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I do not understandI do not understand.
When we were young and fill of trust, we thought every promise must be kept. Neglecting of course, the simple ones, like promises to buy sweets or promises to marry when we were running through playgrounds laughing. They were just forgotten about- Not in a bad way, but merely drifted off through the passage of time, an elderly couple living their end days.
We remember them not as broken nor forgotten, not with hurt feelings but with wistful smiles, or chuckles at how childish we were.
They did not harm when they passed the due dates and flittered by- No more then a sting of sorrow or a pang of regret for the friends who primary school friends who drifted away, never to be heard of again except from your friend's friend who knows them on Facebook, so many years later. They are sweet losses, broken promises which you are at peace at, because when you were young the term 'broken' did not how it's emotional connotations, in such negative ways, that it does when you
BridgeThe sky was grey. It clung to the atmosphere above her head, a curled and twisted moss that only the paid or the fanatical would clean. The wind was little better, silently screeching as it buffed against her black jacketed back, gripping and dragging her brown hair outwards to frame a paled face. She cared for neither, distant ice eyes staring at the landscape in front of her, the chopping waves of the sea hiding a peaceful gut. She is the same but upside down, the only sign of the malicious storm the white knuckles that grip her journal to her heart. They both have been violated, her organ and book, to the point where she trusts neither and either. They are just pawns in the games she plays with her and herself.
Her balance is perfect, her ballerina feet keeping her rooted to the railing. Still the girl wears the white dress beneath the black jacket, the beauty tainted only by the wearer herself- For she wore her heart on her sleeves, and now that they have burst the draping arms are
Leto's Inversedclosed eyes but broken hearted
mine, a thousands tons of lead
a fabricated illness was their dismissal
but she was the only one dismissed
their hate and pity pounds upon me.
as broad as it is long
but their minds are just too human
that of marble hearted women
and those of pig headed men.
jealously like a Barbary pigeon
for that i am kept at bay
peeking through aloof white fences
my fingers taint them grey.
my presense poisons their rose-smattered views
but not of their wrath i am made afraid.
i am god's unwanted
but this isn't my valedictory speech.
for me the church bells didn't play
for her god's ethereal home she will stay.
this was her love-fueled reaction
to my actions that only gossipmongers would say.
i am Leto's inversed, a once brightened image to fade
closed eyes but broken hearted
mine, a thousands tons of lead
suicide was my dismissal
but she was not to be dismissed.
SheShe makes Raro drinks in her mouth with me.
It was my idea really, though truth be told I did not expect her to trust me. We probably should have stopped after inhaling those tiny white specks of Raro crystals by accident and began to cough. But we did not, and adding water we sloshed the combination in our mouths and swallowed.
The result was less than satisfactory, but she laughed for so long that I'm glad I told her about it. I can not help but be thankful that she is used to my oddness.
She comes to me to get her away.
Into my dingy car we clamber, and on my restricted license I drive us away from the horrid music and chaos that is our highschool prom. I take her to my thinking place, and for the next few hours we lay in the dewed grass and stare at the stars, the water seeping into our beautiful dresses like nebulas beneath us. The acolyte I am holds the truth, which whispered to the sky sound sweeter than kept in my head, and as she leans against my echoed form I know she is list
I will tell and have toldI have told myself I am not callous
[for I am not callous]
And I have told myself I am not selfish
[for I am not selfish]
But in a creeping, sobbing, incoherent moment
[I am not callous]
I, for once, thought on my own
[I am not selfish]
And cut you down to shape
[I am human, and above I am all.]
Taste of Freedom - Chpt. 11Title: Taste of Freedom (Chpt. 11)
Game: Dragon Age 2
Author: Blissy-Kills, aka Sessils
Characters/pairing: Anders, Varric, Leandra, Fenris, Orana, Bodhan, Sandal and Cinnamon Hawke
Author's note: All characters belong to Bioware, except Cinnamon Hawke. Yeah, I'm not going to apologise for this wait this time, because it's become clich'e. All I will say is: Wow. I am sorry Cinnamon- It'll get worse before it gets better.
It was her little secret, the mirror. Not its existance, but her reluctance to stare into it. The inability to face herself. The scars that stained her features brought back memories, painful ones, and the tired smiling eyes seemed to better haunt than heal. And all the while, the absent colours would run though her mind, a desperate attempt to keep them alive. The red of her family's crest, the blue of her mother's eyes. Cinnamon could see the shades, the transition from one hue to another lighter or darker one
Taste of freedom - Chpt. 10.5Title: Taste of Freedom (Chpt. 10.5)
Game: Dragon Age 2
Author: Blissy-Kills, aka Sessils
Characters/pairing: Anders, Varric, Fenris, the three wise spirits (together again) and Cinnamon Hawke
Author's note: All characters belong to Bioware, except Cinnamon Hawke and my adaptations of the spirits. And once again Freddick, the unsuspecting cheesewheel. He is always watching. Enjoy, and sorry for the wait. Again. Again. Again. c:
The absence of air tickling her skin was worse than its presence, and the feeling pushed Cinnamon into awareness. Instantly she wished she was back in her dreams, where it was blue sky of Kirkwall, not the emotionless and empty expanse of the Fade, that greeted her eyes. Because the sight of reality proved to the mage that she was wrong.
The sight shifted as Cinnamon sat up, blue eyes sweeping to prove she was back at the starti
The Thief 'Judge your success by what you had to give up in order to get it.'
~ Dalai Lama
There was a door.
