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Literature
break the gates with rings of fire
halt, the sky sings in seraphic tones,
the clouds roar as they race to part in unholy droves -
like the breaching masses of old-world seas,
on the quaking earth, the shores tremble and seize -
the trees collapse inward and cave to forest floors,
left to rot and crumble now and forevermore -
man steals fire, escapes the cave,
angels pick man off in one winged clave -
man's lowly ashes will drift to the earth
as the gods above die and new ones are birthed -
and as centuries pass with storms and with fire,
man will return to consequences dire -
they'll turn to be angels as angels turn to be gods,
and gods they will be against all the odds -
though slow and sure, the world will keep turning
as heaven reigns hellish, and angels keep burning.
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 12 2
Literature
wolves get shot and the moon mourns the day
i'd say my lungs have atrophied
but that seems too corporeal
to deal with what i've lost -
it's more like my soul
and my self, as plato would say; it left to
the realm behind our heads and
didn't bother taking my body down
before it ran
                 out -
i watched the rain fall yesterday
and dreamed of thunderstorms
and dry lightning,
wished for a drought that would never end
because i was tired of things growing
in the barren crevasses of my skin
take hold of hands in the night
and watch me waste away, i'm
skin and bones and bones and
soul gone missing
(i miss tomorrow already
and it ain't even here)
hold still darling,
it hurts to fall apart;
it'll be better if you close your eyes
and dream of gumdrops and gunshots
to lull yourself to sleep
(shh, sweetie, mama ain't gonna let you fall
to the ground, ain't gonna let you
rise to the clouds
and fly away, i've got you hidden softly,
this rotting world don't reach heaven no more
and you'll
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 11 3
Literature
to whomever it may concern
at night i lie half-sleeping with you
on the couch, the television screen blaring
propaganda and 2-am comedies.
your fingernails are getting long again,
and you won't let me cut them 'cause you say
baby, they're all i've got left to fight with
on my way outta this hell
.
so i let you run them over my skin, gentle
in their calamity
(you wreck me without knowing
the price i pay to sink with you).
and when the sun dips above the
curtains you write half-posed
prose on my wrists and up my elbows,
onto my collarbones
and the twist of my neck,
you write phrases that make your mind dance
and my skin sing;
you call me beautiful in the light of
a static-screened telly
and the words on my arms sting like tattoos i've wanted
since i was thirteen
(you became my forever two lifetimes
ago, and even if we never move
from a worn-out couch
to the hollywood we've always dreamed of,
i'll be happy to listen to laugh-tracks
and late tomorrows
as long as you're around to place your poetry
in all my emp
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 21 4
Literature
justice is blind in the eyes of the wicked
wolves come running.
their howls light the moon
and the diamonds in their eyes make wild beasts flee;
the stars glint a deadly shade of beautiful
as the trees wrap branches around lost children,
turn them into wild-bred fae.
there is magic in the air
that glints dangerously
from lupine paws, pounding into the earth.
mushroom circles rise from the dirt
and doorways open;
travelers stumble awry
and the fair folk feast well tonight.
(the wolves howl and come running,
their teeth like death snapping at moonbeams,
tails whipping shadows;
and slowly they melt into the night as the sun rises.
doorways lock and mushrooms burn -
the magic is lost again
until dusk-time comes and it is reborn,
chasing on the heels of night creatures gone mad)
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 9 4
Literature
every(little)thing
i am just one word
bleeding into another,
one breath finding its way to my bones
and back again.
i am a universe of almost
and the past tense of maybe;
i am everything the in-between spaces
never had room for,
and all the lines in stories
never found the space to squeeze me in.
candles burn bright like stars
when i steal a glance their way,
but the lights burn out when i get close
and leave me alone to tell the moon goodbye
as the sun rises over the
horizon.
i am three hundred and twenty-four
different books scattered across
lonely spaces
and i am nineteen years of new beginnings
and old ends.
i have culminated both
apathy
and
empathy;
they twist together to create
something yet unseen.
i will forever bleed words
onto these pages
and these pages will wrap around me when i die,
send me off to the next world
with a little sound of home.
(this is everything i've dreamed of;
this is all i need to be)
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 16 11
Literature
the past haunts and the future beckons
you knocked on the door;
i opened it and let the ghosts in.
they settled in the halls
