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One of those nightsIt's one of those nights were my eyes won't close,
were tears keep dripping down my nose.
It's one of those nights were everything's wrong but I can't explain why,
When the light burns out all I'm left to do is cry.
It's one of those nights were I panic at the slightest sound,
Were under the air I feel like I'm drowned.
It's one of those nights were I can't seem to breathe,
Were I choke and I heave, I just want to leave.
It's one of those nights were I can't stop thinking,
I'm slowly falling, I'm drowning, I'm sinking.
It's one of those nights were there are no lights in the sky,
Were I feel grounded when I just want to fly.
It's one of those nights were everything comes back,
All the dark thoughts that shroud your mind in black.
It's one of those nights were I'm too scared to dream,
For once it's ends, I'll wake up, and scream.
The fame gameShy and quiet, is what you are,
Yet is see you dreaming to be a star.
Basking under that radiant spotlight,
Smiling as your lips gently dust the mic.
I see you glow as your passion flares,
You melt all fears, you have no cares.
But tell me now as your growing strong,
Never missing a note in each and every song.
Was it really necessary to change your name,
Will it really gain you fame?
They told you that your own wasn't cool or acquit
But your stage name doesn't really seem to fit.
The wig and make up are a good gimmick
But for you I don't really think your with it
I'll admit I'm happy for you,
But as far as personalities go I think you have two.
The fame monster seems to be growing inside
You can run but you can't hide.
And the fact that your acting like you're hot shit
You're getting there, but you're not quite it.
Watch this space.
To late I've seen enough.
Can't be savedBound by pain, torn inside
Worrying feelings are coming alive.
A storm is forming inside my heart
I can't breathe, I'm falling apart.
"Come help me" I scream as I fall from the sky
You reach out to catch me, then wave goodbye.
I can hear your laughter ringing in my ears
I can hear the demons whispering my fears.
I try to call out, in a desperate plea
But I know you can't save me.
I want to go back, to change it all
It's all to late I've started to fall.
I never even said farewell,
As I fall to the gates of hell.
I cursed myself, for that is true
There's so much more I wish you knew.
The song of the Magpie One for sorrow, two for joy.
What once was joyful, is now just sorrow.
The bitter taste of today, is stale for tomorrow.
A heavy drowse of a now distant past,
Faded memories, of passings so fast.
Three for a girl, four for a boy.
There once was a girl who fell in love,
Who had a heart as pure as a soaring dove.
She met a boy with a heart of gold,
Hard, metallic and awfully cold.
Five for silver, six for gold.
She was promised silver, diamonds and stones,
Yet all she received was brass, ash and bones.
She found the gold, in the best of others.
Giving love and strength to her sisters and brothers.
Seven for a secret never to be told.
Lies were formed and secrets kept
Serpents whispered while she slept.
She let nothing bother her, had struggles a few.
Though legend says for joy, you must see two.
The kissIt starts off slow, with a light brush of my face
Pulling me close in a warm embrace
Your hands on my waist as you pull me on top
Up on your lap is were I hop
I look deep into your shining eyes
As both your hands caress my thighs
I lean forward and you lean in
And this is were the kiss begins
Soft and gentle as you find your pace
My little heart starts to race
A fiery passion starts to grow
And there's no signs of this beginning to slow
Kissing harder now, discovering your lips
With your hands resting on my hips
Stopping only for the need of air
I run my fingers through your hair
No more scars that I have to bare
They fade away as if never there
I began to writeI began to write a verse filled with spite, filled with anger and utter betrayal.
I began to write how I was truly hurt and all the wrongs that had been done to me.
I began to write to protest on everything you had done, to shame you, to blame you.
But as I began to write I seen that nothing worked, that I had filled the page with a vile and hateful verse.
I had seen that what I had began to write was the beginning of a fight, a beginning of a war that would only hurt both sides.
So instead if fighting fire with fire, I extinguished the flame, and made a white flag for my soul.
I took a step back from my fiery attack.
And I began to write this.
Take a walk with me.To the end we shall go, were ever it may be,
Take me down the path less travelled, walk me through the sea.
The broken glass of crackled hearts, were bare feet may tread,
Along side the river of the dammed, the water coloured red.
Hollow bones and bullet holes litter the sandy plain,
Dried blood is the mark that only death may reign.
Yet here we stand in fire and smoke,
Drowning in it's gentle choke.
and off I'll sail.
To a valley of eternal bliss.
My WingsMoving on to better things, I'm so happy I found my wings
No need for tears, no sinking fears.
A burning passion comes in roaring fashion.
A smile I bear, free without a care.
No broken hearts, or scaring marks.
I'm moving on to better things, no more rocks upon my wings.
Teacher's pet peeve.You loathe me, you really do,
I know my presence just bothers you.
Those evil glares and little digs,
All those things to make you big.
You can poke and you can prod,
Then preach your words about your god.
You can act the little saint,
But that's something you just ain't.
You can pretend that I'm not there,
And then act like you treat us fair.
Questions of a wider scope,
Get a "no further questions" and a bible quote.
Crow like demeanour you wallow in pride,
No pity you offer, as you throw the carcass aside.
That burning hatred of me, you truly despise,
That roaring fire in your eyes.
Now tell me Miss, as it's clear to see,
Why do you really hate me?
You Were My SunshineThere, in a too clean room and in a too white bed, lied a young girl. She had very pretty brown hair and very tired brown eyes that she tried to keep open despite everything. In one hand in was a much smaller hand, in the other hand was a piece of folded paper.
