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About Literature / Hobbyist Alexis Devian27/Female/Austria Group :icontheteapartysociety: TheTeapartySociety
 
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Literature
Time machine
"What have you expected?", your lips were torn apart by the taste of tears, your cheeks were puffed and red.
"That it would hurt less."
My backpack weighed a ton of hurtful things and memories while your smile was a gravity I couldn't deny. We were standing at this old train station, one of my hands formed a fist, in the other hand I hold on to an one-way non-refundable ticket back to the past and all its funny times.
You nearly touched my face, but then you just waved in an absolutely unsure and absolute gesture - your gaze a loaded gun pointed at me.
This was the moment.
[A Do-or-die-decision. A dead man's switch in your hand, our hearts the hostages of this fatal crime.]
B o o m.
'Never', I thought, 'Never am I going to forget this sound. I'm going to rewind this scene so often, till it's tattooed in to my efferent nerve fabrics, till I had to skin me with my own teeth to get rid of this memory.'
The sound of a bullet, which damaged my vascular system, mi
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Literature
Of monsters and closets
Street lamps were glinting unsure about their brightness and my need for their light. The concrete was dark and so were the shadows over the face of this woman.
"Don't come any closer.", my breath smelled like booze, bad intentions and an empty purse.
(Full of dust and smoke.)
She stepped inside my range and I couldn't see the look on her face. Tough I saw her small lips, her white teeth exposed and her throat slightly covered by a jacket collar.
Maybe I was afraid. That she would trigger something that couldn't be undone.
- Maybe I couldn't cope with anyone but you.
"I am not all softness." The nerves inside my mouth shivered.
"And what If I favour your edges?"
Us being here is not an accident. It’s a well-planned car crash. Ignoring all the consequences to take and all the things I had to bear.
Her smile was as sharp as a scalpel and as brutal as a butcher knife. It managed to cut through my apotropaic words, through my halted breath and into
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Literature
Viking sunset
[This is not another pretty sunset, this is a burning ship.]
From where I sat, sipping some cheap tea, I could hear the waves crawling up and down over the dirty sand. There were so many things in the water, half-invisible hidden in the blue depths.
Feathers. Plastic caps. Fume. Rolling stones. Fish. Oxygen. Oil. Waste. Rings. Holiday memories. Dead seagulls. Broken planks. The moon at night.
I couldn't quite get rid of the thought that one part of me was going to join them soon, the rest of the thing I called heart. The rest of this unsteady thing you left inside my chest.
When you approached me, on this pier during this sunset - which was a Viking funeral after all - your words sunk deep, past the bones and into something that wasn't physical. A bit located over this 300 gram-muscle, under my ribcage and close to my spine.
Nowhere near my brain or my lips.
This ache, this longing you talked about should declare my name but I heard nothing.
I couldn't hear my own thou
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Literature
Knocking Shop (Act One)
„Do you still love me?“
A moment of sweet and delicate, sharp pain.
„No.. Do you?“
„No.“ She smiled.
And the saddest part is.. we both were liars. This is the past. We both were nothing but the echo of something that happened many years ago. Like a soft shock. The aftershock of our heartbeat.
___
„Do you really love her?“
A moment of harsh and ugly pain.
„Yes.. do you really love her?“
„Yes..“, she smiled.
Still we're bickering in this hotel room bed. This is the present. The way you're moving against my  mouth. Your gaze, when you're pulling my hair. The sweet sound of licking the wounds we both hammered into our skin.
I can't take my eyes off of you. Knowing that this is possibly the most hurtful thing I'd ever do to me.
Fucking you. Kissing you in the full knowledge that.. [Sigh.]
This is you. This is your life, the scars you wore like a silk scarf, the sadness on y
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:iconmegilar:Megilar 4 6
Literature
Under lock and key
Let's call it brain. Nutshell. Music box. Barred door.
When the night was all black and dark, I could feel my heart slightly weathering.
Like -
[Old paper, between old leather, in an old shelf, in an old city, in an old world.]
Let's call it psychological warfare. Emotional blackmail. Love.
My hands were cold and didn't belong to me anymore. Like the little strawberry marks, scars and bruises all over my body.
My -
[Thoughts. Memories. Body reactions. And other stuff.]
Nothing belonged to me. I was branded.
Let’s call it forceful expulsion. Surviving.
Please, stay close to me. Cut my skin and spill my blood. Make sure, that I'm never going to belong to her again. Break my bones and tell me my future. Squeeze your fingers in my flesh, until I can't turn my neck, can't open my jaw, can't cry anymore.