on the stairs that creak
when you tiptoe past;
they settled in the bedroom, above your pillow
and against the light switch,
waiting to be found in the dark
and diffuse in the light;
they settled atop old frames with new pictures,
dusted themselves in memories
best forgotten, found their way into
photo albums and calendar pages.
one found its way onto my shoulder
above my heart, twisting misty fingers
through my skin
and into the ventricles, twining delicately
through the fiber of my being,
making a long-dead ache begin to breathe.
and through it all you stood in the doorway,
let them settle, let them sigh;
you never were good at saying no
and chasing away the phantom pains.
you were washed out in the moonlight;
i could see through you beneath the stars,
and what you used to mean to me
was as dead as the beat of your heart.
(you always were quite ghostly,
here then gone, disappearing at a breath
and co
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 15 6
Literature
like a candle turned supernova
you lit fires to watch moths
toss themselves into the flames,
as though sacrificing themselves to some primitive god found
begging for prayers on a street corner
was any way to make a place in history
the hippies drink beer and beg for peace
from inside the trees, spirits gone wild
and native in the dark
(they flinch from the light)
the girls wear short dresses
and run barefoot through the fields because
they say it feels like flying,
they say it feels like coming home
(and we used to set fire to oil on water
to see contradiction on the lip of the world
now we just waste away beneath shunned stars and
sit with dry lips tongues lives
and wait to meet our makers -
the sun is a fire and we are
slowly
falling in)
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 12 11
Literature
those days half-remembered
i left off in the corners of half-remembered places.
i left off mid-sentence while staring at the sea.
i left off in a cornfield maze where the sky was so gold it was falling
and the air smelled like sweet summers.
i left off on the side of the road where the cars crashed together,
where the tires ran flat and the blinkers didn't blink anymore,
where the windshields were cracked into spiderwebs that caught the last breath.
i left off at the top of a cliff right before i jumped,
right before i fell and dove into the inky waters below
where the jagged rocks missed me by inches that could have been miles.
i left off finding shapes in the clouds,
skirting them with small fingers
and naming creatures that don't exist outside of fairytales.
i left off in a thousand different places, slowly speaking through space and time until my voice stopped -
i left off always and forever; i will leave off again.  
but i have a thousand stories to tell,
and though many have been left endless a
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 22 9
Literature
hello / goodbye / goodbye again
lovers bleed into each other
until there's nothing left.
they take the ghost train
to the place where nothing ever hurts,
as if that will change anything.
and as they get off, their hearts ride on;
they ride to the place where there's something to live for,
they ride to a place where they see the beautiful mess that they could have been,
they ride to see the fire at sea,
they ride to the corner of me and you,
of you and I,
they ride.
lovers bleed into each other.
they take needles and ink and write love poems into each other's skin,
but it doesn't matter because ink fades -
not fast, but eventually.
lovers feel love - quickly -
but that rush of adrenaline is gone
after one night, ten nights, two years;
after the ring is thrown into the ocean
and the tide washes it away.
lovers come together in a fragile art,
the art of (never) letting go,
and in the hopes of remaining forever entwined,
they bleed into each other;
until there's nothing left.
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 13 3
Literature
ocean blues and skyline hues
the corners of your mouth
frame the shipwreck in my head.
the pattern it makes in the system is a maze;
the colors of the sea are everywhere at once.
we have wet hair and wet eyes
because we're drowning in this ocean.
there's a lantern in the lifeboat that's painted black,
but it's okay because our truths are found
in strange places.
(being here in the water
is an excuse for your company;
we are slowly drowning, but it's okay -
together we will fall into this sea and
learn to love just as deeply)
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 21 5
Literature
it's a young man's game
i.
once upon a time he was a military man,
hard-jawed and jaded by the wars of the world
and you could see the remnant of every battle he'd been in
by the burden in his eyes.
he'd pulled the trigger tens too many times;
he had never known forgiveness,
but mercy was a mistress he had courted often.
now he's old-boned and sits in the recliner while he watches the ballgame;
he laughs at jokes and clenches a fist in the hardest of times;
his daughters say they love him
