Hello again! It's been 3 months since our previous seasonal feature and it's time for a next one, the third one. As previously, I'm picking deviations which have below 300 favourites, but it's still really hard - I'd feature all of them if it didn't take so much space. If you liked some of the works here especially, don't hesitate to suggest it for a Daily Deviation, here you may find all the tips how to do it.
The Demi Mask LitaniesThis is such a fantastical burn
Filling splattered crevice
of a whiskey-induced mosaic
Just one more shot to sear aching soul
- my delightfully plushy woe
Then a reflection peaks. She's such a young thing.
A pretty girl with cerulean, glinting eyes
She holds me; enthralls me
Her infectious grin coils;
just like marionette strings -
A single twitch and I'll dance
Down the cliff, hearing her echo
Cement such calcite
Delusions swell splendid grease
No, I refuse.
I will not hide behind her mask
Her constricting, tormented merriment.
To dismiss that sorrow; condone the yore
and reject a shattered angel. I decline.
Instead, recognizing her agony
I'll seize such aching poison
And vanish into the withered nightmare
To dissect the nuance;
Of each fancy; each fray
I will slay the whirlwind incubus
And hide:chanting my own obscurity.
To fade within this bound crease
Perhaps, once slain,
I will be healed
I'll look up
Coffee StainsDress shoes click on the streets laid slick with cinnamon and wasted air
It's sugar on your lipstick, darling; a dangerous affair.
You chose coffee
Like you chose romance
Just for the idea of romance; cream and smoked wood swirling around in your cup,
And steam curling up into the atmosphere like the locks in his hair.
Tantalisingly dark and hauntingly aromatic
You craved it
You mocked the raven that eyed you from its branch out in the blustering courtyard and
You didn't even like the taste.
The silver curve of the teaspoon showed your warped reflection like a deathly omen
It showed the line of your neck and each glittering pearl
The hanging clock on the wall, for all its carved hearts and varnished oak
Couldn't quite drown out the tolling
Pendulum swinging by your ear as you ran your hand along the creases in the leather seat
The sweet, too-strong perfume mingling with the scent of the
Dark black coffee
Much as the gold around his wrist had
AnathemaI give you an offering
Spilling pain into your glass
Here's a toast to all the criers and to those who gladly
Drank their tears
Be quiet, or you'll draw the moths
Who flutter and weep and titter
In their habitat in society's periphery
Where everything that seemed to die
Found a way to stay
I give you an offering
And you give me a scar
Hacking away at my hope
Until I am but a skeleton
In your scorched, decaying closet
You think you can get away?
An open book, a closed mind
The game isn't over until my glass is full
Until the room goes dark and deathly quiet
I give you an offering
And you hold me close
Oozing symbolic inner demons
You're doing this to yourself
I'm merely observing the effects
And collecting the remains
Asking for forgiveness is like asking for rain
It doesn't mean the sky will comply
It doesn't mean it hears you
I give you an offering
And you push me over the edge
Telling how you care so much
Showing how you care so little
Shh...Her breath lethargic, so weak in my arms. Her tears kiss my torso, the golden locks of her hair caress my arms, my fingertips.
She hugs her knees, curled up on herself, while I in turn, hold her in silence. I'm a jerk, I'm insensitive, I can't say anything, I can't offer any single word. And I think: "The silence and nothing more. That I offer to you, and you know, that is why you are here."
And if she breaks in my arms? No, definitely I didn't utter a single word; just moments ago her tears were a desperate flood, whining incessantly, making my body her warm den. Now it has calmed down, her bright black eyes are red, lost, looking out the window crowded with stars.
Her body still shakes but I have her in my arms. Time moves in silence, lies on her warm and freckled shoulders, spreads across her face, sorrowful and absent; time has died in her languid eyes.
The roof moves away from us. The solid wall behind me looks like the soft mattress of my bed. She calms down, and cools. Her tears
Have you?Have you?
Wolves with umber eyes prowl these woods,
Claws slashing bark, noses wet with berry juice.
The woodsman lumbers towards the cottage
Not knowing that the red cloak is already shredded.
Photocopies of faces are tacked to telephone poles
Asking "Have you seen...."?
Jewerly and clothing
Sculpture and artisan crafts
If you know any artists that would find our group a place fitting for them, don't hesitate to invite them. We lack especially writers, poets, sculptors and artisan crafters!
Winter Feature 
Spring Feature 
Next such article - Autumn Feature in October
And don't forget about our Haunted contest!