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About Literature / Student DaniFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 9 Years
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Newest Deviations

Jan. 20, 2014
there are days
    in which the light sinks
    and the darkness takes the shape
    of your crooked fingers
    and the one dimple set in stone
         all of your words,
    the way you bled your lip
    before stuttering over the words
    that the darkness consumed
    before they left.
:iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 1 0
Jan. 4, 2014
pretty boys like pretty girls
     the way I like the cigarettes
          suspended between your lips
     how i can feel the smoke
          burning in my lungs
          when your lips brush mine
     days, weeks, months later
          barely smoldering and stale
:iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 3 0
Nov. 24, 2013
my skin, made of glass
and your fingers like hammers,
tapping the surface
cracking and scarring,
the break:
everything falling,
until the only things intact
are shards of what was once
a chandelier.
:iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 1 0
Nov. 12, 2013
when you left
your pack of cigarettes stayed
on top of the kitchen table
under a pile of mail addressed to someone else,
junk mail
that no one touches.
:iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 2 0
nov. 6, 2013
while you sleep
i draw lines from birth mark to birth mark
across your back, down your arm
sketching constellations that you will never see
in ink
that i will watch slide down the curves of your spine
swirling down the shower drain
to disappear.
:iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 2 0
Oct. 26, 2013
when we met,
you told me you were a professor.
a teacher of English,
and how to say your name
with every inflection
every note
and every sound.
a professor of foreign language,
and how to say love in five ways
five countries you’d travelled
with five women
five lovers.
an intellectual of chemistry,
and the reactions of touch
the thermodynamics of touch
with motions
melting points.
when we met,
I told you I was a student
but we could trade places
so that you could learn
every tic
every inch.
:iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 1 0
Fiction 2
We spent our days on the road in a tiny black four door that made me feel four inches shorter, and stayed our nights in cheap motels that made me feel like I hadn’t showered in ages.
We’d been gone for two weeks and you said you didn’t miss home.
You didn’t miss the trips to that hole-in-the-wall diner with the ripped up red seats and dusty windows, with the burned out sign reading ‘e  t.‘ You didn’t miss those worn out old menus that you would finger the edges of, even though you knew exactly what you wanted, or the waitress that was standing a little too close to your elbow and leaning a little too low over the table with the buttons on her shirt popped a little too far down.
“Can I get you something, sweetie?” The waitress, whose name tag red Denise, knew your name, but she refused to call you William. She told you once, a few summers ago, that it made you sound pretentious. But she pronounced it pretenkus. You would ask for
:iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 0 0
Oct. 21, 2013
love me until we soar,
until our wings are singed by the sun
and our heads are in the clouds,
but our feet haven't left the cotton
and our hands and thoughts are lost
in a sea of blankets.
fly with me
until the landing,
the opposite of easy,
turns into a fast descent for the ground
leaving us with bruises and cracks,
fragile until we break.
:iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 1 2
Oct 13. by Mystic-Viper Oct 13. :iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 0 0
a poem you'll never read
A writer will tell you she loves you
in a poem you'll never read.
She will write you
the dedication in a novel
that will never see the light of day.
She will pronounce her love with what she holds dear,
the tip of a pen,
the pages of a tattered book
that she keeps tucked under a pillow.
The steam from the coffee that keeps her up all night
will whisper your name
and disappear into thin air after curling into her mind.
:iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 1 0
when you understand love
late at night
when the world is silent and the lights turn down
and my thoughts aren’t controlled by speed limits
or the policing of consciousness
i remember that regret tastes like stale cigarettes and old liquor,
where your hand lay on my hip,
and how your breathing changed as you slept.
as i toss and turn over my pillow,
kicking my covers and wondering where the trains are going,
i recall your drunken stagger as you deny your inebriation,
the appearance of your dimples as you laugh quietly,
and the way your hair falls when you step out of the water.
in the morning
when the toothbrush can’t get rid of the contrition,
the noise of the city can’t drown out the dreams,
and the darkness of the news can’t get rid of our demise.
when the heart aches more than the body of an athlete,
the brain still moves faster than your dream car,
and the skin still misses your touch.
:iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 2 0
aug. 20, 2013
when you smile
your dimples sink ships
and inspire poetry.
i would ask you to stop smiling
but the light in your eyes
makes my heart flutter
like fingertips across skin.
:iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 2 5
Natalie and Andre Paramonov by Mystic-Viper Natalie and Andre Paramonov :iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 3 0 title by Mystic-Viper title :iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 0 1 Youngblood Hawke by Mystic-Viper Youngblood Hawke :iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 0 0 MSU Marching Band by Mystic-Viper MSU Marching Band :iconmystic-viper:Mystic-Viper 2 0