and tears form in his eyes.
he's a soft soul in a hard body,
bruises on his skin from brushing against a table,
scratches on his arms from trying to take care
of the only woman he'd ever loved.
ii.
once upon a time he was a military man
that took the world in to his hands and refused to let it go.
now the world turns around him and he spends his days
with his wife's hand clutched closely to his chest
as the world turns on around him, without him.
he took care of it for twenty years until it almost broke his bones,
and now th
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 23 7
Literature
the songs cicadas sing
it was a miracle that she could breathe
when he ran his hands along her skin;
when he brushed his lips against her hair
and told her he loved her
more than flowers love the soil.
he told her he would never leave
and that the world would stop turning if he stopped looking in her eyes;
he said the moment he said goodbye would
be the last breath he ever took.
she looked him up and down
and crawled inside his ribs
to hide from a city gone mad,
like he could protect her from the imploding universe
that pulled at her cells
and her soul.
they rode in taxi cabs and didn't hold hands
but they held gazes,
staring into each other's windows
and waiting to see what lay inside
behind the sheltered glass.
at night they snuffed out candles
and lay on a bed made of memories,
listening to the sounds of humanity surrounding them
and hounding them until the moment
they closed their minds
and fell into oblivion.
they held each other in their sleep
and as the stars shone above so did their dreams,
soft and
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 15 10
Mature content
it's why we pray and don't get answered :iconkhaimin:Khaimin 81 45
Literature
tomorrow and the next day 'cause it never ends
there's a woman in the laundromat staring down at her phone;
she got off work three hours ago and she doesn't wanna go home
'cause all that's waiting for her there
are screaming sons and a pregnant daughter;
she takes her time as her laundry air-dries slowly,
takes her time to breathe in the quiet-loud atmosphere of shaking machines;
she takes her time.
there's a man in the corner booth talking nonstop on a headset;
he laughs and it's strained 'cause he knows he's on borrowed time,
his wife's got another man in the sheets
and he pretends he doesn't notice that she smells like whiskey and cologne
when she walks through the door at 2 a.m.;
he closes his eyes and takes time to convince himself it'll be okay,
closes his eyes and pretends that he's asleep when he feels the bed dip beside him in the morning;
he closes his eyes.
there's a kid on the street holding a cigarette;
his hand shakes as he lights it 'cause he hasn't had his fix yet,
he knows it's cracking up his lungs but he can't ge
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 29 17
Literature
all things set ablaze turn to ashes in the end
old man winter sat me down today,
nursed a hot cup of coffee
and told me my hair had grown out
since we'd last met;
said he liked it,
thought it made me look older
and wiser to the world.
his eyes looked like thunder-snow as he said
autumn had died,
quiet and sudden like the crunch of
leaves under your feet
that you didn't even know were there.
apparently summer took it pretty hard,
mourning her only child,
her baby boy,
shedding tears like rainstorms
with sobs like dry lightning;
apparently spring had hung her head
and planted flowers on his grave;
apparently winter sat down and froze the world solid
as if by doing so
he could freeze time, too,
and pretend nothing had ever happened.
[ i said that losing your only child has to hurt;
the old man turned to me
and said he'd gotten used to it
a few millennia ago
(i could see the storm he hid in his eyes
and said nothing;
he took a cup of coffee for the road) ]
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 27 7
Literature
the world turns slowly and i step with it
the world keeps turning
even when i stand still;
i found secrets hidden in dark places
and i wonder why i never
looked for them before,
never studied the reasoning behind
hiding them in the first place.
(or maybe i might have,
maybe i wanted to forget, try to forget,
try to be forgiven --)
the world keeps turning
and the night turns to day even when i have
passed hours sleepless in the confines
of a restless mind; i wonder where
the time goes as it drags me through
forever, i wonder how long ago
i should have found myself and wonder if,
somehow,
i've fallen behind.
i've tried to love three times
and every time it ends in broken-
hearted babbling
(not for me, you see, but them --)
and every time i feel a twinge
of sorrow
and regret
and i fear that this part of me
may be something broken.
the world keeps turning
and the fan on the nightstand keeps spinning,
gives me chills that warm
my frozen heart.
i'm terrified, i've found,
of getting close to the people that could
hurt me the most; i
:iconKhaimin:Khaimin
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 20 2

