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About Deviant Official Beta Tester toxic--sunriseFemale/United States Groups :iconpixeldolls: PixelDolls
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Everything and anything, plus the stuff between.



February 2015 by toxic--sunrise
Sketches by toxic--sunrise
Tiny traditional bust sketches of whomever you want :D


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1 deviant said GO GO GO
No deviants said I'LL DRAW SOME OF THEM.


Fri Sep 11, 2015, 3:36 PM
:glomp: Have I mentioned how sweet you are? Thank you for your contnous support.
Tue Mar 10, 2015, 3:44 PM
I invite you to join
Mon Mar 2, 2015, 4:06 PM
Wed Nov 23, 2011, 8:42 PM
Btw, deviantArt is having a glitch where it won't let me comment on your profile. :shrug:
Thu Jul 21, 2011, 9:03 PM

Devious Journal Entry

Journal Entry: Thu Oct 15, 2015, 10:11 AM
Stitching Earth by betwixtthepages

Mature Content

APSISThe Advanced Planetary Survival Intelligence Scout had been active for just over a century, sent into space to seek out new worlds for humanity to colonise. She'd far exceeded her own estimates; it had taken a vast amount more time than her makers had anticipated, but her mission was finally complete. Jupiter rolled below her as she slingshotted around it. Nearly home.
APSIS looked like someone had dropped a dozen different-sized eggs and had tried to reconstruct one from the shards. Her engineers had told her she was beautiful. She was travelling at luminal velocity, faster than any signal she could send. Her makers would'nt know about the planet she had found until she told them directly; she was mere minutes away from fulfilling her purpose now. She hoped they would be pleased.
Her impellors glowed blue as she rocketed out of Jupiter's orbit. Earth and Luna were thin rings of light hanging between her and the sun; right now they were the only places humanity could be found in the wh
the raven that refused to singi'm losing ground.
the circles from the half-empty wineglasses
stain every available surface.
your teeth are so red
& your cigarette is still smoldering
in the ashtray, along with a dozen others,
remnants of your last anxious night.
don't lie to me;
you won't lie to me,
not as the darkness closes in,
parting the air,
everything torn apart,
& i know how you woke up at 4AM,
a bloody nose cupped
in your hands.
your teeth were so red
the last time you took a wrong turn
& fell away, away,
holding your breath in silence,
& it was the last time i told you
how you violate symphonies
when you can't see where you're going.
trip, fall down
into the distant shores, to the place where words
write themselves,
& it's worth it when your knees break
as you land.
you're so red when you fall,
& i know
where you're going
& why,
but really,
i miss you so much.
part the sky & come back home;
i need to hear you singing
in my sleep.
part the sky &
for me;
i could see you when i dreamt &
i know the vis

It is 9 in the afternoon& I have forgotten
how to write in poetics-
tongue kissed & gaping like
a siren missing from her sea.
I have been coughing up black
for days.  Unable to clean the taste
from my mouth, these broken
typewriter keys sewn into my
fingertips scream something fierce.
They ache with longing
to tell of a story
that left them
for a better high
years ago
a story that never deserved
to make a home under the skin,
to crawl breech through an
unsuspecting womb.
-& out through the wrists
of young girls much too ripe
to fall from their beds.
I am so damn tired
of looking over railings
& wondering what
it would feel like
to fall.
(first) i learned it from Him(first) i learned it from Him
i will be earth
and hold you up,
high above the rest.
shall blind all who dare
to gaze upon you;
presumptuous fools, but i
will set my face upon
you, even as i am
blinded, my feet of clay
splintering.  this
shall dream of you
the flower the sky, waiting
to be woken
or watered.
i admire
every shimmering vein, every
bare lash, the fragile arches
of wrists, and the proud
neck, supporting a gentle curve
of face.
i wait patiently
for the day you put your
arrogance away in its box and find
that i have been holding you
all this while.
you have been strong,
but i am earth.  i hold;
i love.
it's what i do.
stars speak sign languageyou dug into the deepest corners of me
but never lost yourself long enough to
find something worth waiting for,
and it's as if this fiery carcass cannot create
a scintilla that lasts.
our pasts roared like suffocating
lions that could not be silenced.
we dove into a pile of animal
flesh, bathed in carnivorous fur & fangs.
you lingered no better than smoke,
like feathers floating in midnight skies.
your fingers sculpted my paper-mache
bones into Michelangelo's grandeur and
then spoke in sign language to tell the stars
that they are only as bright as their
Sunday night intentions.
i gazed through the center of the milky way
and found that i lost the nameless parts of
myself somewhere between 3 a.m. & the
battlegrounds of bed sheets.

