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I sayI say I don't care, but I really do.
I say I'm ok, but if you really knew.
I say that I'll wait, but it already feels so long.
I say that I can do it, but I really can't carry on.
I say that I'll stay, but I really want to go.
I say that I'm fine, but I really feel low.
I wish I could say all the things that are true, but I know that's something I could never do.
Am I?Am I strong? I feel weak.
I feel overwhelmed,
It all seems bleak.
Am I right? I feel wrong.
I’ve ruined everything,
All I loved is gone.
Am I happy? I feel sad.
I’m lonely and depressed.
It feels like I’ve lost everything I ever had.
Am I whole? I feel broken.
I feel like I’m spilt in two.
My tongue ripped out, no more words can be spoken.
Am I ever going to feel okay again?
No one knows, my dear friend
RestlessHaunting voices torment my sleep.
Growing pressures pull me to the dark so deep.
Heavy weights upon my chest.
Losing will, I cannot rest.
Nightmares grow in strong daylight.
A losing battle, one I cannot fight.
Tears do not fix, nor ease the pain.
For all I do seems in vain.
Feeling useless, feeling spent.
Would it best if I went,
Far away, never to return.
To run from the pain that bites and burns.
Far away, in a foreign bed,
Still unable to rest my head.
The maskI opened up to let you see, behind the mask, the real me.
Everyone else can see this mask for I'm afraid to reveal my past.
A pearly face and a glowing smile, Below it all a dying child.
The cracks in the mask are now starting to show, I can no longer be your glow.
For the more I fret, the weaker I get, I fear someday I shall fall, a worrying thought to lose it all.
How wonderful my life is, now your in my worldOne big blur my life used to be, but now I see it in perfect clarity.
You show me life the way it's meant to be, you make me truly happy.
You treat me so well I can't thank you enough for the things you do, I've fallen so deeply in love with you.
Every day I wake up, I thank the heavens you're mine, my other half till the end of time.
My perfect match, my missing piece, my dear you complete me.
Cliché as it seems I want you to know, I really do love you so.
So my love I write to you, I speak my words, humble and true.
A little verse for you to see, just how much you mean to me.
NightmaresNightmare torment my peaceful rest, fear grips tightly at my chest.
My racing heart misses a beat, as the monster sees me as something to eat.
Trying to run but my legs do not move, screaming for help what do I do?
Grabbed by both arms I am taken away, were evil is taking me they do not say.
Closer and closer to my peril I reach, I wake up with a deathly screech.
Sugar coated fabricationsSugar coated fabrications, things I want to hear
A little lie and a peaceful sigh
A quick fix to ease my fears.
It starts off soft with ‘little white ones’
A little more each day, a few more couldn’t hurt
Or could they?
More and more you’re into deep, there is no turning back
You’ve sold your story and your soul
As you wash that bitter taste down with a little Jack
Fabricating your whole life, pretending you're something you're not
It makes you no better, no favors you gain
Yet you do it over and over again
he cried because no one cried for himI found Death crying in the alleyway underneath my apartment window. He crouched, huddled, shaking and whimpering out his little mouse of a cry that was muffled by the rumbling cacophony of city night life. He didn't make himself seen, and like the child he was, huddled down and hid his face with his mitten-covered hands.
Death made eye contact with me as I watched him from the fire escape. He stared with bright blue eyes perfectly framed with long eye lashes. The chill bit and reddened his nose and cheeks, and his tears left frozen paths of black ice against his face. I didn't mean to, it was an accident, he pleaded with me.
I watched him as he shamefully picked up his victim, a tiny little kitten that was half frozen and curled tightly into itself. He tried to stroke it back to life, begging and pressing the small animal into his plush winter coat.
I'm sorry, he lisped, wiping snot onto his sleeve as he cradled the corpse like a beloved baby doll. I followed his t
Lib. Ar.She was a revolutionary in her head, the way she wrapped herself in the flag and sang herself to sleep with freedom songs and chain gang chants. The way she wore her hair, unkept and messy and slanted slightly to the right due to the many times she fell asleep on her arm after reading Das Kommunistische Manifest until the early hours of the morning. I never questioned why she always ended on the same page, or why we had to search through dozens of used book stores in order to find an old hardcover copy of the book that was peeling with dry-rot and plagued with dog-eared corners.
She told me her grandfather was a political prisoner, and she inherited his rucksack and his circular glasses--the ones that he used to read his speech the day he was shot by the police and thrown in jail for treason.