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September 20th.
Dear clarinet,
Maybe if you were less lame I wouldn't dislike you so much.
         The kid who has to carry you around.
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September 19th.
Dear lies,
Soon you won't even be able to help me.
        The pieces.
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September 14th.
Dear coke,
We are similar but not the same.
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Letter Project 8
Dear Prose,
On behalf of the general population and yet-uneducated portion of the bourgeoisie, I would like to thank you for your place in our lives, and apologize for my peers who know not your name. You are too kind to the literarily-deficient; us humans take things we think firmly within our mastery for granted. But let those who know not Poetry have access to language, you decreed, and as you said, so it was. A noble declaration, but it saddens me that you do not get half the appreciation you deserve.
Just the other day, my French teacher was asking us to list literary genres. As soon as someone mentioned your brother, Theatre, distinct in his need to be read aloud, I knew the other two had to be Poetry, distinct in her rhythm and occasional rhyme,  and yourself, already too-familiar to be considered, yet the most flexible of the three.
But what could I do? While I offered Poetry with a tentative edge to my voice, I remained uncertain about how you translated into the Fre
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September 15th.
Dear you,
You'll find something.
Just be grateful for what you have right now.
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September 16th.
Dear Sun,
Why do you occasionally create me?
Aren't I your enemy, oh bright one?
You burn me, scorch me, your embrace to me is deadly.
Your touch is lethal, your thoughts pure.
I? I am your opposite, I am not your friend.
Yet why do you aide me in being in seen?
This is wrong, stop your light upon me.
Shelter me away from eyes, I deserve to be kept in the darkness.
I am a figment of your imagination.
Not pretty nor ugly, merely a trick of contrast.
Do not think of me as grateful.
          The Shadow.
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September 17th.
Dear letters,
I wanted
To write you
A long, poetic,
Story about how I
Feel. I thought very
Hard and my thoughts pierced
In to me like a blade
In my chest.
That was when I was put before
The conclusion that I
Feel nothing.
         Sheltered streets.
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September 18th.
Dear French,
If I taught you English and you taught me French,
What we would we be then?
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September 13th.
Dear Grandma,
I'm sorry I don't want to go into a "practical career". I know that "the arts" will eventually "burn out" and I'll have "nothing to turn to" and then I'll wish I listened to you. But for once, don't tell me that my writing is "demented" because it's "not of this world". Of course it isn't. It's fantasy. I'm sorry.
Writing is my passion. I don't want to be a doctor, a lawyer, an engineer, or a teacher. I want to be me. And I'm a writer. It's who I am.
By the way; I can get a degree in something related to writing.
So shut up.
Your grandkid.
:iconlongjump:Longjump 1 2
September 14th.
Dear Diary,
I haven't written in you, but I've had you for years. Your cover is dusty and I almost want to go get a new one. But here goes.
Today, I realized that the guy I'm in love with is a vampire. He has pale skin, and he doesn't really come out in the sunlight. His eyes are dark and he jumps at every sound. He looks at me oddly when I talk about going out to parties with lots of people. But I love him, I know I do!
And he insists that he has something else, something else that keeps him from liking me. But I'll find out, I will, I know he's my Edward!
Rabid Seventh Grade Twilight Fan Number 9859780.
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September 15th.
Dear Guildies,
Today some crazy girl accused me of being a vampire. She insisted that because I'm pale, I don't eat at lunch, I always have bags under my eyes, I don't come to school on sunny days sometimes, and, apparently, I have gold eyes. She also gushed about the fact that I jump at odd sounds. And that I don't hang around a lot of people. I am her "Edward" apparently.
Who's Edward, again?
Anyway, I had to tell the poor girl that I'd never like her. She's... well. I'm seventeen and she's twelve. For one. I guess that is sort of creepy.
And when she asked what I was, if I wasn't a vampire. I told her I was a member of the alliance. A Draenei. I even further explained that I was a knight. She didn't get it.
I'm not a vampire. I just play World of Warcraft.
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September 16th.
Dear friends,
Today I died,
in the middle of history.
I knew it was going to happen.
I tried to warn you,
but you didn't listen.
So as I hunched over my desk,
the clock ticked slowly to eleven,
my face flushed,
my coughs painful.
I don't think you noticed.
Today I died,
in the middle of novel studies.
Just after lunch,
as the teacher droned on and on,
my head fell to my chest,
and my fever raged.
I tried to put my head down,
but my headache only worsened.
I cried out in pain.
I don't think you noticed.
Today I died,
in the middle of math.
It was a sudden death,
as we wrote down the laws of logic.
Briefly I wondered
what logic was doing in geometry,
but then,
a jack hammer pounded on my head,
I was lit on fire,
and then dipped in ice.
I don't think you noticed.
I died today.
It was a sad death,
you all told me so later.
The teacher couldn't wake me,
apparently I was out cold.
Or hot.
I had a fever, the nurse said.
As my parents worked,
I sat in the office, alone.
I don't think you notic
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September 15th
September 15th,
Dear Charlie,
I've missed you... you know that? I wouldn't ever admit it, but I have. Ever since the day that you left. I didn't understand then that you had to leave. It didn't make sense to me. I always thought that it was something that I did wrong. I always imagined that I had mistreated you or said something that made you mad.
I understand, now, though. You were doing it to protect me. You were doing it to protect yourself. It had to be done. You had to leave.
For a long time, though... I hated you. I wished, aloud.. sometimes, that you would die. Where ever you were, God forgive me, that's what I wished. I would hate myself if you had. I would've felt that it was my fault. Maybe it would've been. But, I am ever thankful that God chose not to listen to my request. I'm daily glad that he knows so much better than I.
Please, forgive me, Charlie. I didn't mean to push you away.
I know I never replied to any letters. I know I ignored the phone calls. I was looking forw
:iconda-squid:Da-Squid 1 0
September 16th
September 16th
Dear Jenna,
Almost seven years... Funny, isn't it? That it's been that long. That we really haven't talked for almost a decade. I was thinking about you the other day. I don't know why, but something reminded me of you; of your smile. I couldn't help but smile, myself. It hurt, though, too... to remember what I had given up.
I guess I really didn't acknowledge the fact. Or, at least, I tried not too. I ignored the truth. If I focused on it too long, I knew that I would find out that I was wrong... and I didn't want that to happen. I couldn't let that happen.
It happened anyway.
Regardless of everything I've tried to do... all the times I ran away... I couldn't get away from the fact that I was wrong. That I still am wrong.
I don't think I'll ever be able to get over it, Jenna. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget the pain I caused you. Or, in a way, the pain I caused both of us.
I spent a lot of nights, after I left, laying awake and thinking about you. I couldn't h
:iconda-squid:Da-Squid 1 0


