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It's simply my way to cope.Karkat was in the midst of cutting. He sliced a wound into his wrist and he watched the blood slowly drip around the edges and fall to the ground. His roommate wasn't home so, he thought it was safe to cut in the bathroom. He heard his roommate open the front door. Fuck, he was in middle of slicing the third cut up his arm. There was a knock on the bathroom door as his roommate complained he had to piss. Fuck his life, his roommate walked in.
Dave pushed the door open glaring at Karkat "Damn it man you know I have to piss everyday after class. I tell you at least sixteen times that I'm gonna blow up if you don't clear a path for me and my giant-... Karkat. Is that blood?" He steeped foward grabbing him by the elbow and lifting his arm up to inspect it. "....What. The. Fuck." He shoved Karkat down on the the toliet seat and reached under the sink pulling out the first aid kit. "How long has this been going on???"
" Fuck, Dave. Just leave me the hell alone. You don't want to know how lon
Tick-TockTick-tock goes the clock.
Minutes are ticking down.
Tick-tock, how it mocks.
The trickster, our bumbling clown.
The clock chimes its very last.
All good men must sometimes die.
Oh how time must move far to fast,
For a man of healing; just trying to say goodbye.
The man lies still, far to still.
He's far to gone to hear their pleas.
Three hearts broken; to shattered to feel.
They all silently watch as he sinks into the sea.
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More