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About Deviant Alejandro OrtizMale/United States Recent Activity
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One Last One
And the worst part is,
while I was building castles in the sky,
you were filling them with sand,
waiting for the tide to come wash them away.
You used
"never" and
"forever" interchangeably.
And in the end they both proved just as meaningless,
changing with the changing of the seasons.
I wrote you many useless verses,
always failing to tear down those walls.
I wished to break your heart,
maybe for an hour or two,
just so you could understand.
But I'm done.
This will be the last one....
...and if not then it's just another promise,
one more promise to myself I've broken.
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Excerpt from untitled novella
She patted her leg and was reminded that she had scribbled the word "love."
In the past two months, she learned that depression is a sea, a vast underground reserve, murky and brackish, indefinable and perpetually replenished. It grabs hold so strongly that it becomes a structural support, replacing bones, muscles, veins; that it fills her in such a way that she begins to wonder if life can go on without it, or if life even existed before it. Such is depression; all flowers blooming on the surface, verdant grass, chirping birds, but only a façade belying what is hidden underneath. The sad truth, she discovered, was that love can make or break a person; sometimes, both at once. It has such power, such immeasurable potential for creation. Or destruction.  
She patted her leg again, this time on purpose, to remind herself that she had scribbled the word "love." Her pencil had been a sharp, industrial staple she had found in her father's toolbox in the garage. Her paper had
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All the Salt of the Ocean
I'm pulling off the hinges from her curtain-covered,
Marble-sculpture eyes,
And I remind myself I've been here before.
But, no, it's never like before.
And her kisses slip off the wax of your honey.
And she melts in the memory of his embrace.
And I wonder if this is what you do when music's thumping.
And my phone will not ring again all night.
I can just pretend,
For a few hours tonight,
And maybe again tomorrow,
That this is something more than it is.
Because if not this then what?
If not this play on words,
Then I'm left empty handed;
A vain, forgotten bag of broken windowpanes.
So, yes, tonight I'll be her mistake.
Sorry, but tonight I'll put salt in your wounds.
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id ergo ego by hyphenated-semicolon id ergo ego :iconhyphenated-semicolon:hyphenated-semicolon 0 0
In high heels
The touch
The nape
The moan
The soft whimper
The grasp
The hold
The taste of red lips
The skin
The back
The forth
The back and forth
The back and forth and back and forth and back and forth
The tension, the buildup, the writhing, the moaning
The tantalizing
The tickle
The exorbitant sum
The awkward
The slumber
The following morning
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Yesterday I tore a hole into the bulk of our memories,
Slowly crawled inside,
And wrapped myself with the warmth of "I love you"s of days gone by.
I turned your bubbling laughter into morning-dew-scented wallpaper,
And used it to cover the inside of my sad cocoon;
My pillow, a pool of your cellophane tears.
I woke many times in the middle of the night,
As the chill began to freeze the tips of my words.
I woke many times in the middle of the night,
And realized my face already begins to disappear.
I woke up this morning and began to wonder how long I'll have to wait...
Wait for the day when you will peer inside and remember
That boy who used to make your frail insides shiver,
And carry you away like the current of a river.
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Like Ink from a Broken Pen
The venomous recollection
Of the sights and the sounds that permeate
The soul, the skin, the ever mutating, ever changing filter of
Your eyes,
Drives a dagger deeper ever still,
In such elegant fashion,
Straight into the darkest corners of this empty room.
I once heard that to behold you was to play with fire,
That your touch bleeds the coldest winds of wintertime.
But they were only half right.
Forgive these words spewing out like ink from a broken pen,
Like dark ribbons of paint,
Collecting at the bottom of a metal tray.
My metal tray heart.
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Remember the faintest recollections of a time that was soon misbegotten.
I stand here at the threshold of what 's long lost and what's long forgotten.
Oh, come, dove of white, spread your wings and teach me how to fly, because if this wave of war-torn clouds in eerie disposition doesn't kill me, I'll be first in line to the show of abominable destruction.
Tantalizing, delicious inebriation of words that you tied in a string, vibrating,
Exploding in sweet ecstasy.
Oh, come, dove of white, spread the world flat in sacrifice on the cold, metal surface of our youth.
I said, come, dove of white, pull our eyes out, and fill the day with ill ideas of the basest kind.
Parsimony. Parsimony.
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And we talk about it
We paint our picture,
In a sad color gray,
On all our brain-shaped vases,
And on all our vase-shaped eyes.