Random Favourites

Literature
immortal
For a moment, I lost years.
:iconinkedacrylic:inkedacrylic
:iconinkedacrylic:inkedacrylic 3 4
Literature
Unknown
There is mud where I
Walked late during the mid-mor-
Nings; blood dripping on
Where I once existed temp-
Orarily; I wake up cold.
:icontrappedwitch:trappedwitch
:icontrappedwitch:trappedwitch 6 2
Literature
Ice Cream
If I lived in a submarine, I bet I would eat a lot of ice cream.
My grandmother lived in a submarine, oh,
maybe 49 years ago from yesterday, and I bet she met a lot of mermaids.
You can tell by her teeth,
how many mermaids she’s met.
Do they have sirens under the sea? The screaming kind.
She doesn’t know. It would taste cold, probably.
The ice cream, I mean.
If I wasn’t born more than once,
I would’ve treated my mother better.
When you love someone enough to drown in a car seat,
you end up drowning in a car seat. Which is to say: the regret of winter
is that mermaids can’t swim in ice sheets. It tastes cold.
His mouth, I mean.
Like menthol cigarettes do in the morning time
that everyone calls night. He called me one night
because he thought he was dying.
Xanax and piano keys do that.
I heard the sirens scream and the only thing shaking was me.
I wasn’t scared or anything. I don’t get scared;
my grandmother lived in a submarine and I have her bl
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree 13 4
Literature
promise me
"how much do you love me?"
"i love you more than the stars,
more than the sand, more than the
water of a man
quenched, parched from desert storms
drenched in the sweat of
one thousand egyptian slaves—
i'm a slave to your heart, and i love you
more than i love dreams and 
watching falling leaves on a fall evening,
we're a team and i love you more
than i love my mother,
i love you more than any other i had
ever waited for, that's how much
i love you."
"how much do you love me?"
"i love you more than life itself,
of course,
i love you like the sun loves its planets,
or how the planets follow the sun
wherever she goes.
i love you more than i love the stars
in your eyes because i love you."
"how much do you love me?"
"i love you more than anyone else,
unlike anyone else, that's why you're still here
but can you please stop asking how
much because one day i'll run out of words."
"how much do you love me?"
"i love you so much,
so much."
"how much do you love me?"
"enough."
:iconA-Lovely-Anxiety:A-Lovely-Anxiety
:icona-lovely-anxiety:A-Lovely-Anxiety 31 4
Superstition :iconpheoniic:Pheoniic 82 15
Mature content
Dream Speedpaints :iconpheoniic:Pheoniic 9 3
Journal
THE GROOVIEST LIT IN TOWN: VOLUME TWENTY-EIGHT
 Welcome to The Grooviest Lit in Town, where some of deviantART's very own writers are featured for their all radical, all gas, and all hangin' works and projects. From prose and poetry, to the depths of novels, soliloquies and articles - it's all here! So hang loose, get jazzed, and keep on being right outta sight. Love
THE GROOVIEST LIT IN TOWN: VOLUME TWENTY-EIGHT
groov·y
 ['ɡro͞ovē]
adjective,informal
1.enjoyable and excellent.
GROOVIN' LIT...



THE GROOVIEST LIT CONTINUES...
curls-and-yelling
Bound with Leather by curls-and-yelling
If I Answered Truthfully by curls-and-yelling 14 Dec 15 by curls-and-yelling
F
:iconNaktarra:Naktarra
:iconnaktarra:Naktarra 5 4
Literature
voicemails to persephone.
i tried calling you today
obviously you didn't pick up
so here i am asking
where you've been (but)
i think that i already know that
you were a few worlds too far
for me to reach
i heard that they took you 
to a man in a lab coat
that he asked you why you
take so many trips down to hades
and that you said it wasn't your fault
he nodded like he understood and 
prescribed you pomegranate pills
you didn't come again today
i am worried about you
please call back
this isn't right and you know it
i know that you hate the pills
i know that you hate the judging
eyes on subway trains trying to bore
holes into your back as if it could 
make the crazy leak out
i know how you hate being called crazy
but do not throw away the pills
do not fall in love with hades
stop romanticizing him into
beep--beep--beep--beep--
................................
i know that this is hard for you
and that i couldn't possibly understand
but there is a difference between
accepting   and   aggra
:iconAsterGirl:AsterGirl
:iconastergirl:AsterGirl 6 2
Literature
contained
soil rotting
helpless and blind and only hearing
the rains flooding my cavities
the winds grating between my ribs
feeling
but not able to take part in it
even as summer rains soften the tar between my teeth
even as spineless winds brush over my shoulder blades
like canceling fingertips on the unkissed nape of my neck
dirt can't move itself
:iconEmpyreanDreamer:EmpyreanDreamer
:iconempyreandreamer:EmpyreanDreamer 5 2
Space oddity :iconkibbitzer:Kibbitzer 2,050 46
Literature
Where the Sea Stores Laughter
do you hear that salty wind, child,
chanting on the sea?
pounding spray and stones into
a mournful symphony?
give the sea your heart, child;
give it with a song.
for in your heart the sea has kept
its laughter all along.
So said the fisherman's wife
to her childen on a stormy night
We start with wind and waves and colder colors
Then we move to the child, full of warmth
Warm like the beach and the sun over the water~
and the laughter of the sea and dolphins.
the music of nature, the sea,
the spiritual child, the higher love-
we play on the sensory
the beach, the wind, and pounding waves.
for in your heart the sea has kept
its laughter all along
yet so implored the narrator,
You astound me.
I. Am. Spellbound.
This is phenomenal.
holding a whimsical air
Give the sea your heart, child!
for in your heart the sea has kept
its laughter all along
:iconpsycocat:psycocat
:iconpsycocat:psycocat 9 6
Journal
Fluorescent.
801 watchers?! Okay that's a crazy number - I don't think I've even met that many people in my life :faint:
So again, thank you to everyone who has watched me since way back when (Iloveyouall:la:) and a big welcome to my new watchers - it's my final year of uni so uploads and replies will be a bit sporadic but I promise I will always get back to any notes or comments at some point!
Anyways, here are some of my fave literature pieces I've come across on dA in the last few months as a massive thank you gift :dalove:Dance! 


