tickling her psyche like the feathers of a

Literature

Poetry

random words on the page speak of broken dreams and pent-up rage spilling out ink from the pen burn it all start again

Featured in Groups

truly-you-will-do

'You Can Have The Bedroo..

xxDearOblivionxx

Published: Aug 20, 2011

146 Views

Description

Full Title:
"You Can Have The Bedroom," She Said.

Taken at an abandoned coast guard outpost on Torr Head in Northern Ireland.

Image size

3008x2000px 1.48 MB

Make

NIKON CORPORATION

Model

NIKON D40

Shutter Speed

10/1250 second

Aperture

F/5.6

Focal Length

25 mm

ISO Speed

400

Date Taken

Aug 6, 2011, 5:48:08 AM

Comments0

Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In

DeviantArt - Homepage

DeviantArt Facebook DeviantArt X DeviantArt Instagram

About Contact Core Membership DeviantArt Protect

Developers Advertise Terms of Service Etiquette

Careers Privacy Policy Copyright Policy Help and FAQ

Watch Team and join our Community Group for the latest updates and activities.

Join Community