I never saw that floating face,
Leaving, intransigent and dull.
Was it what we asked for,
Or was it how we asked?
Strange I always thought I wasn't fazed.
But looking back at those remarks,
At days long gone and watered down,
It's a tall cloud I never climbed.
Don't turn back the arms,
On that rusty old clock,
For you might break time
And call it even.  
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On Bouncing Checks
It began with simple verses,
All of them bouncing off her tin can hollow.
One day she wrote to him,
"I don't understand why you bother.
This heart of mine was long ago crushed by another."
But he was persistent, and so he wrote,
"I wish to write a line that could break your heart in two,
So I can crumple up and close it back around myself."
A flutter in her stomach,
And a glassy layer on her eyes.
She grabbed pen and paper, and replied,
"Take it all, whatever you can find.
Everyone before you walked away with part of it."
Spring and summer and autumn tumbled by.
But one day she became afraid,
Afraid of being hurt again.
So she picked up a pen and wrote,
"Promise you'll stay here, so I can go."
He sent her many letters,
All of them without reply.
The last one that arrived
Was crumpled, soggy and nondescript.
"I wanted to write a line that could somehow bring you back.
Now I only wish for you to come drain the ink from this pen."
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You know the dream.
Yes, you know the one.
The one where everything is okay again,
And you're in bed and you turn and hug me.
The one where the world spins again,
And your hair smells of warm blankets and coffee.
Well, it keeps repeating, like images in a zoetrope,
Round and round and round,
And back to the beginning.
But every time it starts I forget that there's always an end.
I pulled out an old picture of you.
Would you care if I said that too many years have passed?
I stared at it, and I thought of yellow and hot cocoa and expensive shoes,
And I asked you why it's been so long.
I started this poem with some inspiration,
But then I lost the words,
Like I lost the hope.
And I forget what it was like,
And I forget that there's always an end,
And... and..
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I woke up to this again
This morning I woke up before the sun had risen,
Skipped a few stones across the lake.
There was one that got far, far, where big trees grow,
But most of them sank quickly.
Last night I turned off my cellphone,
Because the thing wouldn't stop ringing.
I had no words left to say.
I think all of them sank quickly.
An hour ago I wished I was five,
So I could enjoy the little things again,
Washable paint, glue and colored paper.
But look now how I sink so quickly.
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Like a snot-nosed child, my quiet heart was inquiring about you,
where you are and how you've been,
said you've been gone too long.
I lied, said you'd be back soon,
and you didn't forget about us,
and you still stay up at night when the moon hides behind gray clouds.
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A Short One
It turns out
you were content with breathing
the salt of the ocean that stretches between us.
We like to store our smiles in possibilities.
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Yellow Polka Dot Dress
Last night's dream smells of cigarettes and sex.
I reminded you of...
The day.
the day I painted a picture with the shades of yellow of your false sense of security.
You asked me how could I still remember.
I asked you, "how do you expect me to forget?"
Your scent still lingers
on my fingertips,
and the corners of my lips.
Last night's dream smells of shades of yellow.
How do you, honestly, expect me to forget?
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Broken Furniture
Wake up. It's morning.
Wake up. My eyes are frozen.
Wake up. Listen to my insecurities.
Wake up. My heart is burning,
catching fire like the days of summer we spent together in that apartment.
Remember the apartment overlooking that street where cars sped downhill?
Remember the street and that I almost got run over?
Remember the broken furniture that people would leave on the sidewalk?
I laugh because now I'm broken furniture on the sidewalk.
Wake up. Because another day ended last night.
Wake up. Because another day begins today,
and that means it's that much closer to tomorrow.
Oh, how I long for tomorrow.
Because tomorrow I might stop being broken furniture.
Wake up.
