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Hour of cycleThe rain doesn't phase me
Neither does your look
Leave me be
Let me go
I want you
Right next to me
Why can't I
A wolf's in sheep's clothing
A deceiver among priests
You aren't even human
Why should I trust?
Stay away from me
from my family
to wherever you came from
I want to convince you
I want you to understand
I want you
And that's all
GlycideThose voices told me over and over again I wasn't going anywhere. That I was repeating the same steps over and over again, and that I was playing the game wrong. You might call me crazy, because, maybe I am. That I'm trying to forget, that I'm trying to have a selective memory, which I never could have in the first place. There were things I honestly wanted to forget, things that shouldn't have ever happens, things I should have never done, things I regret. And that was why the punishment of eternal life, was more then I could have asked more in the end. So as I stood on the top of the cliff, I watched the birds fly on the skyward wind. As my hazel eyes watched the forest, watched the city in it's small section. The cliff near the lake overhanging it almost like a monstrous beast. What made this my home?
My hand scraped along then, the small wolf crystal around my neck, the bright color of purple. Then, I looked at my right hand, the small golden ring with five little diamonds em
Remember all those days
All those promises
I wish I could
Tell you we can go back
But we both know
Not everything can be okay
I want to believe it can be okay
Trust me I do
But all things end
It just seems the better things
Won't last as long
As we thought they would
So I want to smile and say
Maybe we look back
But, I hope you do
Those memories you gave me
I wanted to see the rain again
I wanted to see your smiling face
But all that I could see
Were these torn pages
I'm not saying that it wasn't fun
That the adventure wasn't worth it
That spark in your eyes
I'll never forget it
But time past
Things and people change
So maybe it's time to move on
Your name is smeared on the pages
Embedded like a scar
Those pages are my skin
My diary of my life
I can't get rid of those memories
It's like a record playing in my mind
And whenever I think of something
It reminds me of you
so I regret all those things
These torn pages
I hope that we can both
Meld them back together again
WriterIt's my drug
The one that drives me away
From it all
It's like a shoot
Draws me to an addiction
Writing is my addiction
It pulls me away
And it feels good
Writing is my addiction
VirusMom, why are we here? One day, I want to see the sun.
I pushed into the can to muster the last of the peaches out into my dry mouth. We were running out of water supplies, so we would have to ration it. But, it was simply another day in the Krack cut hospital. A lot of the sick here have thought that the doctors forgot about us, those who remained, were either sick themselves, or had felt pity for our lost souls. Nearly seven years ago, a new virus swept the land, more painful, more slowly then any other. They called it the zombie virus, because when it was done with you, there was nothing but an empty shell, and you'd lose your mind. Madness, was only the first symptom of your death though. My father had been the first one to be diagnosed. I was five then, and he died last year. It was painfully, painfully slow. It took six to five years to settle in. After that, it was all hell. Friends, families, pets, they were all quarantined in Krack cut in our town, where I haven't
Letter to myselfSo in a story, you have the elements of plot. The introduction of characters and setting is called the exposition. The rest is just a jumble in my thoughts however. Rising action?
"Huh?" A pencil rolled across the desk, the tip broken. My green eyes pulled over the notes I had just written. That's right, I had been writing about elements of plot, and how....how, what was it again? I sighed and leaned back in the black wheeled chair. Stretching my arms and placing them behind my head. I couldn't remember what I was writing, but, this happened more often then I thought. I would start writing out my thoughts, and suddenly stop myself, because I was afraid something horrible would show itself. Yeah...something horrible.
I pushed my hand on the desk and stood up throwing the chair back as it clicked. Moving over to the window, where the city lights shined through my window in the dark. I placed my hands in my pants pockets, placing my head against the window to look
Don't get burned
The winter months were mainly why I had chosen this spot to build Lockwood. That and, it was the only dimension I knew of without any intelligent life to build structures like humans did. Though it was clear I was making sure all of the technology being used wasn't hurting the environment. I was on my back, splayed out in the snow. A small clearing before the lake was here, as the snow flakes drifted down. Like tiny parachute's, a few falling on my cheeks as my hazel eyes drifted over to try and look at them though it strained my eyes. My hand outstretched towards the sky as one of the snow flakes fell on my hand, freezing farther to make a snow flower. I sat up, snow falling off my black shirt as I examined the flower. The tiny frozen water drops glistened, as I could see my breath cover it in wisps. My small fangs sitting there with my mouth open as I let the flower melt and fall onto the ground. The tree's were bare, and everything was cold, but the weather didn't bother
The OwlThe world was a cruel place, and humans were even crueler. No matter who you are, you all strive and struggle to come off as an illusion, or as the good guy. There are the good, the bad and the ugly, majority of it is ugly. Hidden under kindness, hidden over every other emotion. And any other human being, is no exception, to monsters who may stand to reason over the world. The monsters inside, the monsters we are constantly fighting, what's the point?
