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The Gods are comingWhere will you be when Death comes calling?
Where will you be when God reaps what he sowes?
Where will you be when the Valkyries come to collect you?
Where will you be when Hel claims his souls?
Where will you be when Margawse tries to protect you?
Where will you be when Morrigan raises the sword?
Where will you be when Ra closes his eye?
Where will you be when Anubis is no longer lord?
Where will you be when Azrael no longer comforts you?
Where will you be when Azazel wakes for the judjment day?
Where will you be when the Seraphim come to find you?
Where will you be when the deamons take you away?
How do I?How do I deal with the lot that I'm given?
How do I play the hand that I'm dealt?
How can I love in a world full of pain,
If loving you was all that I felt?
How do I be the best friend that I am?
I feel like I sit there with nothing to give.
I wait and I listen to all that you say,
But suffering in silence is how I must live.
I may not be ready for what you now have,
The kissing, the touching and lovingly flirt.
With a grain of salt I swallow my pride
But it does not mean that I don't feel hurt.
You come to me with sorrows and woes,
And with a straight face I take it all in.
I listen, I sympathize, I give you advice
and at the end of it all, I force out a grin.
So I beg of you please, please tell me how?!
I'm tired of fighting the loss and the strife.
I'm ready to throw in the towel and bow,
to this so called existance that's become my life.
letting go?What can you do when you always lose?
You have no choice but they make you choose.
You close up yourself, for a safe place.
The hurting inside, written all over my face.
I want to release, I want to let go!
I want to choose freedom and go with the flow!
You've asked and I've answered. I'm sorry. I lied.
And these lies in my life, will see that I'm tied.
Where do you go, to get some diresction,
When I can't even stand my own damn reflection?
I want to be there and support you the way,
But I find it hard, when you'll listen to nothing I say.
I love you, I do. But I think that's the issue.
These negative feelilngs I just can't subdue.
The deception around, is of my own weave.
Maybe it's time that I take my own leave.
Love?My heart is a battlefield,
But which side am I on?
Nothing to view but a burialground,
And no one to watch, they're all gone.
Have I died in there?
Can I still see?
I wonder how I'd fare,
If the worms won't let me be?
My love inside has finally died,
It's been shattered just too many times.
Why does it feel like it has lied,
When Honest and Truth were it's only crimes?
I weep and I mourn,
For the past that's been lost.
My Heart's shattered and torn,
This pain is my cost.
Will I ever dare to love again,
If my soulmate shall never show?
This lack of love will drive me insane,
But I will not sacrifice it, Quid Pro Quo.
Remove the windows & lock the door,
Lower the celing and raise the floor.
All four walls begin to close in,
Panic begins to slowly affect him.
Make it Dark, as black as Night.
Make him blind, remove his sight.
Make it silent, he has no voice,
And in all this, he has no choice.
Release his anger, just watch it go.
Watch his fright start to ebb and flow.
He'll reach for happiness but we've taken this
I'll never allow any amount of bliss.
And now your tears begin to fall,
It starts to press you against the wall.
Your emotional psychie I will attack,
To bad it's a shame you can't fight back.
All your defenses begin to crumble,
As ancient words I begin to mumble.
You beg and you plead for me to stop,
However I can't allow my actions to drop.
I strip you of power and all you hold dear,
I promised myself I'd have nothing to fear.
For what you had done I just can't forgive.
For all my life, it's the pain I relive.
So now I will leave you, empty and sobbing,
Your body right now must be throbbin
II'll Love you till a flame can no longer burn.
I'll love you till children no longer learn.
I'll love you till the Earth can no longer turn.
I Cherish you for your grace, beauty and love.
I Cherish your purity, as white as a dove.
I Cherish how your body fits mine like a glove.
I Adore your passion, as vast as the sea.
I Adore the love you give unto to me.
I Adore you so much to get down on one Knee.
I Treasure even your worst vice.
I Treasure how you can be so nice.
I Treasure you and will say it thrice,
I Love You.
I Love You.
I Love You.
Battel GroundMy heart has become a battle ground,
I dont know where to turn.
There are battles happening all around,
The land is set to scorch and burn.
The enemies that I face,
Are mine and mine alone.
They can disappear with out a trace,
But still cut you to the bone.
The blood that flows in rivulets,
Mixes and fuses with my tears.
To this battle I must commit,
Or suffer my remaining years.
I am the general of my men,
Treating them as chattel.
To fight mine enemy yet again,
Forced to go into battle.
This battle I must win,
Or love thats found shall be lost.
Its the battle from within,
That must be won at any cost.
My enemy is myself again,
As fought the times before.
Neither one can ever be slain,
But I will even out this score.
Chapter 2Trenton awoke face down coughing and inhaling dirt and dust. The sent of smoke still very heavy in the air the ground cold against his face. Trenton tried to push himself up. His arms, shaking so much from exhaustion, would not support him and he fell again.
Im just going to lie here and die. I do not want to get up.
Come on! Get up. We have to get going! Hurry, hurry!
Trenton slowly turned his head so he could look forward. There in front of him was a small blue blur. Trenton heaved himself up again with all his might. Finally sitting up he wiped the dirt from his face and rubbed his eyes clear. Focusing on the blue fuzz it became clear. There on the ground was Sylph.
How did you ? Where did you ? What? I think I hit my head a bit too hard when I fell. How long was I out?
