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Usually words drip from me but now it is blood. There's a hole in my heart and I can't seal it up. I wish I could return to the black and stony thing I used to keep as a heart for the pain I hold is unbearable. I know my heart is still as black as the sin that stains it so, where once flowed forth words of peace and fun now drips only black ink to turn the day to night, to darken white paper.
I used to be a warrior, a knight shining forth, I'd kill a thousand men with a single sweep of my pen, raise paupers to be kings and charm dragons from their lairs. Now my armour is broken and covered with blood, I think it must be mine, the weight of a single murder is too much upon my shoulders. I'm not permitted to die, just left to lie with a sword through my heart, leaking out the words that were my life, leaking out the black ink I once thought was my life.
Cold black ink fills my lungs, the pool of words drowns my soul, smothering me and choking the life from my veins. As the th
Space manSpace man.
I'm trapped far away, without even a tin can, far above the moon. For I am a spaceman, lost in the void of eternity, drifting on and on with nothing to hold onto.
They say that I let go, they say that I pushed it all away but I tell them it was never there in the first place, there never was anything to hold onto, just the dreams that creep in from the void in a cold, cold place. I'll never be able to reach either place for I drift atwixt worlds eternally falling through the cracks of life, neither one thing nor the other.
Some people say that my “condition” is called “asbergers” that I'm “autistic” but all I know is that I'm a spaceman, condemned to float through life, to watch what happens as both worlds go by yet never being able to reach either.
Sometimes I want to completely retreat to one world where there is no pain, no thought, no emotion. Sometimes I want to completely come into the other, the world of people, friends and love/ I
First slaveWith her training and constant association with Kastlin her senses were sharper than they'd ever been before so Yanne was aware that there was someone in her room before they had taken than two steps. She knew it wasn't one of the guards that roamed the hallways, the tread was too light, she didn't want to have to get up, she was comfy and still dozy though she was conscious.
"Time to wake up mistress." The person spoke softly as though afraid to have the task of her.
"It's OK, I heard you come in, I'm awake. Yanne replied with a huge yawn and a sleepy voice.
"Yes mistress, would you like me to lay out your clothes?" Again the soft, timid voice spoke, Yanne thought it was definitely female but she didn't recognise it so she slowly opened her eyes.
"No need, I'll find them thanks." She yawned again.
"As you wish mistress." As Yanne watched from under hooded lids a worried expression passed over the girls face then she turned to rush out the door, obviously worried about something.
Another pieceAnother piece.
Another piece dies
My heart looses another chunk
So many pieces are gone
How many more to go?
Another piece dies
My soul is almost gone
So much of it dead
How much more can it take?
Another piece dies
My life hangs by a thread
So many scars
What difference does another make?
Another piece dies
Another deep slice
A knife all glistening and covered with red
How many times must it come to this?
Another piece dies
All I can feel is pain
All I can do is cry
How long till the blade kisses me to sleep?
Another piece dies
But I cannot
Who set that rule?
And when will they let me go?
A single prayrA single prayer
So much thought, so much mind, so much knowledge and not a square ounce of it is any use.
Too much heart, too much thought. Be gone, be quiet, be still. Ever whirling on and on, never stopping. Making me mad as mad, tired as death yet as damnably alive as weeds in the garden.
Who am I to be noticed? Who am I to ask anything? So I shall not cry out, I shall not beg but quietly fade, into the wall, into the floor, into the dirt to mingle my silent dust quietly whilst seeming so happy and following so well.
Be gone, be quite be still. Hush, lest anyone notice. Still your silence betrays, people have seen. Run, run, far and fast forever fleeing from fortunes favoured few, never moving from under their eye.
Sleep, sleep, where is your sometimes cursed sting? Never shall I curse it, rather be welcoming. I cannot bring it to myself but wait most impatiently I must.
Such wet and salty tears to bring me relief, never to visit me though. Through granite and steel and ice, too far
First flightFirst Flight.
In her mind she could feel that her dragon, Kastlin, was warm and drowsy. She wished that she could be out there with him basking in the sun. Yanne was bored of lessons, she hadn't realized that becoming a dragon rider meant so much time spent in lessons. She jerked back from her thoughts as the tutor asked her to tell the class how many different dragon types were mentioned in the passage he had just read. She knew she was busted because she hadn't been listening. She floundered for a moment deciding whether she could get away with a wild guess or not.