But I've been keeping up with a WordPress photoblog, which you can find here:


I talk about my experiences in the photojournalism world and post photos and stuff.


Mystic-Viper's Profile Picture
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
I'm Dani. I ballroom dance, write novels, go to school, and instragram shitty photos of things. I also work for a newspaper as a photographer.

I really don't bite unless asked, so feel free to ask me things. Or follow my tumblr. Or if you want any other method of contact, ask me.


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Zachmorrys Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2013   Photographer
Thanks for the watch! :D
Mystic-Viper Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2013  Student Writer
Thank you as well! [[[:
planetzog Featured By Owner Jan 6, 2013
INSPIRING GALLERY...will be following you and your work with interest!!
Mystic-Viper Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2013  Student Writer
Oh! Thank you! I'm afraid I don't update all that much, though.
AkatsukiAfiliated Featured By Owner Nov 21, 2012  Student Traditional Artist
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!! :heart: :iconholaplz: :heart:
Mystic-Viper Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2012  Student Writer
Belated thank you! <3
AkatsukiAfiliated Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2012  Student Traditional Artist
You're welcome! :D
Thistlefur Featured By Owner Nov 21, 2010
Mystic-Viper Featured By Owner Nov 21, 2010  Student Writer
Thistlefur Featured By Owner Nov 3, 2010
I has violated your page.
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