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SkinI want to tear off my skin
count every vein
watch every heart beat
as I crack open my chest
count every vessel
and watch every muscle contract
feel every nerve
as I watch my blood flow
I want to tear my skin off
see deeply inside
Just to see how everybody is
just then I would learn
to hate myself less
Tear it all off
and watch it all ¬¬grow back
and maybe I’ll become anew again
This time I’ll love myself
That DayI died a little that day
Something I will never get back
washed away with the tears
with the screams of regret and sorrow
Nothing will be the same
The pain is dulled, but never leaves
Always there underneath
The memories have a painful sting to them
I died a little that day
remembering that last touch
That last contact with your eyes
So much to say
It happened too quickly
I died a little that day
Something I will never get back
My heart is broken
My resolve is gone
I'm a coward
My rock was stolen
Split in two
I don't know what to do
Without You near me
Always there, never from my side
Never a moment or incident
without knowing I had you
I died that day
Who I am
Will never be the one you had
My heart bursts
For I died that day.
Poem: She dancesShe dances
On pin-pointed toes
Her hands in the air
No one sees it
The perfect show
Swirling and twirling
The smile large and inviting
Painted on her face
No one sees
The perfect show
For you and me
She stumbles and falls for a moment
Quiet no one says or does anything
No one sees
The perfect show as she stands up and continues
No one sees
The smile is gone and doubt creeps in
She dances and swirls
One perfect pin-point toes
What can they say?
They didn't see it they claim
When she falls once again
That painted smile gone
Feet flat on the ground, knees skin
The world slowing as she kneels to it
They didn't see it, they claim
The doubt, the jealousy
They didn't see it
She doesn't get up
Poem: SeductionIt's easy to fall into it
To feel it's grasp, that sickening familiarity come over you
That hateful feeling
It's a seduction of sorts
Only I know you
Of thoughts too consuming to get up and see
Of believing the devil's lies
It's hard to break free, to want to break free
It's always there and been there. It's not fleeting
Not in pill form or human form
Never leaving you
It's a seduction of sorts
Not simple or easy
No one wants it, no one needs it but it's there
That fear and weakness, sucking all of the energy up
That voice that tells you that they are lying, they always lie
I will never lie to you
And you hate yourself because you believe those lies
I don't want it
To believe it anymore
Losing so much to that sickening familiarity
Because it never leaves, it's comfortable
So much hatred, not a sweet seduction at all. Nothing to gain
But that is a lie
Poem: Cold AngerIt doesn't burn anymore
It sits still
Like a stone
Just there, waiting to be
It doesn't burn anymore
The hatred, the anger
Not like those younger days
Which made you go forward
The hate leading you
The pointlessness of it all
But it sits there
No matter how much you change, how much you begin to let that
Anger and hate
It sits there like a stone
Waiting for that moment
You let it all go
The hurt, resentment flying
Not realizing how pointless it all is
How really cold it is
The Bird and The FishThere once was a bird
She had all she could want.
Nothing could stop her,
Or so she thought
There once was a fish
He had all he wanted.
But he wanted more
He wanted to fall in love,
Have a family
Start his life as soon as possible
Thats what he wanted.
There once was a Bird and a fish
They met and became friends.
He loved hearing the birds tales of other lands
The stories were nothing like he imagined.
Plus she was free and could fly away anytime
Something he could never do.
The bird loved hearing his stories
Tales and legends of life under water
was nothing she ever thought of
It was different
something she could
never really experience.
There once was a bird and a fish
And they fell in love.
Impossible you would think that
the two most unlikely creatures
could ever meet
Than ever fall in love.
They did though,
they loved being near
each other though the question that
Will always be asked..
Where will they live?
The answer though it is simple
ThunderstormThe lightning resonated off the walls of his hive. The owner himself was curled up under 3 separate blankets, shivering in fear, his four wheeled device sat abandoned a few feet away. Tavros peeked his head out from under the blankets when he heard his husktop ping but let out a shriek and shoved himself back into the cocoon he had built himself, horns ripping the fabric as a crash rang out, light filling his respite block once again. The device pinged again and Tavros debated against crawling the small distance to grab it or ignoring it in favour of hiding in his blankets. He decided on the former, pulling his body out from under the blankets, legs dragging behind him as he made his way over and grabbed the device. Tavros was almost back under the blankets when the thunder came again, making the poor troll freeze. He was trying desperately trying not to let the orange tinted tears slide down his cheek but to no avail. After a few moments he found the courage to move again, final
CheminJe marche seul sur le chemin de mon avenir.
Mes compagnons d'infortune ne durent jamais bien longtemps, ils viennent et partent, soit parce qu'ils sont trop jeunes, ou au contraire, trop âgés.
Et au final je marche seul. Encore et encore.
Mais ça va aller.
Je sais que des gens me soutiennent, même si nos routes sont différentes. Ils sont là pour moi, je suppose qu'on appelle cela avoir des amis.
Pourtant, qui peut prétendre connaître et comprendre ce que je ressens ? Qui peut prétendre comprendre quelqu'un ?
"Moi" seul connais la réponse, et pourtant elle ne me semble pas réelle.
Rien ne me semble réel.
Douter de tout c'est bien, mais ça ne me fait pas avancer. Pourtant il le faut.
Des gens comptent sur moi, je ne peux pas les décevoir.
Mais comment peuvent-ils se rendre compte de ce que je ressens ? Je ne peux en parler à personne, si ce n'est à moi-même.
War of Three Worlds Spinoff: Week in Republic CityPremise: A series of short-stories revolving around Fluttershy and Bolin set in the Avatar universe.