"Four." Kastlin gave her the answer which she gratefully repeated to the tutor who nodded and flung another question at a random pupil.
"Thanks Kase" she sent silently to her dragon. "I didn't realize you were listening."
"I'm always listening" He said silently in her head.
"Except when you are snoring." She shot back with a suggestion of laughter. He didn't send back a reply but she got the impression he gave an amused sn
Let People InI used to hate people so much because they're so quick to judge and betray each other. They'll say they're your friends, but then ignore you or shun you when it stops being convenient or fun for them. They use you as much as they can, and when they're done with you they all just disappear. I didn't want to have friends like that, and I thought I didn't need them. I thought that, but it wasn't right at all. I thought I was stronger, rejecting relationships and friends. But once you reject people, you're stuck. You lose the opportunity to make those connections that define your life. And when you've lost those chances, you don't get them back.
I found someone like me to share my pain with. She's still one of the most special people in my life, right up there with my dad.
Whenever you meet that person, don't turn them away.
Up until recently, that's all I've ever done. I've tried to build trusting friendships, romances... and it always comes crashing down around me. Often because of my ow
Morbid FantasiesI played it out in my head, how it would all turn out, and what would happen depending on which method would be used. It's horrible when I run out of creepypasta narrations to listen to on youtube, because then I'm alone with my thoughts. I think about things that make me sad, angry, and hurt. However, this particular thought brought along not just pure hatred, but satisfaction, and admittedly, a dose of fear.
I was invited to join my "family" for thanksgiving by my grandmother. Nice gesture, but she should already know that my roommate has work, and we have a yearly tradition of our own. Besides, I honestly do not enjoy being in the company of my "family," since I never really considered them as such, save for my brother.
But I knew in my heart, that she'd be there. Because they trust her. They would "forget to mention it" to me of course, but I know she'd be there. And I've played the scenario over and over and over in my head.
I vowed to live long enough to watch her d
Wrong side of the mirrorI can see a woman, watching me through the glass. She is young, in her early twenties, with a haunted look about her. There is nothing especially spectacular about her, but something something quietly remarkable draws you in; captures your attention; fixes you to the spot.
Her eyes are a slate grey, intense and piercing; a dark energy smouldering in their depths. You notice that they glow a deep blue, like the ocean, when caught by the morning light, sometimes even the shade of a pale winter sky. A subtle ring of gold accents the border between her pupils and irises, which hold a faint sparkle of mischief against their black voids.
A shock of tight, red curls, messy yet somehow precise, frames her face. The sides of her hairstyle are trimmed short, not quite a mohawk; showing her natural gold-tinted brown. You could almost imagine her as one of the blond, adorable, cherub children, if not for the shadows of experience marking her features.
Beautiful is not a word that suits her, and de
Ugly.As a young child, new to the world, pure of it's intoxicating fumes, I remember a tree.
Such an ugly tree I remembered it to be.
It stood tall, creeping a good ways above any of the others, but it was disfigured in many ways.
Its branches were thin and fragile, like the bones of a sickly human, they twisted in retched ways that anyone would think should snap them clean off.
It was pale and grey, standing out among its fellow familiars, never to show the beautiful colors that it must have held within.
Its bark was edgy and course, as if it had survived through one of to many harsh winters, never falling from its place.
And I remember, as the others land succumbed to failling, giving themselves up, withering away, that tree never did.
It continued to stand tall, proud and majestic as that ugly tree could possibly seem.
It fought its way through whatever was thrown its way, fought until it could no more, never failing whatever duty it believed it needed to fulfill.
We don’t know what the world has in store for us and what will happen in the future. We can make all of the plans in the world to be happy, successful, or whatever the case may be. However, with that being said, at the end of the day money is only a mirage of temporary happiness and your success in life will not carry over once you have passed. Society seems to lead you into thinking that if you’re not a big businessman, musician, doctor, lawyer, or athlete than you’re not very successful. But today, I saw firsthand that none of it really matters.
Today, I met a woman by the name of Arlene and she has touched me, without saying a word to me. For whatever reason, I felt a connection to a woman I’ve never met before today and I’ve never seen before today. She was a complete and utter stranger, yet…her story (Or lack thereof.) touched me in a way I hope I never forget.
