Hey, my name's Deborah. You can call me Debz :)
Just a 20 year-old girl waiting for the right guy...
That guy that every girl knows...
Who visits her in her dreams, roaming her subconscious mind but never materialises...
*sigh* I guess this is an outlet for my romantic ramblings, and other things that traverse my mind :3
All my posts are mine unless stated otherwise ;)
Did I mention that I'm staying a virgin 'til I get married?? Apparently that's rare these days... :/

Waiting For Love...

and other things ;)

Something For Valentine’s Day (1)

These petals need to be crimson,
Your lips are barely blue,
She’s bleeding you of love,
But these roses are too few.

Your eyes don’t flicker for a second,
They just fluctuate in hue,
How much more love could you possibly give,
Without dehydrating the fabric of you?

These petals are now rich in red,
You’ve bled past Valentine’s curfew,
She’s loved up and seated on Cupid’s cloud,
Eating chocolate-tipped stars as she watches you.

Your love is still seeping,
She could care less about you,
You have given until your drip ran dry,
And she hasn’t the faintest clue.

Two must seek to give,
Reciprocate more times than a few,
So that Love may go from A to B
And back again, refreshed and anew.

On Tumblr Anniversaries and Blue Tags

Had to restart my laptop and put my glasses on because a foreign blue tag was stuck on one of my poems!
It’s seems that certain people are listening when Sunny talks… lol

But in all seriousness, this is the best belated Tumblr anniversary gift ever!!! My very first blue tag! xD
A big thank you to Sunny and the editor who featured, ‘Who Else But You?

Love and Taylor Lautner llamas for you both~ xOoX

TWO blue tags after TWO years on Tumblr in ONE day?!?!
I’m a happy bunny :3

Heartbreak Doctor

Apply the balm of
your clinical caresses
and sedate me with
your narcotic kiss.
A lethal mix of tongue,
teeth and adrenaline,
is necessary
for this.

Tranquilise the rest
of me too, make my body
resonate with the
thrum I feel down there,
so I won’t have the strength
to conjure his face over
yours as you suture my heart
using truths whispered with care.

These words are the thread woven
in and out of torn tissue with each
thrust of your average-size needle;
you finish by pouring glue between
the puckered, engorged flesh and
(it burns) as you bandage me
in antiseptic arms—- I wonder
about how things could’ve been.

Who Else But You?

He didn’t have the common decency
to break me as most would, with
poorly-placed pauses and whispered
words drowned out by internal
screams and the shattering of
marble dreams, instead
he shut me down
with ‘It’s not you, it’s me
and threw away the bloody key,
which landed in a place I dare not reach…

And so, my legs walked their way
to your forever open bedroom door
because who else but you
could cup my heart in their hands
as though it was the face
of someone who had stopped breathing?
You resuscitated it, from pale-blue and
barely beating to ruby-red
and fearfully teetering towards an attack
that would be complete fault of my own,
keeping the pace of *inhale*—-*exhale*
as you filled me with unsaid romantic words,
stitched together in lyrical verse fit
for jazz songs, and fantasies made to be
poetically spoken, in hopes that this one-sided
routine could maybe become a tango
of tongues between your Bourbon lips.

You replaced the wisps of mundane
on which I lived with
billows of Life founded on a love
I never knew you capable of conceiving
and in doing so, fettered me to you
as the suggestive roll of your hips
conjured imaginings that tickled my
stomach, dissolving dead butterflies
and waking the moths that dwelled there.

And so again, who else but you
could I be referring to when
I’m on my knees, praying
in a room of paintings and cherubim,
Please… Let me love him…

Different Kinds Of ‘Sorry’ (ii)

The kind that starts
with the removal of
clothes discarded
like wrapping paper
to reveal the imperfect
figurine stores hesitate
to sell — with her
becoming curves and
her doe eyes darting while
her hands move to cover
what she deems unsightly, her
not-so-angular face flushed
as she awaits the touch of words
that will either scar her or
save her from inner demons
that mock her with ‘Fee Fi Fo Fum's;
she will doubt, ‘You are beautiful’,
because Tom, Dick, and Harry used
the exact same line, but
her soul will respond to
the sincerity in unwavering eyes,
allowing love to be shown to her body
- inside and out -
in a way that embodies reverence
and a ‘sorry’ that wasn’t yours to say…

A brief moment? Please, I
Want nothing more than to gaze
Into your eyes again, and I want
Nothing less than a look in my
Direction. They say that eyes are the windows
Of the soul so let me search for the smidgen of emotion that
Will act as my buoy, because I’m drowning in the sea
Of my own tears… Each act of indifference
From you turns insignificant trickles into unforgiving torrents,
Ostracising me from myself with the resulting whirlpool that
Plunges me… into a consuming darkness…
Oh please a cold glare would suffice, I would be the
Recipient of the sweetest frostbite,
Trembling from the attention while shivering for warmth,
Unperturbed by the
Numbness I’m sure to feel…
If you would only give me a chance, a fleeting glance
To let me know you feel something for me,
Yet you never grant me a window of opportunity.

