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Retarded In LoveMy mind keeps going back to how I cried,
And asked if I could be your bride.
I realize now,
That tears can be strong,
That crying isn't always wrong.
I'm so glad that you said yes,
When I confessed.
What a lovely dame you are,
With your eyes shining like stars,
Even when your hair is a mess,
You still look so well dressed.
I am so at sea,
By the way you mesmerize me.
You are so beautiful,
You may not realize it,
But I see it in every inch,
And every curve of you.
I love you.
Jesus ChristWell, Jesus Christ.
What a pretty face,
And I know you're not of an expensive taste.
I believe we were destined for fate,
I hope you realize I don't see you for the weight,
You seem to so desperately hate.
I'd love you no matter what you did,
As long as you don't rid me of my love for you.
I'd rather not make this cheesy and boring,
But hell, love is like that anyway,
And isn't that what we're supposed to be restoring?
You're the girl I could make a million songs for,
Because you're the one I adore,
I could do it with ease,
As many as I please.
I could sing you a lullaby,
So please don't say goodbye,
And please don't abide,
On the past that had died.
PsyduckWith sharp white teeth,
And glowing eyes,
The child hid,
And began to cry.
Oh don't cry,
He's just a figurement of your imagination,
No need to worry,
No need to fear.
"But his mouth is large,
And he's got an urge,
To pass me through his big black gorge."
Well then my dear,
We'll make him purge,
And spit you up he will.
"But then I'll be all mish-mash."
Oh shush up and stop with your balderdash!
Oh please though,
He'll come get me,
His bright yellow feathers are stained with blood,
And his feet are covered in dried black mud."
She went to sleep despite her plea,
The little girl was right,
And the monster did swallow up poor
Soft Rose BloodI ran my fingers along the grass, plucking out a blade now and then. I sat on the edge of a cliff above the rocky waves of this distant place as I watched the sun set on the horizon against the glistening water. A tear slowly drifted down my cheek from my nearly black eyes as the wind made my long baby blue hair surround my head and shoulders.
Wisps of hair tickled my cheeks and I tried to smile through the tears. It was a hard, unpleasant smile that caused small dimples to appear on my cheeks beside my tears and hair. I pulled the cuffs of my old black skull sweater over my hands and began to wipe restlessly at my own tears. Wanting for them to stop so badly but dreading their end because it only meant that I would have to go back there. Back to the place I choose to spent this endless summer in. Why did I ever think to do so?
The last tear fell on to my sleeve and I sniffled, wiping my wet nose. I stood up slowly, the wind pulling my clothes around me.
"Jessicka?" I heard a voice tha
When Did I FirstWhen did I first meet you?
When did I first begin to care,
And to love you?
When did I first want to be more than friends?
When did I first realized that you--
Were all I wanted at the time?
When did I first become absolutely sure of our love?
When did I first become jealous of everyone else who was near you?
When did I first begin to cry all the tears I had kept in all those years?
When did I first start to lose who I once was?
When did I first take down my walls for ones like you--
Ones that made me smile and laugh and I knew who cared?
When did I first begin to lose you?
When did I first start to hurt myself because crying was no longer enough?
When did I first stop eating properly?
When did I first begin filling every moment of my life with song lyrics?
When did I first begin to place songs and items with memories that both hurt so badly,
And are so wonderful?
When did I first start to realize that I no longer cared what happened to me?
When did I first start hurting like this?
Don't.Don't point that gun in my face unless you're going to shoot.
Don't take that blade to my wrist unless you plan on cutting.
Don't leave your razors open and freely about because I might just use them.
Don't show me where the fire is because I might begin to burn.
Don't let me cry too much or you may end up drowning.
Don't let me cut too much or you might ending up bleeding.
Don't lock me away because I'll only get worse.
Don't leave me out in the open or I might become insane.
Don't ask me how I am when you know that I'm just going to lie.
Don't assure me of something when you aren't even going to try.
Don't leave me with those pills because you might return to a mess.
Don't leave me with that lighter because you might return to ashes.
Don't let me drive myself insane here on my own.
Don't let my dark si
Sick AddictionSurround my limbs in poison needles,
Pushing neon colors into my veins.
Agony mixed with bursts of masochistic pleasure.
I will never stop,
I will never quit,
My addiction is a thick lust-
Thick like honey that trickles down onto your lips.
My eyes flash with shades of color ten times brighter-
Than that of the ones being injected into me.
Speckles of color flood my vision.
I am blinded by my own will.
I'm addicted to this sin.
This lust I've found within.
I will never leave this place,
This place of comfort that I am in.
I'm not quite sure where I began.
I only know that I started young,
But once you start it's hard to stop.
I don't think I'll ever stop.
