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ShatteredShe remembers it now; there’s blood (oh yes she can remember the blood thick and red and sticky and dead) and pain (it’s what she is made of now what she will be) and the feeling of something inside her mind snapping like a guitar string (it’s a musical sound almost pretty she takes care of it and remembers the sound of unrepairable) shattering and bleeding and disappearing in tiny supernovas that leave behind a strange urge to smile and the icy knowledge that this is what she is; shattered.
She smiles into the darkness, eyes open but unable to see (they took care of that they did), arms wrapped around her torso and legs (at least the one she can move without pain she is pain why) pressed against her chest.
They turn on the light but it’s not them and she blinks as her eyes try to adjust to the brightness (it hurts so but she missed it why did she not remember) and they’re strangers (she doesn’t think she can trust them but her body is limp and her m
Love is CruelLove is cruel.
There is no doubt in my mind about this. Love is as cruel as it is kind.
It is the curve of her jaw and the silhouette of her face I study the most. she is lovely, free and happy as a bird and with the depth and beauty of a mountain lake 'neath a full moon. Sometimes the secretive veil of darkness pulls back and I am allowed to look at what resides deep down. I am captured; mesmerised by these brief glimpses of what makes her her.
I hang on to her words and her beautiful accent more than I let show. She is important to me; far more so than she knows. When she speaks I listen.
I love her. Fully and with all my heart, I love her. I do not know if she feels the way I do, but I pray she does. Love unreturned is a slow poison.
How BarrenHow barren, this land
Once home to thousands
How empty, these hands
Begging for food
How silent, the pantheon
Sworn to protect them
How unjust, the fate
Assigned to the poor
MonochromeA garden clad in darkness
With shadows all around
A beating heart of blackened stone
With veins of rubies crowned
A moving star crossing skies alone
The day is dead, the night has come
Vanilla swirls in bowls of blood
A taste of wild and tame
A figure in a darkened hood
Never quite the same
A howling moon so far away
The desert crawls with life today
Swimming in the river deep
An ancient beast is deep asleep
Buried treasure 'neath the tree
Not for mortal eyes to see
A pen on paper, scratching words
Monochrome, a page of blurs
Light in darkness, shining weak
Frightened children for it seek
Yet, once the fleeting light is found
Cold ashes resting on the ground
Sunrise over mountains high
A painter gives a grateful sigh
Quiet reigns where sound should be
A storm is raging silently
The scratching stops, the paper curls
A hand no longer with us furls
Whispers the WindWhispers the wind
In the hours of day
O'er the noise
Of life, as it passes
Whispers the wind
In the hours of night
In the silence
Of dark, as it passes
Whispers the wind
In the hours between
In changing light
And sound, as it rests
LightA being at the very edge of his vision was kneeling over the fallen human. It was weaving strands of glimmering light in a web over her chest, the thin threads passing through each other and sticking in seemingly random places as she worked. The fine weave pulsed gently as it hovered just above her chest save for where the being had delicately pressed one fingertip down to attach it to the dead woman. The being then wove the connected strands into each other, and soon one thin fiber of light was attached to each of the fingertips on her right hand. She raised her hand then, gathering the strands and gently pressing them to the palm of her hand before spreading her fingers out again, letting her hand hover in the air for a few moments. The body was lifted off the ground, only a few inches, as if the little light threads were puppet strings. The strands of light glowed brighter and the world seemed to hold its breath when she brought her hand down, fingers still spread and palm flat. The
Grey and silverIn a world of grey and silver
Colours muted by the fog
I stand silent in the snowscape
With a smile of grateful joy
I see the hidden beauty
In a bleak and quiet day
The lack of sound is calming
Wish it could stay this way
This landscape that I tell of
Is never far away
As fog and frost still rule the world
You'll see it too
I promise you
There Are SeashellsSoft sunlight
And the sound of waves
It’s a beautiful sight
So different from his
Final resting place
There are seashells here
Peacock BlueThe sky is blue. It’s a beautiful shade, the colour of peacock feathers. I stand on a green hill underneath a blue sky and smile at the warm, yellow sunlight.
A gentle breeze rustles in the leaves and tousles the long grass as I close my eyes. Soft footsteps sound behind me, slightly out of sync with the wind. That’s how I hear her.
She comes to stand beside me on the hill, and her top is a link between the sky and the grass, beautiful and green-blue. She smiles at me and I smile back.
“Thunderstorm’s coming,” she says. I nod.
We stand together and watch torn clouds the colour of bruised lead close over the peacock blue sky. Somewhere lightning flashes, the momentary flare of light illuminating her face and making her features stand out in sharp relief. I take her hand.