My name is Enrique Rafael Alaniz and this is an account
My HeartYou know you’re truly in love if hearing her name, even if it’s not being referred to her, fills you up with undefinable joy. You know you’re truly in love when you remember how your voice trembled when you called her and read her the letter, asking her to be your girlfriend. You know you’re truly in love if the pure thought of feeling her soft skin on yours makes you shudder with delight. You know you’re truly in love if, she’s not only the first and last thing on your mind every day, but also after every meal, every motion, every book, every song, every breath. You know you’re truly in love when 771 miles isn’t the distance you are away from each other, but rather the amount of roads, bridges, and rivers you’d cross to get to her. You know you’re truly in love if every song you hear you can connect to the overwhelming joy and the infinite sorrow she makes you feel. You know you’re truly in love when you write a story a
Since Facebook Isn't AppropriateSince Facebook Isn’t Appropriate
And ‘cause dA is better than Facebook. If we go to your wall, I’m wishing you a happy (Insert number here ‘cause I really can’t specify) day on planet Earth. Actually, give or take a couple of those days because someone thought it was a good idea to randomly add another day. (Or maybe it wasn’t so random, but whatever, humorous effect.) But in all seriousness, if I could, I’d let everyone know how lucky I am to have you in my life and how I only want to be with you. I know we have our ups and our downs, our stale and our spontaneous moments but they’re all moments I wouldn’t give up ‘cause I have probably learned more about myself during these last 262 days than I have during the 5,943 days (Give or take ‘cause again, leap years.) I existed before you.
I hate generic birthday messages ‘cause you’re not a generic lady and I don’t think we’re a g
OJOS DE AGUA
OJOS DE AGUA
TIENES OJOS COMO EL MAR
VERDE COMO LAS ACEITUNAS TAN HERMOSOS QUE NO SE DIFERENCIAR EL COLOR, ME PIERDO EN ELLOS EN UN MAR DE MIRADAS Y PALABRAS IGNORADAS, QUE ME DICES, PREGUNTAME CUALQUIER COSA Y TE DIRE QUE SI, ANDA HAZLO, EN LA CIMA DE LA MONTAÑA VOY CANTANDO MUY FUERTE, SOBRE CUANTO TE QUIERO Y TE ANHELO QUITAR ESOS OJOS, ERES MIA Y DE NADIE MAS, RECUERDALO SIEMPRE, QUE ESOS OJOS LINDOS E INOCENTES NOTE DELATEN YA QUE PODRIA PERDER EL AMOR DE MI VIDA, LO QUE ME HACE EXISTIR, LO QUE ES MI RAZON DE VIVIR-Sara
Regret and SorrowI'm sorry for being smart
I'm sorry for being nice
I'm sorry for being gullible
I'm sorry for being dense
I'm sorry for being stupid
I'm sorry for being the same
I'm sorry for being different
I'm sorry for my mistakes
I'm sorry for being lonely
I'm sorry for loving
I'm sorry for existing
I'm sorry for being scary
I'm sorry for being a coward
I'm sorry for my smile
I'm sorry for saying sorry
I'm sorry I stand out
I'm sorry I'm invisible
I'm sorry for being blind
I'm sorry for being deaf
I'm sorry for being mean
I'm sorry for being here
I'm sorry for these letters
I'm sorry for being human
I'm sorry for being here
I'm sorry for everything
I'm sorry for being me
Manifesto of a cowardManifesto of a coward.
Yes, I am a coward, I am frightened by people. I am a lonely and pathetic excuse for a human. I have never lifted a fist to anyone and I don't have the presence to intimidate people. I am a;one because I am too scared to talk to people, too cowardly to ask for a friend.
I spend day after day hiding in a room with a box of wires as my only companion and a fist of pills to stop me from dying. When I cautiously venture out I do see many things I'd like to know about, to learn, to try, but I don't have the courage to ask, I don't have the voice to say anything I think. So I have to scuttle back to my little room and my box of wires and continue to pretend I'm happy to those who know me and stare at me from the words they make appear on the window.
I am alone when all I want is someone to talk to. All I want is someone to hold, to make the queen of my heart. I am a coward even here. I can't let anyone that close lest they discover that I am as hateful as I believe I a
I realize that you wrote this a year ago, but if you still sometimes feel this way I would certainly understand.
But I can tell you this: though I have only read so many words from you, never have they been hurtful or discouraging to me. Never have you seemed anything but courteous and sincere. I do not doubt that at times unwholesome or even unholy thoughts may go through your mind, as I would have to admit that the same happens to me. But though you may have hidden faults, as we all do, that does not mean that others would not like to know you.
And they are not all in a box of wires.
Keep in Touch!
^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