Stay close to me.
Don't let me go.
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:iconmegilar:Megilar 0 0
Literature
white blank page
The problem.
Sometimes, I have to rinse my mouth out because of that. I still have their taste on my tongue. Hers and his and yours.
(Especially yours.)
I can't get rid of this and start scratching my tongue with the sharpest words I can find.
Piano Strings. Thorns. Glass. Edges. Fear.  Grasp. Coldness. Heart ache. Claws. Saturn. Lemons. Tango Argentino. Summer Camp. Lips. Beer. Razors.
But now the taste is a composition of other peoples' souls and an aeruginous copper coin.
Like tea brewed with sewerage and withered moments. That and 300 grams full of blood.
I try to fight fire with petrol and end up in an uncomfortable faint. Deep inside this labyrinth [made of scratches and furrows]. It is the maze of my dreams. And my hands are filthy and viscid from what I found in their shadows and corners.
I'm lost. . . a g a i n.
The solution.
Lock me up in my core, where everything is possible except an escape.
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:iconmegilar:Megilar 27 17
Literature
morse from the galaxy
Signs were everywhere.
Why didn't I see them in first place?
In the rain, my footprints left a trace of black. Black dots. Blotches. Spilled ink    · •   •                          
They were everywhere.
This particular scent, a dash of fuel, a gentlemanly note hung over my clothes like the haze over the sink traps in the city.
Do you know what falling stars are? They are morse from the andromeda galaxy. Surreal telegrams of the universe.
I stood there, with a lighter in my hand. On this bridge. Under my feet was just air and deep down there was the street. The hard, cold, wet road with ant lines of rolling cars. They painted wild light thunderbolts on the concrete, sending me messages.
The city was full of rain and life and hidden meanings, enigmas, mysteries,
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:iconmegilar:Megilar 17 28
Literature
use me, holly
"I can't tell her, that I'm not over my first love yet. That I'm still bitter."
That was the first sentence I heard from her for three years. (Also, the first time I saw her since then..)
I sat in this little pub, somewhere deep down in the fork tongue streets of Vienna. Red and blue lanterns were hanging from above; postcards were glued to the table like hour glasses. Keys were nailed to the door frames like they never were made to unlock something.
My mind was dizzy. I drank way too much and too different things.
I was already leaning at the corner wall, like an unused umbrella, when she came in and sat down in front of me, as we would have an appointment.
[Deep, high, long and short glasses. The evidences of my messed up night.]
"So."
Her gaze was full of desperation and something I couldn't name anymore.
She drank a sip of beer from her glass and then went on to look at me, over the small table, like I could tell her what to do.
"So, I'm trying everything to turn the lie I t
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Tea? - Free stickers for the world. by Megilar Tea? - Free stickers for the world. :iconmegilar:Megilar 22 5
Literature
the last rain
"Did you ever recognized that pomegranates just look like round malicious brain tumours?" she asked me, then she took four of the stones and ate them. Her mouth was a dark, reddish tunnel with white, hard edges.
[Crunch.]
The hollow shell of the red fruit laid beside her on this old brick wall.
A disemboweled torso.
My own head sunk backwards onto the stones, I stood there, both feet nailed on the ground. She was up in the air. It wasn't just metaphoric. It was real.
[She was next to the pomegranate and I was down there, unable to sat beside her as normal friends would do. As we used to do.]
And she smiled bright with red teeth, like a vampire child.
"No.." I answered slightly, "You took four of them, you know what that means..?" Of course she did.
Meanwhile, the sheep clouds passed by over an innocent afternoon sky and I tried to imagine her heartbeat.
[Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It was the ticking of a clock. Almost Secure. Constant.]
"I'm persephone,
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:iconmegilar:Megilar 15 8
Literature
almost lethal
I'm drinking you like pure mercury.
On some certain days I ask myself; 'Can you really take all her words? Can you really handle all of her?', but till now, I'm not able to answer myself this simple question.
I think, I have to explain something to you (and me.)
There is this big, huge shelf full of thoughts and words and stories and memories and desperation and sadness and lives. (Most of the time, I prefer to talk about it as a shelf full of tea, but whatever it content is, it is full of you.)
I'm unable to pick a tiny box or even just a cup from there and then decide to not read it. It's simply impossible.
[To just think for myself became less favorable.]
Some of your things are delicious. Like a lovely earl grey after a long, hard day. Your words calm my soul and allay my blood. A bit of milk, two spoon full of sugar. Sometimes this is all I need.