We will weather this storm together. Because behind wild clouds of bruised lead there is a sky the colour of peacock feathers and a warm, yellow sun.
It can't be so it must beSometimes i say it can't be
because it can't
but sometimes i say it must be
because it must
I must be
Therefore I can't be
Do you ever wonder if the cup you're drinking from has a bottom?
You see it has a pit - rather, a stomach - and how it ends to fit in your palm, but do you ever wonder if you're seeing everything?
It makes sense, to assume it has a bottom and to assume it must be able to be filled and emptied.
But what about the ones that sprung leaks? What about the ones who broke in all the wrong places?
You know what's going to happen to them. Cracking. Trashing. It's a death sentence, for something that cannot experience death. You must do something about it.
You pitch the worthless cup.
Have you ever wondered what it's like to be be the worthless cup?
Do you think about it daily? Does asking the question, "Am I a worthless cup?" haunt you?
Do you live in fear of that question? Do you live in fear over what you could be? What you can't be? What you must be? Are you ever c
Self made birth story generatorHow to use this is simple. Go to RANDOM.ORG and use their random numbers generator. Just put it to a 1 to 7 scale and you'll be fine. If you use this, tell me; I look forward to seeing what ever it is that you make.
Step 1: species
2: egg based
Step 2: size
6: smaller than normal
7: larger than normal
Step 3: occupation
1: High school
2: house wife
5: collage student
Step 4: help
Step 5: cause
4: self impregnation
Step 6: location
4: the woods
5: a river
7: in the middle of nowhere
Step 7: time of birth
1: due date
2: three weeks early
3: two weeks early
4: one week early
5: one week overdue
6: two weeks overdue
7: three weeks overdue
SDCC: Godzilla 2Mothra. Rodan. King Ghidorah. What do these all have in common? They're starring in the upcoming sequel to the new Godzilla movie!
Yu-gi-oh Rise of a New Pharaoh-Chapter 24
Rise of a New Pharaoh
The Creators Downfall Part 3
Tristan and Serenity
Daniel draws and looks at his hand. "First, I'll summon my Phantom Beast Wild-Horn!" The monster appears on the field. It spins the sword in its hand and points towards Strike Ninja.
"Next I'll give him a 300 attack and defense boost with my Mystical Moon Spell Card!"
Daniel smiles and points towards Strike Ninja. "Go Wild-Horn! Attack, Strike Ninja!" Wild-Horn holds his sword steady with two hands and runs towards Strike Ninja. As Wild-Horn is near inches of Strike Ninja, he swings his sword. Strike Ninja flinches, but when he opens his eyes, he see's Marauding Captain in front of him and in pain.
"What?" Daniel said as Wild-Horn jumps back to Daniels Side.
Duke smiles and picks up the Marauding Captain card. "I see you did
ChaosPorządek jest iluzją. Świat zawsze, od czasów starożytności żył w chaosie, może nie totalnym, beznadziejnym chaosie apokalipsy, jednak świat nigdy nie widział spokoju, na jaki zasłużył.
Od zarania dziejów ludzie topili swoje racje we krwi niewinnych, podnosząc bunty, wzniecając wojny toczone o błahostki, niszcząc drugiego człowieka, często anonimowego. I mimo, że teraz mamy wszystko, czego pragniemy - a przynajmniej bogaci posiadają wszystko, czego pragną - świat nadal jest pogrążony w bezsensownych wojnach. Dla tych ludzi, których kraj objęty jest wojną, już nastała apokalipsa. Chaos wypełnia ich dzień dzisiejszy i boją się o jutro. Kobiety są gwałcone, dzieci wyciągane z łóżek, mężczyźni rozstrzeliwani bezlitośnie, często po torturach. Świat nie je
A WishI wish I could hold your hand, look into your eyes, listen to your voice, take care of you, and love you the way you should be loved. But above all…I wish I was yours.
JOIN ME~join me here!~
i will be drawing cause i haven't drawn anything in weeks
GeysirLocated a little north of a field full of steaming holes and boiling water, the geysir sits quietly after the last eruption, which threw many liters of boiling water almost 20 meters into the air. Now, after water has finished rushing down into the for a while seemingly bottomless hole, the geysir sits silent and still.
For a while all is quiet, and the water steams passively in the cold air. Deceptively immobile on the surface, the warmth in the ground heats the water, already nearly a hundred degrees celsuis hot, to even higher temperatures. The weight of the water on top of this superheated bubble keeps it liquid, at least for the time being.
On the surface, a few bubbles break in the still, cold air. The geysir is coming alive.
For a short while, nothing happens. Then the water suddenly rises, threatening to let out the bubble of superheated steam that is forming below. But the weight of the water is still enough to keep the geysir from erupting, and so it only breathes instead, in
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