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The Dark Hedges 2011 by Klarens-photography The Dark Hedges 2011 :iconklarens-photography:Klarens-photography 1,013 138
please don't read this
it is raining and cold here and i miss you.
i want to pack my things so i can visit you
but it's huge and exhausting,
and like usual
i can't find the energy to do it.
instead i am drinking coffee with
much sugar,
and looking at my room of
many boxes and
much stuff
and writing down memories of
many things
we never got around to doing.
i can't get dressed.
the clothes sit cold and pressed in front of me
and i can't put them icy sleek on my limbs.
i can't shower.
i can't leave my hair cold and dripping down my back when all i see are dead-snake pigtails leaking blood
and steam choking me like nazi gas chambers.
and so i know
the depression is back.
it settles deep and lazy and familiar in my stomach
under the ten pounds i don't remember gaining.
i reach for my razors to bleed some
back into myself, before remembering you confiscated them,
and i come up empty.
empty empty empty and i eat until my stomach is stretched taut but it doesn't fill me.
i curl up tiny tiny
:iconlasalasdelalma:LasAlasDelAlma 23 34
...lost in time - 83 by SAMLIM ...lost in time - 83 :iconsamlim:SAMLIM 64 8 Gadget by doubleleaf Gadget :icondoubleleaf:doubleleaf 7,455 1,026 Bloom by rodluff Bloom :iconrodluff:rodluff 1,993 258 Princess by asuka111 Princess :iconasuka111:asuka111 10,712 482 Staring At My Dream by oO-Rein-Oo Staring At My Dream :iconoo-rein-oo:oO-Rein-Oo 4,850 570 ready to start by icecreamwar ready to start :iconicecreamwar:icecreamwar 621 147
I STILL LOVE YOU!!" she screamed down the block. She screamed it into an empty street, she screamed until her sound filtered through the windy trees. Desperately, she clung to the clean grey ends of her jacket, fumbling with numbed fingers over silver clasps, letting loose her scarf and surrendering it to the wind. She wanted to feel the cold. She wanted to feel alive, and for once, not hate herself for the cliche buried in that sentiment.
It echoed down the block and dogs in their houses turned their heads at the faint sounds. Their owners were oblivious but the trees, they wondered, and the cats, they speculated, and the stars… well, the stars, they knew her story. They listened quietly as she ran down empty streets when the moon and the sun turned blind eyes to her emotions.
"I STILL--!!" She tried to scream the words again, but she rose up singing them through the ice in her throat. She held a soundless dialogue with the wind.
I still love you! Eve
:iconmokushi-saiki:Mokushi-Saiki 1 4
Jim, do you know what you drink? Do you know those black and blue poisons you sip like wild honey that in truth, eat at you like shovels? As the lines on your face harden and you gulp that poison down, do you understand that you will lose your sanity? I've seen men lose themselves with that honey, but not like you Jim. No, when you make your head happy, your heart dies a thousand times over. The other men come back for more poison because they know they don't have another choice. You do, though, Jim.
When you walk home, I see the sway in your walk and the murder in your eyes. And you do worse than murder, Jim. Don't you see the love Momma has for you when she stands there in the cold door frame and smuggles you in? You have a chance for love, but you don't have the time. No, even the loneliest bachelor or the most heartbroken widow would long for that sweet warmth that a lover gives a lover in their time of need. But not you. No, not you.
And when Momma holds me and tells me you'll get
:iconbanana-bash:BaNaNa-BaSh 2 13
bluka by missveryvery bluka :iconmissveryvery:missveryvery 120 14
white cotton dress
and apricot
sash –
bringer of fencebirds,
coaxer of beetles and
hardly more
than a child
in your
rosen blush the
product of
a Ptolemaic stare
to make wary
those never
for portraits
on canvas
or coins
to think that
she is
that she has a
to realise,
you're a tree
that only
:iconmelodythelittlepony:melodythelittlepony 19 13



Let our histories burn like fireflies in the cold ocean of the sky.
  • Listening to: Band of Horses
  • Reading: lecture notes for my final tomorrow
  • Eating: Strawberries and creme
  • Drinking: Water


Alejandro Ortiz
United States
Current Residence: Long Beach, CA
Operating System: Windows 7
Favourite cartoon character: Gir


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MagicalJoey Featured By Owner Nov 30, 2010   Writer
Welcome to :iconmy-soul-bleeds-ink:

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Mokushi-Saiki Featured By Owner Nov 15, 2010  Student Traditional Artist
thank you for the :+fav:! i appreciate it.
BaNaNa-BaSh Featured By Owner Aug 11, 2010
Thank you for the fav. :thumbsup:
Poetrymann Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2010  Professional Writer
A big thank-you for viewing and faving my work.
you are much welcome. You have good stuff in there, so it's not a problem to me, heh.
BlackInfinity666 Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2010  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thanks so much for visiting me <3
hyphenated-semicolon Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2010
No problem, I was just checking out what you had to show. Gallery's still small, so I'm looking forward to see more of your stuff =)
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