"But the Man diluted my spirit, leaving me here having to fight for the rights my granddad sacrificed his life for. They never did free him," she always told the newest per
Are you a boy or a girl?Mama stood frozen, staring down that the cherubic little redhead, his words still ringing in her ears. "Are you a boy or a girl?" The other redhead, the little one's brother, blushed and hastily touched the boy's shoulder. "Ao-chan, that was mean." Finally shaking off the shock of the child's keen perception, Mama gave a shaky laugh. "It's quite alright, Hayes-sama. May I answer him?" She smiled at the confused expression Ace shot her before he nodded and let go of his brother.
She knelt and took the little boy's hands in hers, running her thumbs in gentle circles over the backs of his hands. "I know it's a little confusing, since I have a boy's body and have to wear boy clothes to work, but I'm actually a girl. I'm not the only girl like this, either. Do you know what the word transgender means?" She waited for the boy to shake his head no before brushing back his bangs. In the periphery of her vision, she saw Ace's eyes widen slightly before he nodded his encouragement. "It means tha
our world, in sunshineThe most beautiful thing I've ever seen is the world in sunshine.
On December mornings, I sit on the porch and blow on my swirling cup of coffee, watching as a ray of light falls from the skies. It reflects off the windows and scatters rainbows across the grey sidewalks in shattered colors.
A garbage truck drives by. The grimy orange fades away as the sun strips away its layers of dirt. The orange becomes a dazzling shade of tangerine, blinding in its brilliance. Only a moment in the spotlight––but it is a moment more of glory and wonder, with only the flowers to witness and the trees to retell.
Not three minutes later, a young girl walks past, bouncy in step, her golden curls bright and her red coat glowing. The sun catches her in its embrace, dropping brightness upon her small figure, and though no one is watching, she smiles proudly.
There is a splendor here that cannot be denied. The charm of the universe and the loveliness we all possess is so often hidden in the dark,
SnowContrary to popular belief, this Christmas was not a white one. Rather, the air felt heavy with the smoke from the factories mixing in with the fog rolling in from the Thames which stank with the rotting detritus from the many warehouses and factories that used the river as a dumping ground for the byproducts of their particular industries. Coaches, merchant’s carts, and hansom cabs clattered their way up and down the cobbled streets of London amid the haze of fog. Gas lamps flickered guiding the way along the avenues for the various pedestrians who moved like shadows through the narrow streets.
This was the city of shadows, and amid the city which hid both pleasure and vice another world dwelled. It reflected that of the world above. Small feet dashed to and fro dodging cart wheels and horses hooves. They moved among the manicured gardens and through dank sewers, along rooftops and through the homes of the wealthy and those of the poor.
The Pumpkin SentinelsI sit on the concrete steps on the front porch and admire this November night. At my left and right are a few jack o' lanterns, their motionless grotesque faces staring into the street. It's the day after Halloween and my porch is the only one with jack o' lanterns still lit. They give off a faint pumpkin smell, likely a result of being singed constantly by the candles within their hollow corpses. There are no sounds, aside from the occasional faint rusting of leaves and the sizzle and pop of the moths that, every now and again, fly into the candles through the eyes and mouths of the lanterns and burn to death. The flickering, glowing faces give some security, as I'm not fond of what lurks in the night, and they look like plump little orange guardians, warding evil from my doorstep. A crackling of leaves, like irregular footsteps stirs me out of my daze. I see a shadowy figure, upwards of 4 feet tall walking down my street, giving a wide berth to my porch, much wider than any ot
ErrerLa lande délabrée s'étend sous le ciel délavé, reflets l'un de l'autre dans un monde sans repères. La poussière s'amasse et s'envole sous leurs pieds, épaisse et vaporeuse – matière sans vérité.
Il n'y a pas d'horizon non plus que de zénith ; tout ici est le même, le temps, bohème, rien ne possède de sens – et tout perd son essence.
Ils sont là, debout ou bien allongés ; certains avancent et certains soupirent, tous cependant cèdent à l'empire de la terre délaissée. De rares buissons, rachitiques et fuyants, égayent ce qui ne peut être égayé – égayent l'ocre brune, le sol plat et le ciel fat, cet éternel retour du jamais commencé. Univers sans identité.
Tout demeure ; rien ne vit. Les hommes, les femmes, tous confondus, identiques, apathiques – tous
Silent Screams of Non-ExistenceCan I please get some help with this? No? Oh… Okay. Fine…
… Actually, not fine.
Why won’t anyone help me with what I’m going through?
Can’t you see that I’m in pain? Can’t you see me at all?
Am I still here?
Am I even alive? It doesn’t feel like it. But, then, it does; when she sees me, hears me. It makes me feel alive when we talk and play. That doesn’t stop people from staring at her weirdly when we do, though. It doesn’t stop her mother from giving her sympathetic, almost pitying, looks when we walk into the kitchen. Always at her, and it hurts me when I see it.
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What do you mean? Of course I’
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More