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Innocence (73)Tired of mumbling when they mention your name-
Desperate, longing, to simply be sane.
Want to be free, to dance with the wind
No longer thinking what we had was sin.
Used to be open, carefree and young
Long before we knew how love truly stung.
Now so broken with patches and scars,
Thinking this plan has never been ours.
Sure there's a reason for every small tear,
But gratitude is something you will not find here.
Give it some time, let memories build up
Don't think about all the days now corrupt.
Oh to be innocent like I once was,
To answer my questions with words like "Because"
Without having to worry about things in the past...
Not really wondering how long we would last.
Pain's Obsession (7)I wonder, do they see?
This sadness inside of me
Does it scream out from my eyes;
Should they even be surprised?
When every time they say his name,
I feel this quiet aching pain
How could they notice the way I turn,
Shying away from the age old burn.
Trying to smile, to be happy- Whatnot,
Yet tiredly fighting the urge to be caught.
If I would scream and howl and shout,
Would they even turn about?
The memories that haunt me day and night
Are something I've given up trying to fight-
Indeed, I wish to remember his face...
And yet it's gone, it cannot be placed.
When everyone 'round me has forgotten the past,
Each time it is mentioned I try not to gasp.
I want to be free from memories' old snare
To look at the pain and find it not there.
For surely in hurting I am making a choice,
To stifle my cries, to silence my voice
In a strange tangled way this type of depression
Is making this pain a certain obsession.
My Dream Not SoI have a dream...
About a hundred or two.
And they seem to revolve
Around one person- You.
I want to get married,
To have a few kids.
Then smile at the camera
Kick back, and live.
In all honesty though,
I have to admit-
I want to have freedom
The chance to just quit.
To see the whole world,
Ten countries or more.
And fly through the mountains
With dangers galore.
If I can't have that
I'd certainly settle
Near someone who listens,
But never would meddle.
And if I couldn't-
Have something so small,
I'd rather have you
Than nothing at all.
For in this thoughtful
Yet sad strand of rhyme,
I just have to realize
One dream at a time.
So I'll go watch,
See you living my dreams.
'Cuz nothing is right in this
Reality it seems.
My Heart's QuestionIt rises up above me,
Laying here at night.
A question I can't answer,
That has no wrong or right.
Shining in the starlight,
Burning in the sun
I wonder if there's life,
In this thing that we've begun.
My daisy holds no answer-
It simply hangs its head.
The question is in my heart
That cries in silent dread.
Your eyes pour into mine
I wonder if you know.
Is this just an age old shrine;
Will you love me or let me go?
Golden DreamsDreams falling from my hand
Like small golden grains of sand.
I watch them, sparkle and shine,
Knowing they will never be mine.
They're stolen, one by one
Shot far from me by a gun.
One was plucked apart by love,
Another kidnapped by a dove.
Hate is sharp and tears them-
Pain's strength has crushed them.
I just watch them all,
In their golden waterfall.
A Letter To No Name (12)To the one who I call lover,
To the man I call my friend-
Though I try so hard to cover
These feelings will not end.
I want to write a letter,
I want to speak my mind;
Yet breaking this old fetter
Gets harder with growing time.
A bridge inside me sits,
Where we have both been rising.
Yet a fire- It comes, and lits
Your mind to start despising.
And I try so hard to cherish
The moments we have behind
But any moment we could perish,
Beg you please- Can we rewind?
I wish to speak my feelings,
I long to name your name.
In this chest my heart is reeling-
Insisting we stay the same.
I am: ChoiceI am with you day and night
I am wrong and I am right.
I can change and I can stay,
I am the one who leads the way.
Always I am in your head-
I can push you to the edge.
You alone know what I will do
You alone can make me move.
I have a friend whose name is Chance
Together we do a deadly dance.
With one move the cards are strewn,
With one move you may lose.
I am owned, I am sought
I am free and I am bought.
I bring hope, I bring pain-
I am choice.
His Music Box (60)The music box keeps playing
His haunting melody-
It's the only thing that I have left
That screams of memories.
And every night without knowing why
I wind it up again,
Letting him cry me to sleep
As I wait for it to end.
