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About Literature / Hobbyist Valentina H.Female/Croatia Recent Activity
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Literature
Ti nisi tu
I.
Zvona otkucavaju prve sate zore.
Ti nisi tu.
Blaga kiša pada po mojim vrelim obrazima nalik na sitne mačeve što se zarivaju u mlado meso.
Ti nisi tu.
Noć gubi toplinu poput krvi što kaplje iz mog srca.
Ti nisi tu.
Hoćeš li ikada biti?
II.
Sama hodam sklopljenih očiju ne osjećajući strah pred tminom. Zlokobna škripa metala dopire do mene kroz samotni mrak u hladnoći koja mi umrtvljuje stopala, no moje misli hrle samo k tebi; u tvoj glas, u tvoj zagrljaj. Iza kapaka mi plovi slika tvoga lica. Odjednom me sve podsjeća na tebe; nazivlje uklesano u pejzaž grada nosi tvoje ime. Ono me prati svojim mrkim prizvukom, jednim slučajnim pogledom me obara i obrušava se na moje srce težinom kamena. Osjet tvojih usana na mojima je tako stvaran; one su nježne jedan čas, a buktinja strasti drugi. Želim osjetiti tvoje ruke kako jedva dodirujući klize mojim strukom zaustavljajući se u stisku n
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Literature
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I wanted to claw my way into your arms the moment I saw you. You were just too delicious all painted in flannel and roll-ups, your smile too wide for its own good.
I'm sorry my heart fluttered as I laughed at you riding your bike home at 4 am after a night of dancing. My feet felt heavy, yet I keep forgetting you are a ray of sun, always ready to move west and shine on us mere mortals that lose our strenght all the time.
I'm sorry you had a habit of sneaking up in my thoughts when I used to dream of a perfect boy I could never have. The scene on the roof where the protagonist kisses the girl always seemed a bit too wonderful not to dwell on.
I'm sorry my chest hurt a little when I saw you there, beautiful and smiling in the morning sun as my cigarette slowly died away. I never meant to long that much for but a simple glance.
I'm sorry I liked that song. Maybe the universe finally wanted me to feel your lips on mine and sang in my ear the melody I should use to call
:iconViolatedPsyche:ViolatedPsyche
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Literature
Trouble
You are that kind... The kind mothers warn their daughters not to fall in love with.
The smell of your clothes is the one of liquor and danger, scented with distaste for authority.
Your kiss is all spirits and cigarettes and the longer one drinks of you, the sicker they get and the only medicine is more, more, more.
There are battle scars on your sleeves, wine stains on your carpet, whisks of cheap perfume on your bed sheets.
Night is your mistress and she engirths you, whispering sweet everythings in your ear deaf to reason and good advice.
You are an angel in the world of the fallen ones, damaged and broken, beautiful with your shirts soaked in wounds and your knuckles bruised in leather.
Your blood is impregnated with impatience and low-sung melodies, their echoes heard in your exhale as you sleep ever so restlessly.
Everything in your life is like something from a book; your story is a tea time for losers, a strange parody of sounds barely reaching the surface of your third cup of
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Literature
Dilated Cardiomiopathy
It was the love on the first cognition, as if all of that pathological atmosphere is planted in my bone marrow and with a small external stimulus starts producing heirs which poison the whole body with life.
Collapse is not an option.
Atrophy will appear by itself and necrosis will swallow the remains after sufficient amount of irrecoverable dilatation, for who can stretch one plain organ across tens of astral planes?
Collapse is not an option.
Who needs that timed pump when hydrogen flows down the veins, colouring the walls with a hospital odour of sterility and dementia? Chlorined mind will fall into the white world of apeiron and afterwards the total blackout will set in.
Collapse is not an option.
Collapse is inescapable.
:iconViolatedPsyche:ViolatedPsyche
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Literature
Double the Pain
I double the pain.
Check the pulse.
I slit my sister's wrists
So you could see my scars.
I inject venin
Into any beloved's heart
To prove you wrong;
I hurt the most.
Two pairs of malignancy,
Full house of havoc;
I bet you are blind.
I never fold.
I degenerate in lies:
Feed on corrosion.
I double the pain.
Check the pulse.