But of course, there are also boxes with a patina of rust on it. Their labels are dirty and towelled at some spots. I can
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Literature
gentlemen's agreement
It always was a gentlemen's agreement.
Although none of us was a gentleman or at least had a single spark of decency in the own body. But anyway. Everytime we were in the same town, we met. Alcohol, a cheap hotel room, no consequences, just sex. It was so fucking simple.
It was in the middle of something. Time was passing by just a little bit each day and so I shared with you what's have been left of me.
To be honest, I never believed that I was good in bed.
But somehow, you liked my way to touch your substance, your skin. You liked how I licked over your bones and bit in your soul. You liked me.
(Memory post-it. Yellow and sticky.)
It was always a gentlemen's agreement.
"No.. No, don't say it, please!" I tried to cover your mouth with my lips and fingers, tried everything to blur your thoughts into mist.
Just a whiff of your voice.
"I love you." You didn't speak it louder or firmer than my words, but somehow you managed them, your words, to scream in me like a big, wild animal.
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:iconmegilar:Megilar 25 46
Literature
first-aid kit
A mental disaster with illumination.
That's how it-
That's how it started.
It was a chilly night. Rainy. I had broken up with my girlfriend and so did you. We were introduced by the friend of a friend and you bought me a shot tequila (From your nape.) The lights in the bar were gloomy, lightning-bugs frozen in a big jar, the pictures on the walls were strawberry remains, for sure.
This night I won the „Wreck of the day"-, my Ex the „Clever-Cover-Stories"- and your Ex the „Best Bad Excuses" Award.
It was 3 A.M when you arranged a taxi for both of us and conducted me on the deep leather seats.
[Cheap beer. Cigarette ash. Sweat.]
My defense was paper thin, when I shared my award with you, because your eyes looked so fucking deep and your tongue was so sweet to taste.
And then we shared half of our lips, our skin, our anger, our bodies, our sadness, our flesh, a quarter litre tears and some drops of our blood.
You lay under my colours and I jousted with your riddles.
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:iconmegilar:Megilar 23 18
Literature
just a cuppa
It was five o' clock and so were we.
Our blood was boiling and your sharp tongue collide with my body and let me bleed tea.
[I smelled like earl grey, you told me.]
Fume tinged with the colour of mercury rested upon my face as I inhaled your scent.
Soaring we created the perfect blend.
The bed was our lovely brew, the kisses the milk and your sweet moaning
our sugar.
We were p e r f e c t.
Dar(jee)ling, I'm dying for a cup of tea.
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:iconmegilar:Megilar 20 34
Literature
summer escape
A thing that is causing symptoms like a flushed face, vomiting, reddened eyes  and very strange behavior. In some cases, it can create coma or death or both. One followed by the other. Any idea? Anyone? Two Words. Nineteen Letters.
[Alcohol intoxication.]
Your lips tore in half and you started to bleed out all those unique words. The sweet scent of alcohol float over you, like black garlands over a garden party. (Suddenly I remembered myself of a half comatose dream I once had, about red and black mourning flowers)
Unique. Time ran through my fingers like sand grains and one second before you had enough of confessing to me, I saw this beautiful castle made out of your thoughts. All of this. Your compliments, your mental souvenirs, your hidden gaze, your desperation. It was so much, that I almost felt like drowning in it. And then, before you raised your flag upon this castle, upon me. One damn second before you said that you always-
[It crashed down and didn't even make a sou
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Literature
between two lungs
I wanted to scream it right to her even face.
I wanted to scream so loud until all of these gross and harsh words would come out of my throat like liquid waste compound with shattered hate.
Big and hurtful enough that she could (visible for the naked eye) see my backbones.
I wanted to spit all my words towards her, with the ulterior motive that my blood is gonna drip on her lovely blouse and remain there for a long time.
She stood there, unimpressed and I was in front of her, irremovable.
[Face to face, with clenched fists. An old western-movie.]
She didn't say a word and I felt like my body almost swelled letters out.
Not to go down on my knees, not to throw up my life was like I suffered from pore blocking.
[Evening came and flung rolls of cloths over the park.]
I waited too long and then the grey came.
Did you know how anxious and possessive this colour is? It took away all the others, spilled its dark fluid on the streets and put its cloak coat around our bodies. Befo
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:iconmegilar:Megilar 23 20