1. Pro-Bending Mondays: Bolin brings Fluttershy along with him so she can watch a Pro-Bending match. However, he finds out the Fire Ferrets are up against the five-year reigning champions, the Sun Warrior Dragons.
2. Swimming on Tuesday: Bolin teaches Fluttershy to swim in her human body, despite her reluctance.
3. Wednesday on Ember Island: Bolin takes Fluttershy to see a play at Ember Island and they each share an individual dream.
4. Thursday of the Unagi: While spending time on Kiyoshi Island, Fluttershy and Bolin find themselves hunted by the Unagi.
5. Friday Night Lights: Bolin desperately tries to bring Fluttershy to a Lightning Bug display only to face complications.
6. Saturday Storm: While being cooped up inside by a storm, Fluttershy and Bolin tell stories to pass the time.
7. Dragons of Sunday: Bolin and the others try to convince Fluttershy to get over her fears o
G: Father DaughterFather Daughter
Ivy watched as her father sat locked in his room office space, her mother Hannah was out shopping for groceries as the house need food and Hannah offered she will go though she was tired she had to go shopping. She only agreed to going if Claude watched over their baby girl Ivy. It took a lot of pressuring but by the end of it all he agreed.
He hadn’t spent time with his daughter in some time and should be willing to give up some free time to watch over. Sadly it wasn’t the case as soon as Hannah left her father locked himself in his office and went back to work.
It was always the case with him he would lock himself in his office and work all day Ivy sat outside his office holding her stuffed spider as she waited for him to be done with work. He had promised once he was done he would take her out to the park but for now Ivy had to sit be quiet and while she waited.
Claude was in his office deep in thought about his paper work and thinking nothing more than t
The Old TruckIt is a bleak February day, gray and damp with a mist that sits heavy around the world, when we make the long drive to his childhood home, where the old Chevy sits under a grave blanket of snow, left to him by a man who has been gone for a long, hard decade already. With a tender touch and skilled hands, he works under the hood; then in the bed, removing last fall's leaves, which have kept her warm under all the ice and snow.
One mighty shake and rumble later, the engine jumps to life. The frame creaks and groans, like some beast awakening from a deep slumber.
With a combination of strength and gentleness that is so uniquely his, he pats the cab and whispers, "That's my girl."
I find myself suddenly sentimental.
This is the truck that saw one lifelong romance through to the very end, and that played such an instrumental role in the blossoming of our own relationship. The memories flood through me with each turn of the motor.
Red bench seats, windows down, a crisp breeze blowing off the
Perfect World (Not Always As It Appears)In my perfect world there are very few people. I barely tolerate most people and I do not get along well with others. People annoy me.
In my perfect world it is quiet and filled with any book I could ever want, a fast computer, Netflix and a drive in theater. The drive in theater is almost always nearly empty and there is never a line at the snack bar. The books are there whenever you want, any title ever written either from the past or the future is ready at your beckon call. A computer right at your fingertips just ready to be used for anything, looking up music, playing a game or anything else. And any TV or screen has Netflix so I can watch Doctor Who anywhere any time.
In my perfect world people won't try to bother me or talk to me unless I ask them too.
In my perfect world a few people would be there my only and best friend, my girlfriend, and my grandfather. Those 3 would see me often then I have internet friends who can come by when I want, and my other family members if I want
Dear MondayI came to the dance with one primary goal in mind: I wanted to kiss him. On the lips, on the cheek, I didn't care. I dreamt up all kinds of scenarios, thought about every possible outcome. But he beat me to the punch.
First he said, "You look very beautiful tonight." Not "very pretty," not "very nice," but "very beautiful."
That was before the dance even started.
On one song we both didn't like, we sat down on the benches, off to the corner.
Before I knew what he was going to do, he tucked a lock of hair away from my face and he kissed me on the cheek. It was chaste, and barely lasted two seconds, but it meant more to me than anything could. All I could do was smile like an absolute idiot. "No one needs to know about this just yet." I laughed, because I knew that's exactly what wouldn't happen.
Alia came and sat down beside me. "I have something to tell you," I said, "but I'll tell you later."
It must have been
KeyWordsProject1 Usmiech wroblaTragedia.
Popularny w antycznej Grecji gatunek sztuki teatralnej, wiele ważniejszy od komedii. Miała prowadzić do przeżycia katharsis czyli głębokiego oczyszczenia za pomocą uczuć litości i trwogi.
Teraz każdy z nas ma swoje małe lub większe tragedie życiowe. Niektóre ciągną się za nami aż do śmierci. Jednak, dla pewnej kobiety tragedią był cały świat. Cały współczesny świat warto dodać. Iwona – bo tak miała na imię, powoli traciła wiarę istnienie dobra. Wydarzenia ostatnich dni tylko pogłębiły jej niechęć do obecnego porządku rzeczy. W dodatku w domu skończyła się kawa, napój bogów jak zwykł mawiać Adam jej brat. Perspektywa spaceru u nawet ją ucieszyła, nigdy nie przepadała za siedzeniem w domu, a wiosna za oknem przyjemnie kusi
The Ground and The SkyWhen all you see is the ground, the dirt and plants. The lowest of life at it's fullest, and how dirty things could and would be. When that is all you see and want to see. To scared to look up, to look above you.
It's always amazing when you see how blue the sky is. And it becomes the most beautiful thing in the world to you. Even when it's clouded and dark (darker than the dirt) or when it's bright and the sun stings your eyes.
And that's all you remember when you finally let go and look back at the ground. And for a moment it becomes beautiful too. And all you can remember is that blue, blue sky that filled you with hope that everything will be okay.
Because it had to be okay to be able to witness so much beauty at one time.
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More