:iconViolatedPsyche:ViolatedPsyche
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Literature
He is Life
He is the living force itself. The zest of the world is dancing through his veins, bleeding through his pores and feeding the enchantment of his grin. He laughs like a burning sun, yet smiles like a summer rain. The sound echoes throughout the halls of this place, filling the silence of the darkened rooms. The golden drops lave my eyes with shorts breaths as a glissando of words tied with loose strings and soft melodies licks at the edges of his teeth. I am running fast, falling even faster, tripping over myself in all the best and worst ways. The clouds gather over the bright sunshine caressing the newborn green, the shades too ready to slide over and osculate the trees above us. We’re bird shelters, hollow and abandoned until we’re full of song and we’re kissing at traffic lights, skipping stones in granite like oceanless children. Night embraces our forms like his mouth embraces mine, welcoming us to her realm of whispered agreements and wine-stained lips. The scen
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Literature
The Song Remains the Same
It's always the happy ones that catch her attention: those starlit eyes dressed in summer leaves, looking in all the wrong directions, escaping the beseeching looks of willow-like girls. Emerald glances fall through the autumn air somewhere upon the nearby hill, their heat kept alive by all the songs played too late, but never to be forgotten. Melodies linger in the air, searching for a vein to keep the blood flowing, and they find it all in you. Your hands fly through the strands of an auburn-haired muse, picking up all the right chords. Your face stays hidden, out of reach to her whose smiles remain but moon-shaped scars on the surface of her heart.
But it is not a face she searches for in a crowd, but a spirit wrapped in blues you whisper through the endless solos, waiting humbly for an applause she offers too often.  The wild rhythm of the drums lifts her up until it's hard to breathe, but then she remembers all the pain the beautiful pulse gave her. The song remains the same, but
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Literature
We Can't
The green takes on us with endless bloom
We wish but what the others consume
We're blind, thinking we can fly away
Thinking we might end up there someday
Gathering in mind such false expectations
So to achieve our beaten down aspirations
We continue composing the sweetest dreams
Until reality steals our favourite themes
What does that hidden smile mean to you?
Do you know what's behind it? Endless blue
You can use your imagination, your wit
All you want, and still not fully get it
Make yourself a perfect copy, heart's patch
Dream yourself up the most perfect match
The puzzle breaks when you face reality
There is no joy in this feverish fatality
We can't ever have it, we have no might
Why not just float away, give up the fight?
We can't, we can only scratch the sand and cry
And gather ourselves up for another try
:iconViolatedPsyche:ViolatedPsyche
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Literature
Back to Black
Again the moon shall dance all constricted
Another thousand dances of ashes and flames
I will seek my remedy, my broken salvation
A cure for what aches deep inside the marrow
Through the asterisms of wounds I fly
Mind deep in madness I nearly left behind
Fleeing the golden bullets this snowfall brings
I bathe in her wine and clean my hands in blood
Spinal cords torn by old age of our youth
And constellations dissolved by my throes
Belay me in the water where I draw my death
One last "hello" before I sink in my new demise
All floats up the shadow of another dead love
Never to hold its sacred name, ravished and scarred
Ceremonials never to take place since the birth
Of a demon with an angel's soul and a human heart
Living martyr bleeds in the embrace of the Devil
As he kisses away her pain and gives her torment
To last forever in those hellfires blazing inside
Her smashed heart, heroic pit of imaginary desire
Again it all reeks of same old fears and hate
And I throw myself into the arms
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Literature
In The Night
Alone. In the dark.
On a bed of pain,
Soft,
Soaked with my tears.
I sit. I dream.
Before my eyes titrate contours of your face.
Face of a stranger. Face I hold in my memory
Like a blenched photograph.
Alone. In the night.
Without the beats of your heart,
Without the lights of your eyes which I do not know.
Alone. In the darkness.
Wrapped in sheets of irrational despair
And burnt out hope.
I dream still,
Closed-eyed I gaze at the emptiness.
Into the abyss I throw my arms -
You are not there.
I weep.
Hot tears warm my cheeks
Instead of your lips
Which are maybe not even warm.
Perhaps they are cold.
Icy. Distant.
Like a spark on the ocean expanse
I behold from the shore.
My shore. Shore of rocks.
Shore overgrown with thorns
I feed with my own blood.
My weed grows,
Blooms with my life which fades,
Which I give to the briar so it streches,
So it covers the sea and creates a bridge...
Bridge to the spark.
Bridge to you.
:iconViolatedPsyche:ViolatedPsyche
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Literature
The Flower
Strolling through the gardens infinite
I have found no flower of my own scent
To carry in my heart, to press against my lips -
A rose to wither for myself alone
Through many thorns I have passed
Running through brambles every dawn
Scarring the sickly skin of my arms -
Not yet have I found the orchid divine
Every garden ends up being the same
Flowers change, shapes and colours dance
But no form captures me as if I am
Never to find a match to my blood red dress
And all kinds of perfumes swirl around me
Yet I've not yet found the one to lull me
The one to fill me with the breath of life
To save the chest that needs the sour medicine
Drifting away I wonder if it is even there
Perhaps I've not yet had the joy of finding it
Perhaps it hides; but doesn't the flower know
Women die only of sharpened daggers and empty lungs?