Gasping, she tightened her hand, not for a second loosening her grip on the slim fingers in her palm. Sliding her right hand to her left, the young girl deposited the yellowing page in, letting the second hand clench around it. Exchanging the paper from the first hand to the second, the owner of the hand- the young girl's friend- unfolded it gently. Written on the faded slip was a collection of words:
"Hello, my darling, my sweet.
May I please twist you a tale?
Do not worry, it shall be neat;
I can promise you that, at least.
Before I get started,
Let me ask you one thing.
Oh, my darling, my dear, my sweet;
Have you seen the invisible rain?
I know you have painted with
The colors of the wind.
That you have weaved your quilts
Full CircleThe End. The two most powerful words in a writer's arsenal...
But what do they really mean?
It concludes things, it wraps them up, it sums up the entirety of your words. When it all comes tumbling down in an exuberant crescendo of tumultuous recompense...
But it also indicates when the story is over. When the expected actually happens, and things continue on in their natural order... Whatever that order may be is up to the reader. Left to dream, in a nexus, full of dying carbon stars...
That doesn't mean nothing ever happens after that point, it simply means there are no more interesting things to tell those who are viewing the unchained shaded events. Everything after that will be normal, and boring and expected and blah and perchance even blaze'. Business as usual. Nothing more and no less.
What can you do to spice it up? Nothing... Short of writing an entire sequel, that is.
Maybe it was time things came full circle.
And one more thing... I have found the
Lost Have you ever been lost? And I don’t mean you're in the supermarket and you can’t find your mum. I mean really, really proper lost. You’re walking down the hallway of your school, heading on your normal route to your next normal class running your hand normally along the lockers as you normally do when you suddenly realize, you’re lost. You realize that these people all around you, while you recognize their faces, and could probably even list off some of their names, are total strangers. You notice that these halls that you’ve walked a thousand times and will very well probably walk a thousand more are completely foreign to you. You can feel the cold metal of the lockers and while you know that you’ve felt it before, it seems brand new. You know that it is your hand touching the lockers and while you know that it is there, you also know that you did not put it there. Have you ever been lost? So lost that you can stare into the fac
The Void VastnessBeing near water has always made me feel at one with the universe. I can feel it deep in my bones, underneath my skin, on the tiny hair that cover my arms. The sense of quiet, when inner thoughts go silent and the sounds of the water fill the void within me that I never knew I had. The vibrations in the wind that distort any noise, inside and out, and make everything seem millions of light years away. The sight of the current of the waves that’s almost hypnotic in its beauty. The overwhelming desire to just lie down near the water and let lethargy take over forever.
To then be surrounded by water that brings with it none of its euphoric majesty, is the same as to be condemned to die wandering in a desert. To travel through the seas, and feel like having ones feet planted firmly on solid ground. To see nothing but unwavering mounds of only H20. To have water all around, yet not a drop to drink.
It’s a curse from the deepest depths of hell. Or a curse from the lips of furious
There was a garden.When I was young, I knew that there was an unkindness in this world. There are men who will stand and shout pleasant ideologies. There are women who will lie through the skin of their teeth to save monsters. I learned by trial, and it was taught. All kings tend to be the worst of men. And we judged the witches wrong.
I was told of a garden, and that it was the start of things. They spoke of a tree, and the serpent here be.
When I grew up, I learned by error. They taught that lying was wrong, and
Who am I to coax the snake from the tree?
I must be careful, they said. There are people painted in greed. Whatever I could give would never be enough. You can't satisfy the boogeyman after all.
A elder handed me my escape, and since I've struggled to be free.
They tried to gown me in their tales, tried to paint me into porcelain. Like a marionette with broken strings, they could try to move me.
No, they cautioned, don't reach so far. The stars will blow away like so much dust. Careful, be wary
'Yes, Honey, I Love You.'(A/N) WARNING!!~ Super depressing prose-poem ahead! Read at your own risk!
No noise ever escapes her mouth. But the shine in her eyes when she finds that little pocket watch in the grass near the pond is enough.
“Yes, honey, I love you.” The noise penetrates the stillness. Grinning, she closes the tarnished silver time-keeper and begins to plan, as only a mute seven-year-old can.
“Yes, honey, I love you.” Her mother shakes her head with a strange smile. Maybe, if the girl will talk when she gets older, the girl will sound like the woman's voice in her beloved pocket watch. Laughing, her mother hands her the vanilla ice cream cone.
Silence. All her father sees is the tarnished silver face-covering of the pocket watch. Sighing, her father admits defeat and decides to cuddle with her under some blankets in front of the fireplace. It was too cold to go outside, anyways.
IronmanHear me read it
My friends used to call William "Ironman" because the first time we kissed he got a nosebleed and the taste of his blood haunted me for a long time after it. We'd only been twelve years old and apparently the anxiety spiked his blood pressure to the point of combustion... I remember that when we were forced to take sex ed a few years later we were divided into separate classes for boys and girls, in case a diagram of an ovary was too risqué and we became animalistic and started clawing at each other in our seats, but nonetheless when our teacher Ms Jacobs had explained to us what an erection was in my mind all I could picture was the blood rushing to his nose and then the slash of cranberry across my blouse.
With the idea planted in his mind it didn't take long for William's hands to start wandering, but the image persisted. Every time I thought about just letting it happen I wondered what would happen if he got too excite
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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