bloody Mary by ohsostarryeyedon sleeping with a friend by diddlyhohumtumblr boy. by crystallized-skieson distance by EsotericHeart after the party. by littleblueraccoon The Month of October by muscularteeth
:iconcomatose-comet:comatose-comet
:iconcomatose-comet:comatose-comet 12 36
Literature
lament
now i paint my face
like death, pure-featured
and vying, clawing
through penitent dermal expanses.
i am a chance
that no one should take,
a shimmering danger
and permanent ache.
my perseids are pierced
and my stars
drink the ocean.
what good are sigils
when skysigns don't
speak?
and what world
bids dry vessels
leak?
locate me deep
in the soil,
scythe bit with rust
and absolute
lack of soul,
save for
my own.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 15 7
The Daily Magnet #312 :iconfridgepoetproject:FridgePoetProject 191 98
Literature
xxi
we are stretch marks in the earth
and these are growing pains
this is the tearing of seams
and ad hoc applications of patch-
work revisions of an ever evolving
embroidery
these are growing pains
and this is the slow motion
movement splitting skin
and shattering chrysalis shards
all over
foundations reassembled
in the ruins of form-
and we never knew of kintsugi
but nonetheless this resurgence
is something beautiful
it's in the scar tissue
looking back at wounds grown over
and fragments unified
that we see how we were made
we are stretch marks in the earth
and our cracks have never been filled with gold
but maybe we can be
because we have to expand
to become more than what
we are
:iconfaultling:faultling
:iconfaultling:faultling 11 1

Groups

  • Watching: Psych
  • Drinking: Water
Hey everyone! First and foremost, this is a feature for my favorite of the ten thousand accumulated notifications I have that I need to look through (okay, it's more like 92, but still). I've been meaning to glance through them for some time now, but things seem to keep coming up. Classes starting, moving back to school, dealing with a sick roomie, it all takes up some time. But that's no excuse! Not for ignoring my notifications nor never posting anything new. I'll try to get the ball rolling again soon, especially because I gained a bunch of new watchers recently and I don't want to disappoint them. c: 

(by the way - hi y'all! i'm happy to have you here. :hug:)

Anyway, now I've got that tidbit out of the way. So here's the feature! Hope you guys enjoy them as much as I did. <3

