50% off for a limited time!

Get Core

Theme

Display Mature Content

Suppress AI Content

Get Help and Send Feedback

vigour-mortis on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/vigour-mortis/art/holiday-card-2014-498434716vigour-mortis

Deviation Actions

DSC1994 edit

springer1968

$6.25

500

Download

More by vigour-mortis

vigour-mortis on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/vigour-mortis/art/pink-ballons-13659981vigour-mortis

vigour-mortis on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/vigour-mortis/art/silver-ballons-13659859vigour-mortis

vigour-mortis on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/vigour-mortis/art/birds-on-wire-shadow-109425565vigour-mortis

vigour-mortis on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/vigour-mortis/art/escape-14610765vigour-mortis

Suggested Deviants

KaitForest

Literature

recovery crawl

beating is kinder than leaving. sometimes I wish your last words were movements. a hand against my cheek, a fist to my chest, an arm around my neck, nails on my wrist. the ache more real and easy to find. every night I ache and I point all over. mostly my heart, mostly my mind, to the words stuck that won’t loosen that wedge themselves in my teeth and fall out when I’m drunk, in his lap. he doesn’t need them, boy that loves me until his teeth rot, who says I don’t deserve you who constricts my waist with his hands and who whispers I love you before we fuck. he’s got courage like the front lines of war

Literature

a good love poem to get you in the mood

there is a sadness that lives within liars. i told you once that you meant more to me than myself, but if i were truly your friend i would tell you to leave. i want you to slip from the bed in the middle of the night while i am still asleep. i want you to fight the urge to touch me and trust that i am honest. i want you to find your things and fill your bags with everything that is you in that place until it is nearly empty, and quietly, i want you to fucking leave. without explanation or one more ultimatum that you are so fond of, put that car in drive and don't you dare come back. find a studio that you can afford for two hundred

Literature

KATRINA

LIVES A MILE from the sea. she is sallow as a beach. she smells like rain, or a wet earth, with pale hair clipped behind her head with pins. she feels as though her hair would be black. but it is brown, sometimes and sometimes it is colorless blonde. KATRINA GIVES MY STOMACH a fight. she doesn't speak. she is silence. i speak at her, mostly and her eyes look as though they've been plucked from a lynx to replace her own. they are blue around the edges the deep blue you find at the edge of the sea, if you've been out that far. at the center they are green light like a riptide. they tug you in. unmoving, and calculating with audacity. KATR

comatose-comet

Literature

river.flow

we talk in rivers. I have noticed them flow in the midst of our conversations – mine the thames, serpentine slipping as a whisper through the low meadows, quiet and hissing. yours the five rivers of the punjab, vying like brothers in a tumult of froth and noise, wrestling their way through mangrove roots and mazes. the rivers raised us, taught us their ways. somewhere two oceans meet in a place where there is no wind, the doldrums silent and still as two currents cancel out in a moment of collision. as the thames flows into the punjab and halts, so too do we stand together, silent, over-brimming with restrained tidal

Literature

psychosomatic serenade.

Schrodinger has been writing me love letters, and he hasn’t. he catcalls me from closed boxes while I flip coins trying to figure out what’s breathing, what isn’t. your coffin, floating in earthen rivers, hinges gleaming iridescent as salmon scales, I am sitting here guessing if the cat is dead or alive in that imaginary vacuum, ignoring Pavlov’s set ringtone on my phone - the bells make me think of your throat, how your Adam’s apple rang when you swallowed down another of my placebo promises. I love, loved, you. and I didn’t. Freud keeps dropping business cards through the letterbox asking my mother t

Literature

adolescent idols.

You with your lilac perfumes and claw-footed bathtubs, you with your pleasant gods with their ivory skin and smiling eyes, poised in golden robes, wrapped in divine light, they make you toast in the morning and bless your travels, they hold back tides, they stop traffic, you walk through life under their watchful gaze, your childhood is a talisman. My gods are liars, cruel and iron-fisted. They left me in a field of brambles, gave me nothing but barbed wire teeth and gatling gun hands, I learned to spit and curse and fight before I could pray on bruised knees. They tested and tempered me with tragedies; I am a weapon of self-destruction they

BlackBowfin

Literature

The Halloween Train

the halloween train doesn’t stop here, but knives do and menace does menace does whatever the night might disguise as a form of charity; its giving, an act of giving back to the ground and sky the moon might shine these ideas as bright to some, its clarity dilutes this liquid atmosphere; here, fear in its truest form is no monster it takes on the shape and weight of familiar indentations in the seat beside you yet, this halloween train never stopped to pick you up and will not stop to let you off touch the empty seat beside you and commit to memory, how life looks streaking by in fogged over windows, in droplets collecting and trailing like comets touch the empty seat beside you and adjust your belongings; pretend you’re simply preparing to disembark at the next stop, now lose yourself in the window in the slow song of click clack and its side-to-side sway; look around for a cord, a handle to pull look anywhere but down into the empty seat beneath you