Aphrodite's DissertationThe sound of catamarans upon the foam,
the march of cavalry and weary knights
who lay their bodies down are coming home
to linens drying like a hundred kites;
if not for love, what force are sword and chain
that they may honor empires with their call,
if not for me, they all have died in vain
and made of Troy the laughingstock for all.
Indeed, your chamois shirts and littered socks,
the tender cartilage of tambourines,
unfinished wine, and little jew'llery box,
and dual hemispheres of nectarines—
belong to me alone in my design:
the air you breathe, your everything, is mine.
Impression VIas contrails in a clear blue eye,
she streaked across his vision,
a wisp, a-wanna-be summer cloud
deep as the ocean but fleeting
fast in the wide open
reasons why I don't fly awayabove half-hearted streetlights and industrial flooding
and vague misinterpretations, I cut
a little too deep.
it always comes to this; hungry shivers,
dry voices, heavy breaths as your eyes
fixate upon a set point in the distance
which you label as happiness, a nirvana
in plain view but too far
for your rubber legs to take you there.
back then we were theorists developing
a new frontier; we were two dreamers,
two corpses on a collision course in
the desperate season. you warned me
there weren’t enough words to say
beautiful; as it turns out, we
were a slip of the tongue.
I woke this morning
a butterfly. you would like
the sun pouring through my wings and
the feathers collecting
at the foot of my bed.

parsleyI felt guilty about it --
typing instead of writing, I mean,
and there was something else
something I tried to type out
before I couldn't
it was about how
two people lost something
no, not lost,
it was taken, I suppose
although they had no choice
sometime past 0800
Wednesday morning
I wrote about how she remembered
wearing a blue gown;
it tied at the front
and she had to wear the silliest shoes
they kept falling off
there were other girls in the waiting room,
one was alone and had
pretty cheeks and white hair
but the other girl -
the one with the silly shoes,
she saw the circle on the screen a second time,
and he had to wait outside;
she cried in front of the surgeon
who didn't hold her hand,
maybe he was used to it
there was more waiting -
another lady told the girl
how she felt numb,
but she had cried a lot, before
something about allergies and
waking up after twelve minutes;
another room,
the surgeon was there,
and didn't smile
she woke up in a chair,
smothered in blankets
The Old God, Savitrॐ भूर्भुव: स्व: तत्सवितुर्वरेण्यं ।
भर्गो देवस्य धीमहि, धीयो यो न: प्रचोदयात् ।।
The wind blew sand into your nonchalant soul,
and your heart coughed. I entered the circle
at night, and I was consumed by fire. I did not
know of you then. I have fractured myself into
a thousand souls: but they are all whole, for I did
see you in my absence. Yet you? - you
were sailing, and your head was
full of water light.
I was significant when your mother poured out water
in a copper pot from a balcony; water, which
caught and held the moon, and then spilled over
with a quiet radiance. You wondered whether
the moon l
momentsThe universe expanding:
planets and stars all in a slow, ancient
three-step waltz;
swirling in the dust of space and time.
Continents shifting,
cities bustling,
crowds shuffling,
pulses pumping:
  each heart beats to its own rhythm.
A skipped step,
a missed call,
a glance at a watch:
  the tick of time measured by atomic decay;
of experience
(we lie in the grass
and gaze at the stars)