The Daily Magnet #299 by FridgePoetProject i'll miss you when i'm gone by trappedwitch after time and magical thingsi believed you, whoever you were.
flinging fictional lives
around your shoulders like a
coat worn well, it's by you
i found roots
between pages, a place
in every story.
a throne, a bed, a ship, a hammer,
a home.
tell us one more, don't go.
the world is weeping words,
memory-tears of you, for you.
villain, lover, in between,
voice of velvet heart of gold
you are our prince.
silver deer slip through the wood,
stars who lost their way
searching for your heartbeat.
dogeared books can be reread,
but a life is only once
and you touched more lives
than any bit of ink or paper
ever could because
you made magic real
forever, and
always.
:thumb583977745: broken heart syndrome.i was born in a december that was
no more mine than the snow or the
sky was, the stars would glint like street
-lights dancing in shards over black ice, i
held my mother’s hand.
my first kiss was at midnight new years
eve, and january slipped off its overcoat
as it stepped in the door, i thought it
would be the shortest month but it was
the longest, lingering still on the edges of
every other heartbreak (nothing hurts like
the first).
february with all her pretty smiles, with all
her quiet tragedies, i tucked my cat’s death
in the corners of a leap day spent crying,
folded my parent’s divorce in the fortnights
sleepwalking without dreaming, february has
become a phobia.
the winter breathed its last as depression
blossomed from frostbitten soil, i still wish
i knew what spring meant but march has
left my fields fallow.
april showers poured down on a world
outside our windows, we kissed on the
sofa and we closed the curtains thinking
we were waterproof, but i wasn
[cut short]-this, where the sun dives into the other
 world, is where they made their
 enclave-promise; and she
 bowed
 low
 into the ground, her sugar-
 melt skeleton, glowing only
 for a moment, decomposing
 before his eyes, twisted.
 shivering, into a memoir calamity-
The Daily Magnet #300 by FridgePoetProject if at first you don't succeed, try try again you razed my mind
into a wasteland of souls
all dampness and haze
conspiring against the colors
faded into porcelain irises
ghostlight and feather dust
bone shavings
bitterness
i only wanted to be remembered
[parasitic, growth]-like a
 plague
 covered in frozen moss,
 shimmering under the guise of water;
 moths drawn, drunk, dying
 within your unfortunate idea of
 affection - a hold that was never
 meant to last for more than an
 aeon
[you should
 have
 let her
 go]-
sully's a druggie but he isn't a monsterhouston has
a problem with me
because i want everything
that does not belong to me
i cried for four hours three
days ago; i just replayed everything
over
and over
and over
and over
and over
because you are the
yin to my yang and i
know that i'm lodged in
your head still like the lipstick
that you can't scrub out of the cracks
in lips so fucking sour and now i know
that i wasn't alone
i was your cosmonaut
and you were the galaxy that i traversed in
you know every word to my
songs— the tip-toeing of lyrics
and beats and i don't know why
you want to buy me an rv when
we graduate i'm not yours i don't
think but i never know
sometimes i lay in bed looking like
a corpse out of a movie scene and i
listen to sir sly on repeat without
formal punctuation
sometimes i lay in bed and
i remember the converse i wore to
school in fifth grade for about two
weeks; i heard that monsters' favorite
shoe brand is /ˈkɒnvərs/.
/kənˈvərs/ with them like two
friends meeting e

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Khaimin
Paige
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
"I have pretended to go mad in order to tell you the things I need to. I call it art. Because art is the word we give to our feelings made public. And art doesn’t worry anyone.”
- pleasefindthis, I Wrote This for You



To all my Watchers:
I don't normally say thanks for faving to you guys because usually the people who favorite my stuff favorite a lot of my stuff, and I don't want to spam you guys with "THANK YOU" all over your comments section. xD


I have a side account here: :iconwings191:. I don't put a whole lot up on it, but once in a while something'll get posted. c:


**Anything that I happen to put up on this website, be it poetry, photography, or drawings, is copyright to me. Don't steal it and cause yourself trouble.**
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:icona-girl-named-divine:
a-girl-named-divine Featured By Owner Mar 13, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
i haven't spoken to you in ages but hi i love you and appreciate you and you're so talented and so beautiful and generally just super lovely :heart: hope you have a good day!
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:iconzolsana:
Zolsana Featured By Owner Sep 30, 2016  Student Digital Artist
Thank you for the fav <3
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:iconkhaimin:
Khaimin Featured By Owner Oct 1, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome, lovely! You deserved it. <3
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:iconwovenlioness:
wovenlioness Featured By Owner Jul 21, 2016  Student Writer
So sorry this is so belated, but thank you dearest ever so much for the favorite! :huggle: I have been away for awhile due to bad circumstances so this was a wonderful, welcome thing to come back to. 

Hope life is treating you well and you are having a great day! :heart:
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:iconkhaimin:
Khaimin Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
No problem, lovely, you deserved it! And oh, this is just as belated, I'm sorry as well! I hope you're doing well, and I thank you also for the well wishes. <3
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