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Literature
Rigor Mortis, Rigor Amoris
I am but plainly glittered with bloodied coal
Of my unforgiving sins, my neurotic artless fallacy
Of my smoky bad habits and ugly clumsy customs
That break my unpretty body's alumina in half
As I was silently drowning in the fanciful ocean
Of carribean blue and green barely emerging forth
Sweet they laid there: heartless, callous, mute;
Undisturbed the eyes watched downward
If I am to die because of the poisonous fumes
I send into my veins with all the irrational sorrow,
Suffocating on insane pain, let it be; for even more so
It is your clenched throat that destroys my heartbeat
Cowards do not kill with a kiss, but with a dagger
As they plunge it into your back and sometimes carve
Their sigil of innocent Judas with no tree in sight:
It takes a brave man to kiss, a braver one to kiss and kill
Do these lines mean anything? Are they to be read?
Shall the face of a stranger and the ghost of a friend
Trace fingers through the thinnest of laces and grasp
What lies behind silly magic, an epis
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Literature
Overly Emotional's Manifest
You choke me.
I take the feel of your fingers on my neck deep into my veins; I drink it down inside my heart and carry it around for no one to see. Hidden, locked away, a secret no one must ever find out about, except my genetic similaire and my dear false eyelashes that have grown into my once lashless eyes.
You stay in my blood like a dark blue cyanide ghost, slowly poisoning me from the inside, making me love you and hate myself for loving you.
Feelings are overrated. They are nothing but indicators of how acid our uncried tears are. Rainbows are but a myth in a world of skyscrapers tearing up the dress of universe. A little man in a wicked machine reaches out for the naked form and makes her cry after leaving her desecrated by his inquisitive and libidinous fingers. The red-shaped space is raped; aether dies away from the consequences like an unborn child after a distressed mother forgets to feed herself.
I hate you.
You make me see the world as it is, in all of its sullen grey, in
:iconViolatedPsyche:ViolatedPsyche
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Literature
Saccharine Violence
Through the red spider bed
I glance at the blinding light
Rocking in my heart
Written in a raven ink
Whispering of wrong and wronger
Of strange and stranger
Of lust dancing through my body
Digging in a grave in the south
Of a foreign ground
Knit it on, black-eyed dancer
The wind in the hair of hers
Breeze which once cooled her
With kisses of spring and cherry
Now smirking back at
Her laugh sounding like a mockingbird
As I stand by her side,
My wing of dulcet smiles,
My sound of pouring summer
Jump, leap higher, stop my breath
Build me up strong enough
To make me betray
My love, my dreams, my blonde suitcase
Of wonders and stitches
Hypnotise me as I turn to shame
Kill just by accident by
Charming the ashes left after
The vulturous teeth of fate
Burn out stands and gentle waters
Of eleven hair and northern eyes
Capture my lungs, tear at
The heart already broken,
The heart that does not beat
But lets the laces holding it together
Lead the way, take the hand
And strangle the muscle
He feed
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Literature
For the Love of Judas
Fare thee well, my dearly departed heart of thunder and rain
See you in the hands of the lying children of Virgil's spawn
Waiting to take you into fires I immobilize with my wounds
Until you reach the safe spot in the arms of my Betrayer
I'll write you a love letter from the deep and the dark
Keeping in mind to make you bleed my memories out
As you take my erased verses to your lips for a taste
Biting my teardrops off the face of an out of shape god
The drums from the abyss keep pounding in my ears
Reminding me of my murder and the killer to whom
My heartbeat has been given to, laid on a bronze plate
In no more than it takes for the moon to burn up
He washed his hands in the tears I dared not spill for him
Drying up his bloody prints on my breath as I collapsed
He scraped my remains off his thoughts as I withered away
He led me to the water and threw my iron heart to death
With a last twitch the noose came down and I still lived
Blindness took over my dead senses as I breathed only for
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Literature
Pattern of Hurt
Cyclothymic and disengaged from this world,
Lobotomised along my aching sutura sagittalis
I lie under the rocks of drowned shakesperean carvings
Breathing through my romanticised flesh
Chained tightly to the cliff of my labours
I watch the serpents that are about to devour me
For I must pay for all the sins made by your hand -  
Another Andromeda condamned by the rising sun
A pie of onset prepared by your filthy hands makes
The weapons of mass creation within me die
And lacerations have spilled all over my skin as
The skies exploided in my mind's collisions
My discrepancy created an abrasion that is on my own skin
Yet you proudly call it "Atentado violento ao pudor"
I only hurt myself and that is because I cannot move after
You wound me to death and resurrect me in another century
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Favourites

Literature
Fireflies Don't Leave Burn Marks
Certain boys used to press their fingertips into my skin as if they were cigarette butts and I was an ashtray. They stamped out their left over guilt that wouldn’t burn away and grounded it into my skin so that when it rains, I smell smoke and their brand of cologne. I have burn marks on the insides of my palms from when they held my hands with bonfires between theirs. I have scars on the inside of my mouth from where they left their candles burning as if I was a faulty altar. They picked flowers from every garden my body grew and left them at the feet of some makeshift effigy as if they had given me a gift. I have let people ruin me. They burned me to the ground like Rome and called my ashes beautiful ruins.