progress, they said.We have filled our lives
around us with gray.
Surrounded by concrete
in our attempts to
reach the skies-
trapping us in angles
of rooms that will tell us
that our boundaries exist
in between these slabs
as if they are anything more
than just a photocopy blueprint
of the most practical applications
of what we needed to build.
So that we can dress ourselves up
in black and white almost as if
we're nothing but photocopies ourselves
travelling along streets that
they try to tell us are
a respectable replacement
for the paths that we had
to take us where we wanted to go.
They will try to limit us
to being figures on papers-
numbers on a written check
telling us that we
are worth something,
as if we needed them to
tell us that to begin with.
And it will be because of this
that we allow these walls
to seep between us-
isolating us from everything
that we used to know
like how we were told
to shade properly within the lines-
and we will watch as
our last proof of life will
start to fade away
comfortgive me only what is left over
at the end of your days
full of people
who just want a piece of you
and I will pinch it together,
press out the creases,
and we will not call it love,
not this time,
but the comfort
of your hands
washing my hair,
of my hands
rubbing your back
might be enough
to knot the trailing threads
of our separate lonelinesses.
Ju-liedear july
i miss when you used to touch me. grow a custom-made bed and coax me to lie beside you. warm all over, you blowing on my neck, snickering as i shivered. wasting time in your heat.
do you remember the fort? back in the marsh, on the hill over looking the stream? the mosquitoes used to snap at my ankles before you'd chase them away, barking like a rabid dog. i thought we would make something there.
you had grande sized expectations for me. taught me to dance under the pine trees. knotted my hair with reminders; one, two, three. skin charred to exhaustion, forever awaiting a storm.
my coffee is black and small in stature. the same every time. storms have come washing your calamity away. sidewalks drying in hope.

Skin UnderwaterThe red blends to yellow,
your hands become my hips,
an extension of the mind comes to life in your eyes,
but we speed up just to slow down
when I should really be set on cruise control,
drifting into the curves of the road,
falling asleep with my skin underwater.
all portions collude
to galaxy.
the myth of waves:
one half of the desert
pours its bones
into the water.
the other half hoards them,
hardens into mountains.
"You know you've made it," she said,
cracking her fingers,
"when you can sit calmly while a fire spreads
and write without referring
to the flames."
all my bones conspire
to harbor
my death's head
sips out of a cup,
looks out the window
spotting a few birds.
The space between earth and the moon:
unpenalized light.
The inside of a cedar,
the absence of roots.
The silence of mathematics.
The magnetism between
crashing waves.
The moon in X-ray--
all my lost things.
Historyku I (en/fr)Alexander
even your shadow
is thirsty 
même ton ombre
a soif

Frantz, July, 19, 2013

rosemaryyou licked your lips when i walked in
smelling of woodsmoke. there was a weight in the air, and the empty space
felt unusually antiseptic.
somehow i wasn't surprised to find you perched on the old
rocker granddad had built,
your fingers tracing a labyrinth of grain.
your voice surprised me.
i sat on the floor,
spine rooted to the doorjamb.
i let you talk.
my eyelids were branded; when i blinked
the plasma echoes of the flames licked over your sharp edges.
the moon hung low and weary and it seemed too light, still,
to ask you to leave. hospitality
has always been measured in lumen. so i heard not your words
but the erratic rise and fall of inflection,
and remembered the way the fire sucked through the perforations
in the washing machine drum. feeding.
there was a brief insistence in your tone, and i
started paying attention again.
the question you swore you'd never ask.
'can i stay?'
i looked away from you then,
through the window,
and all i saw was a sto
FlowersI couldn't decide between roses and lilies. What a thing to be weighing on my thoughts today. I could hear you saying, "You little shithead, just get both. You know I like both." Yeah, that's what you'd say. I smiled and I got both, and even got them wrapped in the goofiest looking polka dotted paper they had at the flower shop. They looked nice, though. Still, I'm pretty sure your thoughtful "little shithead" endearment would've turned into "little dumbass". You would've told me how tacky it is to put polka dotted paper around pretty little flowers for mourning.
They really did look nice, though. The polka dots were a nice touch.
Besides, I've never been one to listen, anyhow. You knew that. People were always fussing on me to do this or do that when I was growing up. You kept your mouth shut, though. Well, kept your mouth shut mostly. I think I got that from you. I turned out pretty decent, though. Ya know, all things considered. I just have tacky taste about flow
twofold travestya welkin river of tears
tiptoe down a siren's face
as she tries
despite her inadequacy
of pride and girth
to covet her neighbor's lover
i watch her, disheveled dress
and a mess of mascara
lipstick a little bit scarce
on one edge of her lip
hickey on hip pulsing
a forbidden, bitten plum
she tries too diligently
to find her keys, still
gazing- lost
in a labyrinthine longing
for her neighbor's lover
defeated, i crumble on the porch