These toxic colors,
These feeling of euphoria that flash through me,
I'm not done,
I'm never done.
Not Really SmilingI'm sorry for the confusion,
I'm sorry for the pain.
I'm sorry for all the mistakes-
That I have ever made.
I wish that I was falling-
To this very day.
And everytime I feel as though I'm dying-
It's the best feeling I've ever had.
I find it hard to tell you,
And you may find it hard to take.
That everytime I'm crying,
I feel as though I'm finally awake.
I'm sorry for the trouble,
I'm sorry for my mistakes.
I'm just a stupid bitch,
And I'll pay the price for everything.
I'm sorry I'm not worth it,
I'm sorry I'm not good enough for you.
Everytime you're sad,
And everytime you're hurt.
I wish that it was me,
Because then I could pay the price for all the shit I've done.
I'm sorry for everything,
I swear to god it's true.
I don't know how much more I have to tell you-
That I'm not really smiling.
Renew MeTurn over all our tables,
Start us all anew,
Replenish our bodies,
Bring us all to the light.
Let us see the bad that we have done,
Let us flush it all away,
Let us grasp the concept that others say we-
Are 'too young'
To understand anyway.
I'm cleaning myself out,
Another year to start myself over,
I'm finding who I really am,
Now that my self war has been over.
The memories have faded,
The pain is gone,
I have numbed the pain,
Of all that has been lost.
I'm cleaning out all my profiles,
Getting rid of the things I no longer enjoy,
And keeping the old,
That I find some joy in.
I've actually started to find myself,
Who I really am,
What I am like,
What I like.
The Little PrinceOnce upon a time there was a beautiful Prince, and he loved. That was his blessing and his curse. He felt everything, so deeply, good and bad, and it pierced his soul. It hurt the Prince to love so deeply, and he saw that no one else did. So he forgot that his curse was also a blessing and he hated himself because of it. He felt the pain deeper and deeper and forgot the love. He couldn't make the pain go away, but the devil sent whispers to him telling him he could, but the love and the beauty had to go first. So he tried to kill the beauty inside of him. Tried to convince himself it didn't exist. And he felt the pain deeper and deeper and the love and the beauty less and less.
Finally he went to the devil, intent on trading his beauty for a life with no pain. He begged the devil to take away his pain.
"But first little Prince, I want your love, and your beauty." the devil said. So the little Prince reached inside of himself and pulled out a shimmering, pulsing, glowing orb of beauty a
The Boy and the SailorThe little boy stopped in front of the elder sailor, admiring the man’s stagnant position along with his strong posture. The sailor continued to smoke his decrepit pipe, unaware of the boy staring at him. The boy contemplated what he should do- whether to tap the man before asking him questions or just to start asking them aloud. As the boy pondered over what he should do, the old sailor finally took notice of the well-dressed school boy in front of him.
“What do ya want, sonny?” the sailor asked.
“I don’t rightly know, sir,” the nervous boy replied.
“Ain’t ya or ain’t ya not goin’ ask me something?”
“I’m not sure what to ask you.”
“Well, ya better ask me quick cause I’m liable to drop dead any second.”
“Lemme think, sir. Why do you wear your anchor tattoo on your leg instead of your arm?”
“Keeps me grounded this way I don’t fly away like them balloons.”
My FuneralThey’re crying again.
Rigor mortis has me at its mercy so I can do nothing to quell their suffering. So I lie and watch through slits of almost closed eyes at the small glimpses I can catch of the living.
It’s an odd sensation being dead for in essence it is absence. An absolute absence of everything. You don’t really notice it when alive, but the sheer lack of sound hits you like a brick wall. The sounds of your breath or the thump of your heart or the thrum of the blood through your veins are gone – sounds you never truly hear when still living. In death all you are met with is silence within yourself and thundering in to take its place are the roaring sounds of the world around your still corpse.
In my constricted vision I can see the broad petals of roses around my head. They are white as paper which is nice. I always imagined myself buried wreathed in roses so at least someone realised. I wonder if it was my sister?
I can hear a choked voice saying my name.
2 heads are better than one.Two heads are better than one: Short stories about people with two heads, so virtuous with one head, don’t lose theirs.
1. The 2 headed monster metaphor.
2. The Siamese twins that did not want to sell to everybody.
3. The Siamese twins who do not care for what they published on Internet.
The beauty of writing / drawing lies in perfecting our skills as a samurai learn to make perfect cuts with his katana or in the same way a basketball player learn to dunk.
If you are part of the artistic community of DeviantArt what I write today may interest you, or if you're on DeviantArt to appreciate their art, you may find seeds of knowledge among my letters.
