|Anyone is free to join, but, there are a few rules!|
1. You must not insult any of the artists on the page.
2. You can send in a deviation that displays nudity, but it has to be artistic! We do not accept pornography.
3. If your deviation was not accepted, try a different folder!
4. If your deviation was not accepted, do not post rash comments. Simply contact me (Nik / crooked-clockwork) and ask for a reason.
5. If your deviation was not accepted, it's because it may seem like lazy drawing, writing, etc.
6. No mirror and/or phone camera photos! I will make an exception if it is FX makeup, sculptures, etc.
7. And, lastly, if there is a watermark over the photo that is huge, the piece will not be accepted.
This group is for artists who post dramatic and macabre deviations! Feel free to give us a watch, join, or submit some of your art!
Meet the Founder!
Hello there! I am the founder of Dreadfully Dramatic and my name is Nik. I am a photographer / writer / poet myself so you can find some of my deviations in this group here and there. Honestly, I do a lot of the submitting of deviations to the group and I approve all the submissions. The increased amount of fanart in this group is mostly my fault, so you can blame me for that.
Meet the Contributors!
Hello, I am Ilona, photographer from Ukraine Also I love to draw & soon I show something on deviantart You all know what Earth without ART its just 'eh" keep calm & try to make something cool
I am Jessica-Lorraine-Z, also known as ZombieQueen and Ziki. I create art in all mediums, however my main focus is on photography and photo-manipulation. I run two groups and help manage 8 others. I'm very active in the DeviantArt community and always respond to questions and comments. My main goal here is to express myself and enjoy the expressions of others.
A sick confession(& now I'm sick..A sick confession by Fro7a
They are spreading around
Screaming in my ears
"We will eat you all,
All of you alive"),
Sick like you were
The same diseases climbed to me
Once in one time
Like if they are re-reading something
Perhaps, a story happened once
About the times of those couple
They've had hard times..
Trying to wake his strength
by curing his illness
Covered with hurts..
A magic existed, .. & they were succeeded
Turning the magic into a curse
Recovering the diseases in my weak body..
Yes, it was easy to accomplish
But first, they've controlled my soul
and now .. here we go
They've had me all
synecdochemy mother's gotten fat off of my promises,synecdoche by StarlightComet
empty calories that just go straight to her
i made a meal out of truth once, set it down
for both of us to eat. she cleaned
her plate, asked for dessert-
threw it up later that night, said she forgot
how thin these walls are,
took the liberty of damning me to hell before
slamming the door.
god says to stop feeding her bullshit
from a silver spoon, tells me
you're so full of shit, your eyes are brown
every time i try to explain.
he tells me to leave so i go home
and pick my prayers from the pile under
get some elmer's clue and hope to hell
In the gallery of human flesh.I felt absolutely nothing gazing in Mona Lisa's blank sockets we excuse for eyes, and that twist of lips seem to quiver.In the gallery of human flesh. by kissysaltcoatedangel
The Mona Lisa was about to cry, and no one noticed.
No one cared.
The ever-growing weed of japanese tourists jabbed at my ribs and clawed me back into the ever moving tsunami of sinew.
Fawning over a whimpering woman, whose licked constantly by static flashes, constantly backed up against a wall.
We were surveying a corpse of promises, soaked in the blood of those who desired it.
Humanity is lustful for the Mona Lisa, who in turn has turned into a harlot of art.
Where was that mystery countless of bright-eyed art teachers serenade about?
That is why I left, left her to be gnawed by the sweat of ownership.
Each and every one of those scribbles of man owned her.
She is not her own.
Never will be.
I escaped into the crisp Parisia
Teenagers in a Wasteland. I've decided to cake the shadows under my eyes with contempt, filled to the rim of my eyelids.Teenagers in a Wasteland. by kissysaltcoatedangel
My armor is the moon stone earrings I slide into my earlobes and the one cuff, cause' I'm not that much of a rebel.
Remembering that when I was little I used to wear two color socks, always.
The left always came first.
And in a sea of mindless faces that drift like puppets on broken strings I see them.
We have called them poets, rebels without a cause, misfits.
With heads up high and the darkest murder red tainting their lips.
Forward, they strive.
Constellations of dried tears on their cheeks, but those smiles, like the stream of light on a rainy day.
Or for some, the starch lighting of desert summer storms, the heat palpitating from their body.
Ridiculed to no end, they strive in humiliation and eat their regrets for breakfast.
Downing them with their calming pills.
May it be a cigarette, stow-ay on their lips, or a
Memories of WarMemories of War:
What is this long-lost memory inside?
Where oceans turn; what have we left behind
With star-burned wings out above the sky.
The sleeping sons are lovingly left to lie...
A thousand tears you've cried for all,
Now its time for you to fall!
Will you open up the door,
To the future we ignore?
Are you simply lying broken,
From the memory awoken;
Are you simply living lies,
Bitter taste with ropes you tie...
And the world will soon forget.
Fill my heart with this regret?
For the victims written in stone.
Unspoken sin you now atone...
Yeah I've seen this world where we livin' in pain,
Wrap my body round with chain.
Now we both know we be broken;
Give this man his smokin' token.
Held up guns with both his hands;
Not a boy he's cause he's a man.
Order comes by a suit and hand.
Will you flee or will you stand?
This is a memory of our war,
Of all the things that we can't ignore.
And staying blind to the cries of pain...
Will lonely ashes be what remai
skyScarred and lonely I walk the earth
My feet dragging behind like some sort of leaded weight
Blood pours form wounds I had yet to sow
Questions swirled through my head like the cloud above my head, misshapen and without direction
Who are you?
Why does it hurt?
Will I ever heal?
I search for these answers; for I know they must be somewhere
Perhaps hidden in between the smooth river rocks who watch the world in a glimmering haze
A bird might have just flown away with them
My truth…hidden in between her golden beak
Sometimes I wonder if it even matters
Knowing these things
And each day I am reminded by the smallest of things like a flower blooming in the sun
Or a family walking in the park
Their truth is their purpose
To live and grow, blossom and to watch over
A smile taints my raw lips
" maybe…my purpose is to just wander...and watch…as the world passes me by…" I whisper to whomever may listen to such a wretched girl's voice
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