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Be blinded - I am blindedI found a funny poem and I thought I would let you know, I spoke quickly interrupting his attention…
A chuckle rose from my lips, his stare turning to wait patiently for the joke.
“I just want someone who will open their arms… for me to run into and hold me,”
A pause to break up the sentence of this poem,
“While I cry and will do anything… to climb my walls, no matter what it takes.”
A twitch of his lips breaks the barriers and suddenly I see that sm
Countdown to fineSomehow today I said that I was okay,
That I was fine.
I told of how I was happy… somehow it was not lie.
But now as I turn my head into your pillow, I press my face firmly into your sheets.
Angels markArms rose up to the burning sky.
Orange mixed with yellow sprayed out against the landscape above, untouched by human hands.
The light filtered down and warmed up every inch of my skin left exposed.
Though the sun was trying to hide behind its mountain friend, I knew that it would return.
There would be another day, another supposed glorious day.
Yet as my eyes focused closer to my fingertips, the blood dripped down like tiny rivers.
Why did there have to be another waking of the sun so high above?
The winds began to bustle past lifting up my skirt to meet it.
The ribbons that were worn and frayed seemed to suddenly have life once more;
Although I myself did not feel the same.
How could I, when all I could see for miles around was nothing but the grass? No life insight.
My strength faded as soon as the wind seemed too die, my knees rattled under the skirt.
That rattling turned to fear and I collapsed for none to see.
Hands outstretched it took the impact.
Heat seemed to rise up through
In case I dieIt is with a heavy heart that I read this to all of you,
(Yes, such a heavy heart)
Here lies a girl that turned to women, before life decided to steal it all away.
With tears I am sure that you have all cried or will continue too,
She leaves this world without a thought of you.
Or at least without a thoughtful one.
Now as I speak these words do take it however you may,
“Yes family, it is with great condolences that I have left you all of the material world.
I was just too damned impulsive.
I wasn’t the perfect little angel.
I did what I wanted and let the hurt, stop hurting me.
I raced the knife you wrough
Never askedIt’s r u n n i n g , it’s burning
… it’s ecstasy.
and it’s hot.
I tremble violently as I feel the rage sets in place.
It is nameless but it needs not have one this night.
I slip my hips to the side, the fire only racing up inside of me.
It’s mindless and I let it blind my eyes to the world outside my window.
The phone from my hand slips through my fingertips, it bounces to the floor below.
Not a care in the world, I could be whatever I need to be.
I am the changer; I feel every inch of my flesh burn as the blood pushes through my veins.
My thoughts turn to muddled words,
than to nothing but intense emotions that holds faces.
I sense the creeping smirk that seems to escape my mask of a face.
I snap my head to the side and let my anger control me. First it starts with the arms.
They rise slowly above my head, first trailing up my waist to my chest.
Snapping down they fin
Silence, heard but seeingThere is something to be said about keeping silent.
Watching the world through your heart, not your mind.
Hearing the words but feeling the sensations.
Aching, yet being blocked by obstacles.
I reach out with a trembled hand, the world floating just in sight.
(Is it really the world, or just another possibility already calculated for me?)
And I still keep my arm raised, even as the numbness sets in.
I am master less, in a world of past and present.
Strings that helped wrap around me are tattered and torn by the bedside.
A candle flickers trying not to be snuffed out by my breathes.
Desperately and impulsive, I find myself curling up inside my world, inside myself.
Maybe if I hold out a little longer, they’ll return;
Those voices that do not give comfort.
Yet without them I fear the silence, the stares I know they would make.
(Not soulless, just ruthless)…
The hours pass as I can feel my tension and anticipation rise,
The willpower to take that void and wrap my own strings.
NoISeThere is something to be said about living the life as a human.
A constant power struggle from within, and out.
Where the unreachable moments are within your fingers…
While Logic and Physics are
no where to be seen.
Taking Impulse by the hand, human life is even harder.
Grasping like children at the image and thought, of memories past and present.
There was once a guide in how to live as humans, but you took that took…
Your kind took that book and tossed it aside for the centuries, the decades.
Now there is no way to find a proper way to take each day in, and each day out.
In while the waves are crashing.
Out while my last breath settles in.
Sorry, Father I cannot keep up this façade much longer.
Already I fell. I will not do it again as your child.
But I do not know what more I can do,
do or say, would you have of me?