Literature

The Sea Within

how your words stream curling, catching the round of your lips, rising to the center of sky and how i float just above the surface of dream when you speak from the deep of the sea within my sea legs stumble carrying an ocean of things that i wish i could say into the seaful of sky swimming above us, into the tides, trailing each breath you return to the night's own swell and respiration it's what rises within us, alive like the water we knew before the thin of this air, it rises like the movement of everything in the world at once, remembering a shared rhythm and sway, a life before our anchors caught these drifting and hungry stone masses

Literature

This Side of the Clouds

there is soil that will never produce flowers, rain that chokes more than it quenches, and some stones, unsatisfied with being near-impenetrable, still opt to wage slow crystallized war beating back the plague of man for we are willful, but empty, a collected misdirection that lost so much more than just its way, our mineral eyes may be diamonds but the setting is loose and their cut has no character merely fluid, taking the shape of situation and its spoils we're dead as an uncelebrated christ dead like old grain in the silo vermin crawled, rot riddled awaiting a further processing we must so richly deserve, and a lick of salt and bite of

Suggested Collections

Poetry

FridgePoetProject on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/fridgepoetproject/art/The-Daily-Magnet-269-578132561FridgePoetProject

Literature

things i've learned from punching walls.

i. walls are hard. ii. walls do not protest. even when you're pounding holes into them after your last fight with your parents or that day where you were feeling nothing was real. iii. wounds heal. but in the time in between, your knuckles are peeled back like oranges and hot showers feel like death and people ask too many questions iv. you may not feel it the first time v. it will inevitably hurt. sometimes you'll feel it after the twenty fifth time or the moment you're about to buy groceries vi. you won't always cry. but there will be times when you will become a waterfall and pound into the rock in front of you as if it has been keepi

universe-of-doodles on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/universe-of-doodles/art/viral-shadows-176935960universe-of-doodles

Literature and Poetry

Literature

14. Metal Mettle

I was born with a silver tongue, Copper eyes and a gold heart. A grain of salt in my head and skin of obsidian. The silver has tarnished, But it stays slick with lies told , And untold. And retold. My lips seem bruised and discolored, poisoned by the silver within. The copper has oxidized, Turning blues and greens under the force of the salt water of my tears. And all the strife they have seen. The golden heart starts soft and pure Shining in the sunlight. But it is soft. Malleable All too soon it is dented. And pieces taken. It is better known as Fool's Gold, When it glints in the light to attract another. The grain of salt becomes a pearl that is my brain. Over time it shall mold Rolled within my cavity, an irritant until it is beholden as some fantastic beauty of nature. My skin is obsidian. Beautiful and Smooth Shattering off with any amount of force, Sharply cutting to those that try to touch me wrong. I am a treasure trove, Of precious metals and beautiful things. I may

Literature

Making Jam

Poetry is word jam. Boil down the natural sweetness of words And add the sugar of imagery, alliteration, assonance, allusion, figure of speech, meter, and rhyme to taste.

Literature

All's quiet in the deep

Fanged tendrils of forbidden thoughts Twisting with a purpose Squirming to be said, to be made flesh Calling from beyond the veil Moving slowly in the black still water They whisper Fears and doubts, Clouding the edges my eyes in red haze Tempting me with truths And lies. I cannot speak them The words that fester beneath the blade of my tongue Itch for a voice through which to manifest They pester to be named A venom coursing through my veined and slouching heart Daring my lips to part Stop now, cease. You are in violation. There is nothing to see here, Nothing to say. My jaw must stay still And silent Smiling and clenched Do not say the words Do not hint It is betrayal The thoughts have been waiting there forever Wearing me down, Berating patiently Do not speak of them. Their existence is anathema. I have desires I dare not say, Effervescent dreams I could throw it all away I could jump I could fly That was a metaphor That was a lie Never mind, I take it back, Watch my

holiday card 2014

vigour-mortis

Published: Dec 5, 2014

119 Views

holidaycardproject2014

Description

Just embossed stamps this year.

#HolidayCardProject2014

<da:thumb id="103037948">

Image size

1079x797px 156.66 KB

Comments0

Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In

DeviantArt - Homepage

DeviantArt Facebook DeviantArt Instagram DeviantArt Twitter

About Contact Core Membership DeviantArt Protect

Developers Advertise Terms of Service Etiquette

Careers Privacy Policy Copyright Policy Help and FAQ

Watch Team and join our Community Group for the latest updates and activities.

Join Community