“I have scars on my hands from touching certain people”. But you told me that you don’t really like Salinger all that much even though you talk like Holden Caulfield.  When I think about you, I don’t feel cigarette burns on my skin or smoke being
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:iconpeppermintpictures:PeppermintPictures 25 18
Literature
Broken Sleep, Red Lipstick
I am only an insomniac when it rains. The pitter patter of the raindrops reminds me of the pitter patter of cat paws.
(He liked to sleep at my feet when I could barely think, just to make me feel better. I think you used to tell him to.)
I wish I could wrap your memories around my spine and wear them as a backbone, because they are stronger than the arch my broken spined back seems to have developed of late.
(Spines are oddly brittle, and a lot like wrists. Easy to break and forever to heal.)
But I cannot depend of any of that anymore. So I wear red lipstick and high heels and go to parties and tell strangers how amazing they are to be wearing red lipstick and high heels and how different they must be to come to this party instead of the other one.
(All because you would hate parties and think nightlife is so stupid.)
It is what I do with my insomnia. Because my spineless back, the memories of you incessantly looped in my sleeplessly addled brain and the raindrops
:iconUntamedUnwanted:UntamedUnwanted
:iconuntamedunwanted:UntamedUnwanted 148 21
Cherry Blossom Tree :iconpixiecold:PixieCold 7,452 323 The Good :icondoubleleaf:doubleleaf 10,843 795
Literature
You've been on my mind...
Quite frankly, you're heavy. Get off.
:iconIscariot-Priest:Iscariot-Priest
:iconiscariot-priest:Iscariot-Priest 4,331 907
The Deep Blue Sea :iconjackiemae:jackiemae 7 0
Literature
La chanson de Nora
I was looking for you
In my dreams
You were happy
Happy to see me
And I held you in my arms
And I didn`t want to let go
But I have to
I have to let you be happy
To live without you
Is the worst punishment
To see you in the arms of an another man
It`s something I`ll never forgive myself
I always loved you
And I think you liked me at times
You never really could take a hint
or was it me and my subtlety
If only i had the guts to tell you
I shall suffer for I wanted it to be this way
A little part of me dies every time you say his name
Think of me but don`t dream of me
For I know that then I`ll die
I don`t want to die
Even though not to live at all is better than to live without you
:iconDominiusBasic:DominiusBasic
:icondominiusbasic:DominiusBasic 2 0
british accent :iconn-a-i-f:n-a-i-f 4,171 629 Camera Shake :icongirltripped:girltripped 6,233 543 Dearly Anonymous :icongirltripped:girltripped 4,650 365 THIS IS OPERA :icontouchedvenus:TouchedVenus 4,087 2,080 The Phantom of the Opera :iconvampynicole:vampynicole 4,771 341
Literature
Inner Worlds
There are worlds within the artist's mind,
Worlds within worlds within worlds,
Created from a word,
A thought,
A picture,
Each one as infinite as the sky,
Stretching into forever,
But still fitting into the their realms,
And breaking the grind,
Freeing the mind
From the dreary every day.
:iconcerjdr:cerjdr
:iconcerjdr:cerjdr 2 0
No Mere Man :iconr-tan:R-Tan 1,605 167 Savage Garden :iconendymiasyzygy:Endymiasyzygy 643 83 Jensen Ackles :iconcpss:cpss 357 95

Activity


Rip my colours. Replace my heart. Rearrange my thoughts. Refine my tastes.

Display my hopes. Devour my overdoses. Destroy my pain. Disinfect my slashes.
  • Listening to: Lykke Li - I Never Learn

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ViolatedPsyche
Valentina H.
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Croatia
The burden inside my heart seems to be holding me down to the ground. Perhaps if it wasn't for it, I would just float upwards until I reached the atmosphere and burnt up.
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(1 Reply)
:iconsanzo-san21:
sanzo-san21 Featured By Owner Nov 30, 2011  Hobbyist Artist
yay! thanks for the fave on the most popular pic of ther perv of ablion
Reply
:iconviolatedpsyche:
ViolatedPsyche Featured By Owner Jan 21, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome.
Reply
:iconsanzo-san21:
sanzo-san21 Featured By Owner Jan 22, 2012  Hobbyist Artist
yay
Reply
:iconcerjdr:
cerjdr Featured By Owner Jun 9, 2011
Thank you for the favorite! <3 *loves on*

Your newest poem was really good! :3 I loved the imagery in it. *curls around*
Reply
:iconviolatedpsyche:
ViolatedPsyche Featured By Owner Jun 10, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome! :) Thank you too. :D You mean Eclipsed?
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