As they would say, give me a sign. A sign of affection… or affliction.
Either would do at this point, as I let this mortal mask fade.
There is something to be
So she said
So she said, with light in her hands.
Hair back with eyes forward.
in places of other's darker times.
(Stable as the wall flower…)
Her tone was true… was full of concern.
"It's okay," So she said,
"It's understandable…. There is a gift in you. In your generosity."
And said again each time, its meaning mean more each then the last.
Giving to trust impulsive thoughts, shaking secretly each meeting,
She allowed me a sense of self, a yearning passionate girl full of promise.
With each hand to open the door, in I exhaled.
For each crack of the door, a piece was returned.
Breathing in, slow and deep.
First scared, terrified that this girl was too broken.
Second motion, the one in control finally stepped forward.
Another darting of the eyes for any sort of escape.
Unsure of anything, her head spinning.
Feelings washing together, crashing, exploding…
One. Breathing in, and repeating.
A constant state of repair, yet breathing in
Hate. I hate myself.Short breathes, the rib cage didn't expand.
Too many thoughts wracked my thoughts, far too much anxiety.
The pencil no longer shook like from before, all those practice years ago.
Over and over, repetition was the key. Still somehow is. It manages,
For such a short time I never thought I would pick up this habit again.
(What other habits will return to the surface of my flesh?)
Coughing as my lungs feel the need to remind me that oxygen is important.
I slip, and breathe, unwilling to let myself have the nerve to continue moving forward.
I'm far too busy with allowing the music to take me further then I intended.
A slip of my judgment, down goes the rest of my sanity.
Yes far too busy.
Don't bother me, as I shut myself in these gates of past.
Fingertips at the edge of my wrist, I can feel the nails digging in.
Fear hits like waves and suddenly I realize nothing is what it seems.
I am not what I thought I was.
And I can never be.
Or ever would have been.
I was never able t
Maybe... Perhaps...Maybe ... because our encounters are given as numbered...
Perhaps ... there could be no poets in the world, but there will always be a poem for you...
Maybe... I want to eat you and fill me of you because I don’t know when I will have you again…
Perhaps... where my heart burns and rests, I will find you, my beauty...
Maybe... because there is no map to the place where we go...
Perhaps... because all of your kisses are stolen…
Maybe... Darkness and light are the work of one mind, features of the same face, blossom of a single tree...
Perhaps... Something special for you, whispering to the foolish hearts like mine...
Maybe ... because you decided to not stay with me...
Perhaps ... I have to resign myself to run away with you...
Maybe... As long as there are eyes that reflect the passions of the eyes who look at you...
Perhaps... The eyes can’t fit on the face of the world, and the eyes do not fit into the earth to admire your beauty...
Maybe ... Suddenly I found
love poem for a pianistyou make me think about
how heavy negative space can be.
the space between your fingers,
the space between notes,
the space between us
in this small, soundproof room;
every empty millimetre
in my chest
She + She"I like how our feminine gazes cross, from dawn till twilight
This honeyed voice of her, every time
She says she's deeply fond of me. Mellifluous sounds.
The way we roll up in the green watered grass, innocently
Our burning hands melt under our youth's sun beams.
After years of wandering, I'm conviced
I finally found how I should live.
Her arm around my pleased waist."
said Laura, with an indelible grin on her chubby face.
"I especially liked our fortunate meeting
I remember everything, every purple clouds among morning mist
Sprites sowed seeds of love on my path.
When I saw her, one word bolted in my stunned mind,
This stunning aura of her, just left me speechless
Spring butterflies in my stomach,
Each new sapphire moon with this girl is a gift."
said Charlotte, tightly holding her darling's hand.
"A dyke? Meeeh it shouldn't exist, th
RosesRoses are read and violets are blue
I gave my entire heart over to you
You took it from me and dumped it in the trash
I should've known; beauty never lasts
Roses are brittle and violets will wilt
All I did was try and ask you for help
You took me under your wing and crept into my heart
Then you made sure to take your time in ripping me apart
Roses are dead, the violets are too
How did I ever convince myself to trust you
Still, it was nice to think I had a friend
To bad I was just a toy to you in the end
FIOLEE,CAP 21 NO ME MIENTASFIOLEE,CAP 21 NO ME MIENTAS
¡Ahora lo que casi nadie espera que sucederá!