Where once I saw sweet innocence
And his love so pure and true,
I now see horror, a sweeping black hole,
Thats' center is me and you.
Watching the ballerina dance,
My heart seems to beat in time.
I wonder if I would spin for you
If you whispered your quiet rhyme.
With your music box inside my head
I quietly pace the floor.
Remembering all the words you said
And how they're gone forever more.
But it strikes me at how the dancer
And myself are so confused-
So quickly there we both would spin
Every time you sang your tune.
An Ode of YouOh sweetheart, dear darling, you helped me to grow
All the years I looked to you- And when, did I know?
A longing, desire, unforgivable love had sprung on me
Yet all I can see, precious, is what I regret will never be.
Eyes of blue that captured me, with soon I was enchanted
You treated me as equal, but I took you for granted-
Infatuated by the impossible, the magic of it all
When did you trip me- Cause me to fall?
The stability with which you held me up had me gripping you so tightly,
I drank the feeling of attention- Intoxicated, slightly.
This aching, this wanting, just makes it stronger still
If withdrawal doesn’t kill me, then I don’t know what will.
But your total physique and your frustrating cheek
Are few on the list of what makes me feel weak-
For your rough callused hands which once I thought I knew,
Simply confirm that I hate to love you.
Keeping My SanityEvery night I'm struggling, being an insomniac,
Unable to fall asleep, rest I always lack;
Different thoughts bothering me, haunting me till dawn,
Trying to suffice my need to sleep with this yawn.
Why now, of all time, am I feeling so much pain?
When will my strength and willpower be regained?
How many pillows must I need to stain with tears?
What will I do to fight away my foolish fears?
I'm confused and perplexed with all of these nonsense,
Insanity taunts if this becomes more intense;
As early as possible I want this to stop,
Want to get away from this labyrinthine trap.
These challenges I'm facing will soon be shut down,
Once I make a move and defeat this shameless clown;
This maze he set for me should not be overlooked,
That is one of the things that I seem to mistook.
I have to face this alone, as I always do,
I must trust no one when most are hiding their hue;
Finishing this journey's an independent act,
I hope my body and soul will still be intact.
Fighting in these silent bat
Through the looking glassIs this all real?
What is this sensation we feel?
Are we just reliving the life we once lived?
Did we die already and just get revived?
Who once decided what's left and right?
Who sees everything in black or white?
Is this whole world just a dream?
Is this all part of some scheme?
The answers to the questions were not written in ink
It always changes no matter how much you think
Because you're neither right nor wrong
People have been searching for answers for so long
Laws and rules,
Are just some of our tools
Tools to make this world seem more vast
If they are not believed in then they are just the past
Do we have some weird ideal?
Are we nothing yet real?
An answer is that ''we are'' therefore we exist
But that doesn't always mean we can coexist
Searching for answers can lead us to depression
But when we find the answer, do we remember what is the question?
My Perfect WorldWhen I close my eyes, I imagine this world. I imagine this world where only I can live. Where everything is perfect, and nothing hurts me. This world is not run on politics, not run on industry, not run on fuel such as electricity and gas.
This world; that I have created, that is my own creations, is run on music. Run on sound. Sounds you dream of. Sounds of love, sounds of hope, sounds of a new world. A world I dream of. This world; where I hear what I want to, and I see the most amazing things.
I see sunsets; blending the sky in the most beautiful shades of golden yellow, burning ambers and baby pinks. I see a sky full of crystal like shining stars; even in a city full of harsh blaring lights. And in the middle of this beautiful sky; is the moon. Spreading luna rays of silvery blue glowing light over everything it can touch.
In this world, I can not be hurt.
Everything is how I want to picture it, everything that I would see this perfect world as. In this world, I am alone; for even
Fear and FaithBlackest matter pervading my head,
seizing my limbs as I'm facing the dark,
thoughts unwanted, unheard and unsaid,
discarding thy redemptive salvaging spark.
Shreds of light stroking my mind,
creating a glance into heavenly place,
my childish self, so naive and blind,
thou enlighten for me oh to embrace.
It's the infinite dance, the unending fight,
a game to be lost by the vines of time,
one leads to sorrow, the other to light,
thou are the only to toll the ransoming chime.