Turkey Revenge    Phil was angry. His tail feathers quivered with righteous rage. His mutated hands clutched the kitchen knife, and the kitchen door lay in splinters, what his psychic force had reduced it to.
    The woman who had raised him from a baby ran from the room, screaming wildly.
    "Who's thankful now, bitch?" the murderous turkey screamed.
mushroom cloud                                    "an explosion", she said
                 I turned to ask her what she was talking about when I
       caught sight of the tv screen, and for the tiniest of moments I caught
    myself thinking that there's something beautiful about that much energy and
 so much destruction; energy - would it wipe me off my feet? maybe melt the skin
right off of my bones? heat, death and poison, I don't believe there's much you or I
would be able to feel dying in those flames, and I should probably be ashamed that I
She was hisHope can be dragged through memories
and ice skate blades; it can be
gracelessly covered with clothes
that mismatch the seasons, but
it butterflies inside her chest with a simple
brush of chastened skin.

  • Mood: Neutral
  • Listening to: ---
  • Reading: ---
  • Watching: ---
  • Playing: ---
  • Eating: ---
  • Drinking: ---


United States
I'm unpredictable.


Haiiiiir. by toxic--sunrise
I was gonna color it but then I tried to erase while the ink was still wet and fucked it up. After complaining to IntelligentZombie I stashed it and fucked around with the brightness/contrast until it didn't look like I fucked it up anymore. 
Disappointment by toxic--sunrise
Drawing funstuff and the changing stuff until it's lines and mostly white space makes me happy.
Black and Blue by toxic--sunrise
Black and Blue
Still cleaning old sketches. Except. Uhm. I have two pages left in my sketch book D: Send help.
That's Not What I Meant by toxic--sunrise
That's Not What I Meant
I've been playing too many video games and tbh I think the NPCs would hate me if they could. Because they get allllll the shit items for their pretty ones I can't even use yet.


Could you do me a favor? If you're here to thank for a favorite/llama/ect please don't just say
"Thank you for [thing here]!"

It's annoying to just reply "thank you!" all the time. kaythx. :heart:



Add a Comment:
DeeryDeerth Featured By Owner Nov 15, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
A very late thanks for the llama! *ignoring all the rules right above the comments... again*

Err... first of all, I wanted to ask you how you've been. It's been a while since we struck up a conversation, and I was simply wondering. How is your book going? ;w;


A super-duper late happy birthday to you, dudette. :iconsupertighthugplz:
(1 Reply)
Lady-Yume Featured By Owner Oct 23, 2015   Writer
Happy birthday, dearie :heart:
(1 Reply)
VanessaCupcake Featured By Owner Aug 24, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
lovely art dear <3
(1 Reply)
InklingsOfOblivion Featured By Owner Edited Jul 29, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
thanks for adding my piece to your collection "words that inspire" - really means a lot :heart:

(1 Reply)
haphazardmelody Featured By Owner Jul 26, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much for the favorite! :heart: Sorry for the very late response to it - I'm playing a bit of catch-up in my inbox.
(1 Reply)
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