I held on tight to my school books as I walked through the gate, making sure not to loose them in the wind. Bucknear academy, was a boarding school, in the middle of the forest. Surrounding us was a large forest, and beyond that, was a rounded fence, to where none of the students could escape, not even climb, because of the electrical current going through it. Most of the students here, like me, had been sent as a rehab as "bul
Dreamers If you first heard about my dream, you'd blink, utterly silent. Or you'd just knit your brows together, like you misheard me. Maybe you'd laugh out loud, or snicker quietly. You might mutter something hurtful under your breath. Take your pick; they've all been done. Second is the most popular one.
"I'm sorry, what?" you say. The tone of voice makes me dig my hands deeper in the warm cocoon of a grey pocket.
"I... well. I've gotten interested in theatre and... um, other vocal talents these past months. Like opera and musicals. So, I'm basing my future off of that." Hard as I try, this never sounds professional. I sound like a child telling someone they want to be Spiderman. I sound tiny, as if I am an ant ready to be squashed by the toe of your boot. My smile is crumpling.
This is usually time when the chuckling erupts. "An opera star? Like on Broadway?" The laughing dies down a bit, face still gleeful. "You?"
"Well... sort of. Maybe not even opera, just musicals. Or vice ve
Ticking Torture I'm alone.
Surrounded by fake smiles, cruel hearts, deceitful lies, mocking hatred. I'm trapped and alone like a mouse. No one to seek comfort. No one to hold my hand. I'm truly, utterly alone.
Now, all I see and encounter are fakes, hoping to destroy and shatter the things in their path. Both sides tug my arms, wanting me to pick sides. They rip me apart, tearing me from my sanity that's slowly crumbling like soft soil. Yes. A listener I shall be. A judge I shall not. I can only listen and leave, not intending to be engulfed in such sheer pleasure of deception and emotional malice.
As I set my foot into the world, all my eyes can see are pain, suffering, and death. I can only gulp in fear and distress. I can only move my legs faster, hoping and wishing to be in my solitude where no one can ever break what's left of me.
A smile. A laugh. A mere giggle that shows joy and whatnot. Those are all mask
As the days pass....
As the days pass....
And it goes,
Like the clouds
On a windy day,
But on these windy days,
It's a time to soar,
Like a kite ..
As the days pass....
We lose love,
And people die,
Like a flash of light
The storm rages,
But in these storms,
Everything fades away,
Without a trace ..
As the days pass....
Words are impossible to speak,
And they shouldn't be spoken,
Like death seeking a soul,
It claims its life,
But at his death,
He is ready and says 'good bye',
In a whisper ..
PrettyYou say you're not pretty.
But you were born with two hands and feet, each carrying five digits on each figure, which enable you to feel and move to your heart's content.
You were born with two eyes, which unlocked the view of the world to you.
One mouth, which spewed thoughts, emotions, and words.
Two ears, in which noises of all types carried into.
One nose, which lets you perceive the pungent odors in this world.
One heart, which beats out the rhythm to your life.
A soul, in which your dreams, hopes, and desires fill in to shape a unique personality.
So, please enlighten me on what's so unappealing about that.
Prologue of Romeo and JulietTwo families with same wealth,
Similar land and social health,
Despite this, there is war,
A fight that families will endure,
Blood is drawn with hate,
Making Lovers' hearts break,
Together it's all they need,
Yet families' hate continues to breed,
With death and their passing,
The Lovers prove that love is ever lasting
The sun rose this morning and told me
It was going to rain
So I gathered up all my things
Just like the sun had said
But many were left with nothing
I stretched my wings so far
but it did nothing
No matter I wanted to help them
The sun was at it's highest peak and told me
It was going to flood
So the animals crawled on my back
to live another day
This time I had done something
If not at all
But as the sun set
I could only dread
Everything around me began to darken
As the sunrise became the sunset
And as such a story started itself
it soon ended
Sunrise to Sunset
We will never meet
five.Five is the number of times you worry he’s stopped breathing, as the surgeons carve around his heart, twisting away the plaque ridden arteries, and pulling a vein out of his leg. Five is the number of heart wrenching hours you and your family were waiting in the hospital room, worried that your lives would crumble, that there would be five members of the family instead of six, that five days out of the week he would not come home for dinner, that five kisses from him would no longer be given to his wife and four children. Five was the amount of fingernails you bit off while watching people enter and exit the waiting room, and the amount of minutes your mother spent on the phone, explaining that something was wrong. Five is the critical difference between holding a father’s hand as your mother cries into his heart shaped pillow. The difference between rejoicing and smiling weakly because he’s okay or carrying your father’s American-flag-covered-casket and watchin
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