Different Kinds Of ‘Sorry’ (i)

The kind where she gazes
up and into you,
seeking your soul with
crescent eyes that
glisten like droplets of rain
upon leaves in the wake
of a shower, illuminated
by moonshine;
she bites down to impede
lips that tremble like
new-born lambs and
one can’t help but notice
that she needs this
- your forgiveness -
so that the lunar cycle
of her eyes can
phase to full moons.

So happy it’s unreal!! xD
Stressing over results day and university has been the main reason for my absence (and severe lack of inspiration -_-). With this concern now out of the way hopefully I’ll be able to write again before university life prevents me from doing so. :P

He lies on top of me
in such a way that there
isn’t a space between us,
save for a hair’s breadth
distancing our lips.

Eyelashes interlock
the way our fingers
would if his hands
were not either side of
my head and
I could swear that
he has no soul
because the windows of
his eyes are too dark
for there to be something
on the other side.

He is inside of me
but not in the way that
lover’s do it—- he
fills me, albeit momentarily,
like a ghost passing through
matter - there but not
there yet here, there,
and everywhere.

I feel him —- his
molecules pairing with
mine and dancing
to the tune of my heart-
beat backed by the bass of
his dark undertones;
"…You make me feel alive…"

I slowly awaken
and experience a
full-body tingle
as the pull of reality
fights the pull of
subconscious things
to remove from me
the presence of a being
whose essence
was the stuff of dreams.

Message In A Bottle

I can only hope
that every
tremulous touch
and cautious kiss,
each sweeping caress
that was a statement of bliss
travels through the waves of
pleasure caused by the
ripple effect of my
fingers across
the stretch
of your skin
—- like a message
in a bottle
tossed out
to sea —- in hopes that
they will convey what my
words cannot as they permeate
into the fabric of your thought so
you can realise just how much
I love you.

Our engagement was perfection incarnate, fit to be made into a manuscript that would easily enchant any audience. Even the dust beneath the soles of our feet were marinated with the rich serenity that filled the air in every room of the hall we booked and also in my heart.

Contented sighs escape my lips whenever I find myself seated in the back of a warm taxi. Nostalgia graces my being with its hold and I enjoy each sheltered moment.

…Well, I used to.

Now he no longer allows me to pretend that what have is as real as it used to be, laying waste to the remaining evidence of our time together - that could have been a lifetime of forever - like a stack of cards in the merciless wind.
He lowered himself onto my naked body, into my open arms, and strangled me with the coldness of his touch, the refusal of a loving gaze in the form of closed eyes, and tore from me the victory of a life that we could have shared.

He wanted a new direction that was perpendicular to mine, ensuring that we would never meet again.
He was terrible to me, but I would forgive him if he returned the part of me that was missing

Creative writing exercise: Write a piece of prose or a short story using words chosen at random.
(Bold words were my random picks.)

I know that I haven’t been on in forever but I wanted to stop by and say that this is farewell for now guys…
At least until exams are over.

'Til then you should all prepare yourselves for my heart-spamming~

As usual, you’ve been warned…

Dropped You Like A Mobile Phone


the way a mobile phone is
when its owner releases it mere
inches away from a close, solid
surface and so freefalls to
a possible break or end.


were her ‘mobile phone’ weren’t you?
Constantly cradled in the crib
of the palm of her hand, screen
stroked and poked, volume switched
from high to low, buttons pushed


you were her personal remote control…
and you allowed her to watch all of
her favourite channels without
so much as an over-usage toll;
she played with you like


girl too young to care for her
toys would play with a doll,
bending you, almost breaking
you, straining you into
stress; you were a mess


to her in more ways than one.
She made you vibrate and ring
with preset tones that she
had downloaded, hard-coded in
your bones… Now she wants another


one with more functions
and features, an appealing
creature who will replace
you who lays flat, broken and
battered on her living room floor.