Soul of a WriterI see a blank page, and I feel a spark inside my heart. The spark ignites my mind, raising its ever-glowing embers to a slowly building flame. The cold white blankness of the page angers me.
Wasted potential, that's what it is. Any space of white could be used. I stare into its emptiness and my mind begins to turn its gears. My hand itches for a pen.
I am a writer and my soul is fire. This page shall feel my flame.
I need to bring heat to the paper and that is what the words are. Hot. The black ink smolders on the white of the paper. The words charge from my mind, down my arm and on to the page.
They are the army of my soul, warriors of fire and ink. They enforce my will upon the cold of the paper; bringing the stories in my mind to life on the page, and the more ink on the page, the more fire for my mind. The warriors of words fight back the emptiness, charging into it and slashing away with flaming swords lighting the page aflame.
It is a soul-powered machine, constructing my linguis
Buttons: A Few Things
Buttons is immortal. She'll never confess her age, only that she has always been this age. This basically means she could be 5, 5000, 50000 and you'd never know.
Buttons can remove her head and still be able to talk, breath and think. Unless her body is holding her head, her body is litterally a headless chicken. In this case, it will stumble around aimlessly serching from the head (Buttons usually whistles and calls it to her direction).
Instead of her period, Buttons grows tentacles. Depending on how she was feeling just before she started, these tentacles can be anywhere between baby pink to blood red. They'll only stay for as long a regular woman's period does.
Buttons is very good a knitting. She once knitted a scalf three times her own height in only 2 hours.
Buttons owns a baby zombie bunny with a snake tongue. It's name is Kitty. It silently judges her all the time, because she tried to dress it up in doll's c
Woundsi dont understand
how could this be?
is the face of Hell
staring back at me?
its piercing my soul
tearing me apart.
i hate this feeling
its crushing my heart.
i see those around me
their lives a total dread.
these visions of pain and darkness
engraved deep in my head.
i feel the Devil's grip
getting ever so tight.
He wants me to give in
to abandon the light.
these days feel so cold
at these moments in my life.
full of pain and suffering
and the others filled with strife.
oh God i need your help
Please help me to live on
and God please help my friends
from being used as the Devil's pawn.
please help the light seep in
and heal their wounded soul.
so we can stop that torture
known as the devil's stroll.
know i understand
could it possibly be.
one of the many trials
You have awaiting me?
Can I Cut Yet?Can I Cut Yet?:
Hey, Hey Sadako
I really want to cut something
can I, can I please?
This girl is talking to me, she seems rather nice
The colour of her eyes makes me think of fucking lice
I want to cut her, I want to cut her so bad!
but that seems to make Sadako really sad...
Okay, I guess I won't cut her
Hey, Hey Sadako
This teacher is really boring
I want to cut him, I WANT TO CUT HIM SO BAD!
I'm in class now, Sadako stands beside me
She points out a mistake I made in my notes
I start tearing at the paper while grinding my teeth
I want to show them my frustration, OH SO BAD!
but that seems to make Sadako really sad...
Okay, I guess I'll wait till I get home
HEY, HEY SADAKO!
My whole body is trembling, my hands are in shakes
The world is spinning and I'm sweating out cold
The box-cutter is in my hands and I hold it up high
I want to cut something, I want to cut something up so bad!
HEY HEY! CAN I CUT THIS, CAN I CUT THIS LUMP OF FLES
CrazySome people may say I'm crazy.
Others might say I'm insane.
Of course, there's those who'd say I'm mental.
I'd go even further to say that some would call me...
But I dislike classifying others with simple words.
I find that no one should be bound by anything-
No promises, no rules, no morals. Nothing.
People only bind themselves so that they may break free.
Because- Let's face it-
No one likes being suffocated. Being stuck.
But then again, everyone loves the satisfaction of tearing away.
But of course, if I were to define myself using petty words,
I would say I am... Special.
Then again, wouldn't we all like to consider ourselves special?
It's a human weakness, I'd say. How we all grovel to have our own characteristics,
Yet we all want to fit in.
What hypocrites, us humans are.
Every single one of us.
You know, if I believed what I said,
Then I myself would be a hypocrite.
Because I know someone who never was
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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