Una lagrima broto de sus ojos, trato de detener con persistencia las que le seguían…-no…¡Esto no ha acabado!-
Entre de nuevo en la casa del árbol, definitivamente esa tal Fionna me esta haciendo enfadar de nuevo, no entiendo como es que hace para que esa mirada y esa voz llena de compasión puedan penetrar en lo profundo de mi ser, me hace sentir extraño es como si quisiera estar a su lado y protegerla, ¿pero porque la protegería?, tiene una fuerza bruta inmensamente mortal, claro que eso no lo admitiré nunca por supuesto, pero cuando lucho sola contra mi y me venció baje de las nubes, nunca pensé que un humano pudiese vencerme, ella lo hizo posible.
No se que es lo que le ve al dulce chicle afeminado, digo, por favor, el no puede defenderse por si solo, además de que es un completo cobarde, ¿como i
GoodbyeRight now I don't want to remember,
And I hope I won't regret this,
But I know I won't want to forget this
Those final hours, and that lingering last kiss
Was the type of moment dreams dwell on,
No I won't forget this:
If that was the last time I held you,
And thought we'd have time,
The last time I tasted you,
And felt your skin slip against mine,
It's the type of goodbye
Writers write about,
Singers sing about,
And dreamers dream about.
Well, I'll scribble about missing you,
And about wilting flowers;
I’m always looking for a story, darling,
And 'goodbye' may be the best of ours.
Loud SilenceMy tongue cannot convey as much emotion as my hands can.
My hands can dance a dance of love & ecstasy, as I caress your beautiful skin.
My hands, they can express how much you mean to me with a gentle stroke of my thumb over your knuckle.
They can scream in anguish and displeasure as I pull my hand from yours, my futile attempt to
shield our awkward affection for one another from your eccentric, pushy family.
They can experience a euphoric sensation as they, ever so slowly, part your silky hair, silent pleasure emanating from my fingertips.
And they can aid in my eternal struggle, -to express my love for you and all you stand for, with a simple squeeze of your smaller hand.
Tears of GlassI wish I had someone to comfort now
like the girl staring back from the mirror-
I would whisper my love and hold her hand-
I would soak up her tears and find her smile.
But I can’t dry tears that are made of glass-
I can’t hear lovers’ words that are my own.
There is no one here who will hold me close,
and no companion I can charm to smile.
The only girl with whom I share sorrow
stares back from the mirror with tears of glass.
What Is He Worth?
A forgotten man
Is a soul worth losing
In spite of his successes
There is nothing he is
A shy man
Is someone worth ignoring
From day to night
Silence is his only sound
A man in love
Is someone worth crushing
His broken heart
Only matters to him
A forgotten, shy man who is in love
Doesn’t exist to her
He is invisible
So what is he worth?
The begining, the moveMy hand began to move, telling its tale, weaving it through your hair.
A twitch and I paused to linger just beside your neck.
Your breaths were deep and calm, as if you were dead asleep.
"A dead man walking", as you once would have called yourself, yet here you lay.
Completely and utterly alive…
…despite your Dearest Agony's best efforts.
I could remember when all seemed hopeless, when we were not as one.
As I closed my eyes, I shivered as it suddenly came before my eyes.
Bound by chains both, our arms grasping towards the other across the floor.
Growls they echoed against the walls the nightmares were coming.
Your Dearest Agony snickered in the darkness, her arms snaking about your waist.
I hissed but felt my misery grasp my neck and force me down upon one knee.
Like animals we tried to escape, to be free.
The fire in your eyes had dimmed, burnt out like the greyed sky behind our bars.
They had been the color of shadows since before I had entered your cell.
With a shaky hal
Little Miss It“Do you enjoy her company?”
That, Avadaci concluded, had been the extent of his grandfather’s kindness. Thank the stars he had broken his neck after a failed attempt to ascend the castle staircase. Not that many were privy to this information. The official listing on the cause of death involved something along the lines of falling in battle after slaying at least a dozen demons, although this was treated with quite a bit of skepticism by the general populace. Yet, interestingly enough, a decent portion of the locals believed a tale about the cannibals of Unkhtom devouring him whole.
Not that Avadaci really cared how his grandfather had died. He was just glad he was dead. And if he was glad his grandfather had died, Avadaci wondered, why did he have to attend his funeral? In fact, the whole kingdom was glad his grandfather had died. Why did they have to attend the funeral?
“Oh Avad,” proclaimed his mother, “obv
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