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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 truth about growing up
1. It's easier when you don't think.
1. It starts early,
on a cloudy day when you recall
the 'childhood memories' of
two summers ago,
that's when you start your backslide into
2. On the bright side
you won't notice this until you're
good and ripe in age,
so maybe it doesn't matter
3. That tightness in your chest?
The feeling that you're not ready
to take on the rest of your life; it
4. It stews in the pit of your stomach
makes you doubt,
but there will be days when you look back
on the mountains you climbed -
the raging rivers you crossed -
and you'll have a sneaking suspicion you were
more prepared than you thought.
5. There's nothing like your own bed.
6. Laundry will never smell right
without mom's sweat and tears.
But you still have to separate lights from darks,
keep the zippers pulled tight
and the buttons unhooked.
7. There is comfort in your parents' presence.
8. Things change
the future gnaws and rips
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
Stranger's funeralUnder the clouds
Under the rain
Staring at the coffin
At a stranger's funeral
We're all alone
Feeling the storm
But not the pain
For he's but a stranger
And the graves around us
Are just there
Keeping us company
During this empty moment
CarolineYou loved the fire
of rogues -
imperfect men who shot up
the endings of the day
and drank down
too much beauty.
And like one of them,
you bellied with rebellion,
felt his tense seed
toil where women
and craved his notoriety.
Poor girl -
his verses won the day
and the call of words
was too fickle a lover
for any constant star.
Don't blame yourself -
are more attractive
and all poets are
Darkest MoonI celebrate my right to live;
To the dismay of some, perhaps
It should be noted
These words I write, however true
Are only portions of the moon
I’ve decide to shine light upon.
But who am I to preach respect?
Who Am I to preach equality?
An advocate for re-personification
Of the female gender
But exhibits cannibalistic characteristics
Within dark spaces.
I am a shadow
Hidden within an Eggshell, painted pink,
Waiting to hatch.
Is the darkness
The night brought upon us.
things to tell you before i leave for collegeto mrs hatcher:
i promise that one day i will write that poem you asked me for
(the only thing you ever asked me for)
and i will finally tell you that you deserve
so much more.
to mr. walker:
i promise that i will not pity you.
i promise that i will not envy you.
i promise that you will always be one of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
i promise to always be grateful.
i promise to be careful.
i promise to be crazy.
i promise that i will remember what it feels like to be needed
and what it feels like to let someone who needs you down.
i promise that i will never resent you for asking for help
and that i will always be there when you do.
i promise that even sixty years from now,
i will not be surprised to find a letter from you in my mailbox.
i promise to always remember what it felt like to be young and crazy with you,
how scared and lonely we were.
i will remember that we both survived it,
and that we'll survive this, too.
You Were Born Missing SomethingYour skin is glazed with crystals of frost
and your heart's valves are close to
freezing shut tight
from being devoid of something
Though I am torrents of hail, whirling storms,
warm tears streaking,and tornadoes of rage
that flow uncontrollably through my veins
and out of my mouth,
every breath near you is warm
because your words are so cold
I am a natural disaster at its finest
with bones twisted in painful angles
and a crooked spine
you were born spineless
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?
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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