I can’t hide it, I love writing, but what I like the most is to philosophize about positive aspects that help me be a better person. What you are about to read is a compil
Mr. Foxworth and The Raven Haired LadyA hungry Mr. Foxworth wandered around town in hopes to find some food. However, with the lack of money in his pockets, no grocery store or restaurant would even let him inside. So, his search continued until he stumbled upon a raven haired lady with a basket of fruit.
He went up to her with a sly smile and charmingly said, "Oh my, you are beautiful. Why, if your voice is even half as beautiful as your face, you must be destined for fame and fortune. Let me hear you sing."
She smiled at this flattery. And accepted the challenge eagerly. She set the basket on the ground walked over to pick up a wine glass from a table at the nearby café. The raven haired lady waled a high pitch note until the glass broke into small pieces. She stood there triumphantly with the broken glass in her hand.
However, by the time she looked up, Mr. Foxworth had already run more than a block away along with her basket of fruit. She pouted and looked down at her feet, where she found a note.
The SensationI would love to imagine what the sensation would be like. Hot and explosive? Chilly and needle-like? Bleeding and burning? How intense will it be? Or better: how bearable would it be?
In a minute I will know that I shouldn’t waste my time. I will see my sister lying on the ground with a humongous black hole in her stomach, my mother will be wailing next to me, she will run to my sister’s side and I will be so shocked I ask myself what kind of sensation would my sister feel in that particular moment.
My mother will cry for my sister not to die, she will cling on to her, being careful not to hurt her daughter, she will say soothing words until I tell her our sister is dead for almost 20 minutes.
I will feel numbness in my entire body but I will find the strength to grab my mother gently at her shoulders and to lead her away from the corpse.
I would feel my cheeks getting wet, my eyes burning and my throat extremely soar. My chest wouldn’t be able to beat any agonizing b
HarbouringTrees shifted around him, the world bending under the strain of focus. Granules of soil moved under his fingertips and blades of grass brushed against his skin. Hues of colour spun around him; shaded of green and brown invading his senses through the Autumn mist. His breathing was slowed to the point of suffocation, but he held no regard for it. This practice would only yield results through complete anonymity. He had to be no one, and nothing. He gradually eased his muscles until they were completely relaxed, and slowly closed his eyes. He could feel the smooth breeze caressing his features. His smell extended beyond the clearing, weaving through the scent of ferns, burning wood in the distance, the sweat of farmers working their crops, and the soothing smell of brewing tea. He could hear the wind moving around leaves, the grinding of a blade against a sharpening stone, the expressive whispers of two lovers in a distant village. And suddenly they flooded through.
It was nauseating to
MomentsSometimes there are moments when the world should stop.
Moments, made for the sole purpose to shock. To yell silently and falling down unconscious on the spot. To inflict suffering.
There are very many of these moments, thousands, even trillions, even more sad moments than happy moments, but I think that would not surprise anyone, right? At least not the ones who go through life without hiding their eyes behind the palms of their neighbours.
Sometimes there are moments clinging to the duration of one breath. Moments which only contain the blink of an eye.
And if one of those moments is suddenly over and the pulse starts to pound again, the blood rushes back into the ears and the throat feels sore and rough, one wonders why the world has not stood still then. Why not all people sit stunned on their knees while their hands cover up their heads and cry cry CRY.
Why the water does not freeze and the fire is immutably burning.
Why the tears don’t stick on their che
.Pool of Knowledge.I find myself tied to a small rope that's just about to break while I float upside-down above a pool of knowledge.
I cry into the pool as I attempt to reach for it, wanting the knowledge so badly, not all of it, no.
I could never swallow up all the knowledge in such a large pool.
But I just wish that, even for a second, I would be able to suck in more than the small droplets that the wind blows up towards me.
I feel worthless, like I don't know anything worth shit.
There are ones higher up on their ropes, true, that are getting even less droplets, but still.
They are mostly younger, and their rope will be lowered in time.
But there are others, some even my age, that are lower than me.
They can reach and suck in as much knowledge as they can before it evaporates right in their hands.
Then there are all-powerful ones.
Ones who freely drink from this pool.
But some of them are too greedy and puke it
may as well buy another packcollapse, and breathe into the carpet:
sunday mornings are not
for falling apart, but damn
the amphorics, this
is not an atmosphere.
you fell in love like you always
wish you didn't, made all their
smiles replaceable, interchangeable,
fell asleep with shadows and kept
drinking, just letting yourself sleep
with blue pills
and tried not to scream.
(keep this image in your head:
fire and nectarines, a sudden jerk
of realization, inspiration
breaking your neck and leaving you forever
breaking bones is not so different
from breaking hearts - it's all about
the leverage, the angle, the mode
(and at least it wasn't personal;
it can color in your own guilt
for starting lines and never ending
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