Random Favourites

Literature
Moving Shadows
Moving shadows on the wall
Maybe you've seen them, they're strange and tall
Some of them look like men with hats
While others look like small black cats.
I don't understand why they stare at us
When we stare back they disappear
We are afraid, and don't know what they want
They have no eyes but they see us here.
When the night seems darker than it should ever be
From the corner of my eye I'll see
Those sinuous shapes that dart away
No matter what we do, they'll always stay.
Blacker than my shadow, stranger than yours
Often they slink fast on all fours
Like our beloved animal friends
Walking along in twos or tens.
When it's dark in the house, they seem to know
When the lights go off, they begin their show
Dancing, prancing, on the walls
They walk and writhe and twitch and crawl
The ones like men, I can feel them stare
I see them here, and everywhere.
They come from somewhere, but not from here
Could it be that they come for our fear?
There are places that we can't quite see
Places fright
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Alexis Devian
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Austria
I’m Alec.

I’m somebody who is born with an anomaly. I have ink in my veins and on my skin. I spit, bleed, puke and piss Ink. If Ink would be my fuel, then words would definitely be the oil to keep this whole machinery of gear wheels in motion. They’re keeping me alive.

I love tea, books and good conversations.

My stories often rotate about ghosts by daylight, unexpected gatherings and memories which aren't so distant by looking closer at them. Train-stations and all about them, Cafés and bars, small flats and fascinating houses.. these spots are my zero points.

Raise your teacup.
Interests
  • Drinking: English Breakfast Tea
Hey there dear watchers and passing guests.

Jep, this is my first journal-entry in ages and some important things changed. I'm back to Vienna, I'm member of the :icontheteapartysociety: and I'm more eager then ever to be an artist. Recently I made some stickers (In fact.. many Stickers.) Teacups, Teacans, Teabags, Keys and Cupcakes. The Stickers have a very high quality and are sealed with Belton Molotow Clear Coat.

Now here's my point. I want to spread this stickers all over the world, so I ask people who might like my stickers, then I'll send them to their adresses and all I wish for is happiness and maybe two or three photos so I can see where my stickers are. You can use them for whatever you want, but I would be really glad if you place them on spots where many people can see them.

So..

What do I need?

-Your adress. (Jep, that's a bad point, but I swear I'm not a psycho and I just use your adress to send you these stickers.)
-Maybe some photos afterwards.

What do you get?
-One envelope with a ten or twenty  set full of different stickers. (If you want cupcakes more then Teacups, just let me know..)

There are absolutly no costs from your side, but If you have any questions, just feel free to ask.

Raise your teacup,

Alexis Devian

P.s.: I'll try to upload some photos for you ^^

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:iconai-eye:
ai-eye Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2015  Hobbyist
Thank you for the Watch!=)
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:icondark-indigo:
Dark-Indigo Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks 4 faving Wait... by Dark-Indigo ...:)
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:iconpoetryod:
PoetryOD Featured By Owner Feb 26, 2014
rose by MellcatNinA
Thanks for the fave
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:iconbadasspantiestalker:
BadAssPANTieStalker Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2014  Student Digital Artist
und thx fürs +watchen >;D
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