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Literature
Turmoil
Can you hear its torturous shriek, love? My heart is seeping through the cracks and I am afraid this time the wounds are here to stay.
I am hopelessly trying to keep in one distorted piece the echo of my being, but, without my consent, the shadows are relentless and advancing with each stolen sigh.
Tangible nightmares have been strategically and painfully reformatting my essence, going through each fragment as if I were nothing.
I am slowly fading away and, even though I am desperately fighting it for you, I am realizing how much of a ghost I truly am nowadays. My senses are as useless as they are deceptive, leaving me with no guidance at
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Member Spotlight ( 11 ) - May 2012
:bulletblue: We choose Noitusan (https://www.deviantart.com/noitusan) as the best new member of
%ForeverArtGroup (https://www.deviantart.com/foreverartgroup) in the month of May. Other than this feature, we want to
give him 25 points. We hope this little gift will help him even a bit in
achieving one of his goals.
:new: :bulletblue: Examples of his art:
WHAT IS "MEMBER SPOTLIGHT"?
:bulletred: Whenever you have a new deviant you want to introduce to us, just send
us a note with his/her icon or devnickname. We'll browse that specific
gallery and feature him/her if his/her art is amazing. The only
important rule is: the suggested deviant should be a member of our Group!
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Literature
The Box
The young woman lifted a large shoe box off the shelf, brushing away what little dust had accumulated since she had last looked at the box and its contents. She sat on the floor, with the box in front of her. Her long brown-blonde hair fell into her face, hiding her from the rest of the world. There was no one around, yet even here, alone in her own home, she felt the urge to withdraw to a place where none could touch her. With a slow shaky breath, she lifted the lid.
She looked down at the old mementoes, the ghosts which clung to them now rose up to meet her, reminding her of the long line of those who had left her. Selfish. Failure. Wort
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Literature
Turmoil
Can you hear its torturous shriek, love? My heart is seeping through the cracks and I am afraid this time the wounds are here to stay.
I am hopelessly trying to keep in one distorted piece the echo of my being, but, without my consent, the shadows are relentless and advancing with each stolen sigh.
Tangible nightmares have been strategically and painfully reformatting my essence, going through each fragment as if I were nothing.
I am slowly fading away and, even though I am desperately fighting it for you, I am realizing how much of a ghost I truly am nowadays. My senses are as useless as they are deceptive, leaving me with no guidance at
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