I dont know but it was long enough for most of the inn to be de
Supporting Character 1General Attributes
Weapon of choice:
Specialties or Strengths:
- Aeromancy and archaic knowledge
- Frail, not a fighter
- Light blue
Recognizable feature(s) and Identifying Marks:
- Butterfly Wings
-(Story wear) None
-(Modern day wear) Light blue cotton dress and slippers. Also wearing a light blue ribbon in her hair. Would be short and petite.
- For a sprite, yes.
Main Personality Aspect:
- Curious and childlike
Happy or Depressed:
- Too happy at times
Leader or Follower:
-Mother - Unknown
-Father - Unknown
- Every other Sprite in the world
- The realm of Nothing and the winds
The Female SuicideTwenty years of nursing
emergency room wounds
and my grandmother
puts down her fork, rubs
her brow and tells me
the female suicide
is a more methodical,
A woman will close
the curtains, cleanse
their apartment of clutter
for the first time in months
and proceed to overdose
in the comfort of their
A woman will do this
because she is aware
someone will have to
discover her like this.
Someone will have to
bury her like this.
My grandmother says this
because when my uncle speaks
paramedic about the male
he pronounced dead from
a house’s television antenna
he never mentions a burial.
To you who writes until you bleed and cry and diei. You aren't the ruins of Greece.
You don't combust into fascination when the black
rose you planted years ago finally bloom and poison
your veins and stop your heart beat in black splotches
and dirty grenade. The Earth won't mould trees or
ocean or clouds into your image when rust seeps into
your wrist, turning you into a sculpture of grey hands
and silver blood. You won't smile knowing a spider is
creeping up your throat, spider webbing your tongue and robbing your voice away.
ii. You can't tame a wild boar with tombstone nails.
You don't have to get why your wounds rot like
the speed of a full-on hail storm and why others
have bowstring smile and pretty eyes all the
damn time. You don't have to know why your
musical box blasts in gunfires and thunderbolts
while other have rose tattoos exploding in fierce
fireworks and adrenaline-rushing stage fire. You
can't tame a wild boar with tombstone nails and
scraped metallic heart. You can't love yourse
the cultivation of neophiliai.
give in to it:
the insatiable restlessness
that haunts, heavy
in a familiar corner
of your eyeline.
drive toward the night.
halt only when you
can no longer
trace paths of neon
from streetlight to fingertip;
never quite reach the
eventually, stop trying.
look over the paper city
resting fragile below;
tear it to shreds
with vicious intent
forget that you have
loved and hoped and
for a moment
there is only you,
the night, and the need
desire like you've
never wanted anything,
search for the novel,
for the fantastical
and the faintest hint
of something new
in the sky-glow.
stand so high atop
wonder how they do not
under the weight
of all this empty
A Ball Of CherriesImagine life
like a ball of cherries.
You can't eat many,
Don't rush to eat them!
Some are soft,
Don't go too slow, you'll lose the taste.
storiesi begin and end with stories
where hummingbird hearts play sonatas
against my ribs and i drown in
early morning light and
the girl in me sinks into the sea
like rusting anchors chained to
ships and i sway port and starboard
the lion in me rises like lazarus
from the savannah where dust swirls
and i begin and end with stories
where i swallow the world and all
the rain and girls and lions in it
where i hold it up like atlas,
where i support jupiter with just
an index finger and where i chase
comets and cup them like fireflies
to hang on my bedroom walls
Blooming Through CrevicesBlooming Through Crevices
People are characters;
their personalities are not to be cracked,
but to bloom.
Codes and signals
Setting our sights
On how to see
Through the cipher.
Optics opting for options
As opposed to conscious.
Ardor replaced by harder
To break through exteriors.
But mortality is only one facet
Of the entirety of humanity.
It is a compass of one being,
But merely a piece of the puzzle
That makes up human composition.
let us not break through empathy
with deductive methodology
but rather with the rhythm
of a honeybee whistling along the hymn
of the wind whispering in the leaves.
humanistic, holistic ideologies
is what the standard can be.
it is the notion of being a metaphor
rather than being something to decipher.
because there are more stars and galaxies
in poetry than there will ever be algebraic
expression curls up with ambiance
under the window pain of a picture frame
because we write more about
broken bones and broken birdsdragonflies buzz between
your tangled fingers
seeking nectar under
your chewed nails,
but the bitter burn
of almond acid will
clip their mosaic wings.
you're centered at
nature's core, a
centrifugal force of gravity,
grasping and dragging
lives to your unforgiving
you strangled the wild
whistling hare underneath
the billowing willow, and
your tongue tripped into
compulsive lies and disbelief.
i mean c'mon, clearly,
it was an accident.
if that's the case
the blue-eyed raven
that crashed to earth
after striking a third
degree burn, should
have survived, but you
plucked feathers from its
wings and drowned it.
you have a way with
decaying everything you
touch, your soul, my
heart, a puppy in a
cardboard box, yet
we all keep coming
back to you.
i think we all know
that even though you
bend and break and
bully the world, you
are the most broken
of all, and i just want
to fix you.
LeaveHere I sit upon my bed,
where you used to lay your head,
And even with all that you had said,
I'd thought you'd never leave.
I sit here bare,
Far all to share,
And you don't care,
I'd thought you'd never leave.
I yelled at you,
You yelled back too,
It's nothing new,
But I thought you'd never leave.
I cry inside
from too much pride,
why had I lied,
I thought you'd never leave.
I want to cry and to grieve,
I didn't want to decieve,
You were cute and so naive,
But I knew you had to leave...
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More