It was a very nice door. Someone, God knows who, had taken their sweet, precious time to carve out intricate designs of gears, swirls and abstract lines before defining said indents with gold paint. The wood itself was so old, so cherished and polished that the rich mahogany colour stood out like a painting. It was so beautiful one could have licked it and tasted the heritage, though door licking was not encouraged in modern day society. Of course it was not the front door- such a door did not desire to be locked up like a nun's innocence just so the esteemed bank that lay behind its gateway was protected. No, it was more or less the second door, as the first door was a metal, lockable excuse for an entrance and about as attractive as a moldy, slimy slab of granite. In a dress.
Still, it was a bloody impressive second door.
And it may well have continu
Preview - Work in progress, name needed' It's me against myself this time
Me against the world I hide
Can I overcome and find a way
To be alive.'
There was a door.
It was a very nice door. Someone, God knows whom, had taken their sweet, precious time to carve out intricate designs of gears, swirls and abstract lines before defining said indents with gold paint. The wood itself was so old, so cherished and polished that the rich mahogany colour stood out like a painting. It was so beautiful one could have licked it and tasted the heritage, though door licking was not encouraged in modern day society. Of course it was not the front door, as such a door did not desire to be locked up like a nun's innocence just so that the esteemed bank that lay behind its gateway was protected. No, it was more or less the second door, as the first door was a metal, lockable excuse for an entrance and the first-and-a-half door was a sophisticated metal detector operated by one of the many service androids.
Still, it was a blo
The Boy Who Wouldnt EatIf you can flutter
I have failed you,
for you were not forged
to be so insubstantial as that
You were writ
to be an epic fable
of endings ignored,
of outlasting your body
through the sheer will
of a writers starving heart
through a broken, bowed
but bravely abiding body
that fights the soul
to comprehend Beauty.
BeautyI'd rather wear flowers in my hair,
forming a delicate chain
Than diamonds around my neck,
covering my tender blue veins
For with every precious petal
and every lucent leaf
I'm a living lesson
teaching beauty can not be bought
But rather it grows and flourishes
with every living thought
................written in a frenzy and run-on
and exclamation points
used in rapid succession
words all blurred
so bare bones it's bloody
strung out and on display
in a frightening combination
of paragraphs and stanzas
punctuation gone mad
ellipses my new black
used and abused
then spit out
in gratuitous repetition
there is no word count here
no hearts dotting the i's
just a string of letters
done up in cursive
but not very pretty at all
Fearing MeI'm not afraid to cry
and I do it
a lot more than you would guess.
It isn't always sadness,
I just feel like I need to,
feel everything so strongly
that it's the only way
to let go for a moment
because if I hold on for too long,
if my grip gets too tight
I'll break myself,
I will break you like glass
and we will both
I am a good guy
who hasn't yet found a way
to show it,
I am a good guy
who still identifies with the villains,
hides everything important
anything to throw you
off of my trail....
and I don't know why,
but I am trying.
Maybe I think
that if you could see me,
the real me,
you wouldn't want to look anymore,
want to be anywhere near me,
and the idea
that I can't add up
to be enough for you,
to be enough for me,
is so fucking heart breaking
I can hardly fathom it.
I can't say that it doesn't hurt
because it does,
it hurts a whole hell of a lot,
I've come to depend on pain,
to befriend misery
you're just a question marki met you so long ago
but back then our bodies were made of metal
and nowadays they’re made of the blades of
grass and dirt settling
underneath my fingernails.
my fingers are having a hard time
reaching the keys and
my organs are shaking mostly because i haven’t
eaten in two days but also
because i’m worried about the things you're doing to yourself.
we didn’t meet very long ago at all but it feels like forever ago
and you say you don’t know me
that you don’t know anyone
but baby you're turning into a skeleton and i’m peeling back my skin
to try and reach my bones, just like you.
i hope you're happy,
i’m covering the hard wood floors now
the bits and pieces splattered.
they are calling it a suicide but i’m calling it
a way to see my brain and
just how dark it has become, and honestly
i don’t want you to try and see about your’s.
i’m mourning the loss of my heart and wish you weren’t either -
Sound PoemIthrumden, ithrumden delsum
nith mul thruss elmrissull.
Eth rut mundelliss
Curmiette dessel renrin
irme trell ithrumden.
The partyFlashing lights
Smoke all around
About to pass out
My head starts to hurt
I can't take this anymore
So without saying anything
I find the exit
And escape that place
"How can someone have fun in there?"
as love for summer fades.late morning-
there's the tease of
snow in the clouds,
in the air, and the trees
have finally lost their
the sunlight is damp.
alters the room
as it graces my skin,
and for once
i don't wake up right away.
instead i lay
between my memory bitten
sheets, and i think
about all the times he said
that he hated winter.
i don't remember
when i began to love it,
and i don't care.
nothing can shatter that.
Coming HomeComing down the ramp I spotted you in the crowd
Your tenderloin skin always stands out
Your aura was particularly bright that day
Whirling dervish colors in the pale sun
You wore a chauffeurs cap and held a sign that said “Anyone”
I knew that I wasn’t anyone, so I walked away
“Strange days,” someone said, and I agreed
I hate crowds and old garbled memories
Arriving home, my wife and cat didn’t recognize me
I looked in the mirror and noticed that I was someone else
Still carrying my old baggage, I turned away
I should have taken your limo
AverilRain drips slowly down the side of her face;
Her eyes don't see no clouds today.
Soft feet whisper on supposed green;
It's the mind, swirling in its sleep,
And softly, gently forgetting.
She has walked this path before,
but now, in dreams it is alive.
Afraid the love has been squandered
In the pursuit of her long years
Now she sits, alone, breathless and cold.
Who wants to live forever?
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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