Written August 3rd 2:00am- she'll break up with me today
He'll come see her.
Make amends for the pain she caused him
She see him off....
Things I think may happen, one already has.... We'll see!
Location: A volcano named "Hekla"
Sub region Name: Southern Iceland
Volcano Number: 1702-07
Wyraach Ur lies weary from a battle with "Saber." Saber is what is known as a "Panlong" or River Lord. A dragon that is the guardian to and in many cases eons ago determined the course of a certain river. In Saber's case he is the Lord of the Songhua River. Green scales are most befitting Saber; he slew the former Lord of the Songhua River in a jealous upheaval. So Wyraach Ur lies in his volcanic home awaiting the arrival of his Queen, Fire Dark Dragon, it seems they were meant to rule since their birth from the egg. Not only are they of similar breed, being Red-Black Dragons. Yet they also share the same bloodlust for destruction. They plot each night for the end of the world; only slightly more successful than Pinky and The Brain.
Wyraach Ur was born many a century ago in The Temple of The Dragon. Every thousand years or so he lies dormant, for reasons unknown even
The Tale Of The Burning SkinThe Tale of the Burning Skin begins with a man named Mr. _____. Sleep never came for this restless and weary man, his head was constantly flooded by the thoughts of his horrid deeds. His name and deeds the talk of many doorsteps. "Why oh why can't I life a life of roses?" He asked himself as he drags along. Body broken and beaten he is worn and sad. Inside ripped and torn. Outside cut and pale. "Why oh why can't life be fulfilling?" Thoughts race past; flooding a dull mind in euphoric dreams, thoughts of simple happiness. "How I wish for something better. Oh I wish for something better. Oh I'm paying for all my crimes! World can't you see? I'm weak and on my knees. Why oh why can't life be like it was?" Words, words, words… "Just a bottle of drugs to soothe my soul!" Work, work, work… Fingers worn to the bone. Wish and hope. "I am always praying for something better. Remember where I drained my soul." So long, so long ago. Unseen, unheard, everything important gone from my touch. Long
I know your story
Rambling on and on
Unable keep up with the pace
Can't please your friends
So upseting are those basic facts
Trace the path you crawl
Walked it ten thousand times before
To a place that you loathe
It seems to get longer each day
I know your type
Overworked and worn to the bone
Tired eyes and heavy hands
Abused by the world
You hide inside yourself
Because it hurts
They laugh at you
Don't care about you
Their actions speak louder than words
They look through you
Losing your mind
A frustrating life
So many problems
Never finding answers
Why tell your heart?
No one cares
Or cares to listen
No one to offer sympathy
Hard to trust in yourself
What more can you lose?
Wish it could be a little different
Step into the fresh air
Let out a deep sigh
Built a little place inside your heart
You always were so kind
People trampled over feelings
Fake smiles is all you show
When were you last yourself
Always looking for inspiration
Never seeming to fit
A million pins
A million thoughts
Hollow and numb
Empty and sad
More than prescribed
Against your tears
Anything I can offer
Is yours for the asking
Anything I can do
I will in a heartbeat
My heart goes out to you
Yours if you need it
Shoulder or a hand
Handshake or a hug
If you need anything
Part your lips
Let the words fall out
Questions burn inside
Dry cracked lips
Sending out messages
Locked inside poems
Do tears flow?
When I speak
Does it sting?
When I'm near
Tears fall down
From bitter skies
Rain falls down
From bitter eyes
Part your lips
Let words fall
Close your eyes
Whisper your answers
Does it repeat?
When you sleep
Does it replay?
When you awaken
Tears drip down
From dying trees
Rain splashes up
From dying seas
It is alright
To never forgive
It is OK
To never believe
Heart sinks away
Searching for answers
Eyes still heavy
Dreaming in nightmares
Only an illusion
Call to me
Through the haze
Only a dream
We never speak
Words don't exist
We never write
Sentences are gone
OC Meme*Copy this into your Meme..
-Choose 10 of your OC's
-Answer the questions
-Then tag 3 people
1.) 3, 7, 4, and 9 go ice skating. What happens?
2.) Its Christmas!!! 5 throws a christmas party and invites three people of choice. Who does he/she invite? What happens?
3.) 6 catches 2 dancing/singing to the 'spice girls'. What's 6's reaction?
4.) 1 and 10 are stuck in a janitor's closet. How the crap did they get in there?
5.) 4 confesses his/her love for 8. What happens?
6.) 3 walks in to see 6 and 7 making out in 3's closet.. What is their reactions?
7.) 9 and 5 have an argument that soon turns into a fist fight. How did it start? And How does 2 try to break it up?
8.) 6 and 7 are getting married! But 8 is in love with 7. What does 8 do?
9.) You here a knock on your door. You open it to see every one of your OC's bursting in to your home. What do you do?
10.) 2 admits to you that he/she killed 9. What do you do?
11.) Everyone gat
InsanityWhy hello there insanity
Let me walk you 'round the floor
If you look off to your left
you'll see the girl i was before.
The tiles might be broken
But its nothing time can't fix
But if you think its art-work
Then all the broken parts will mix.
And the doorknobs may not work
But you can crawl through like spies
The holes you made with your fist
Are looking just your size.
The mirror in the hallway
Has seen some better days
And although you may see yourself
It's not uncommon to also see haze.
And the windows may be drafty
But i promise its not too cold
And if you can deal with that
I'm sure that you'll be sold.
And you see here in the closet
That the lightswitch doesn't work
But that only because
There are inner demons that lurk.
The picture frames are empty
But thats only an attempt to forget
All the fun i once had
And the soul that I once bet.
There's shattered glass in the bedroom
From when you told it was goodbye
And i let the bird out of it's cage
Knowing it would die.
But the basem
It Has Come To My AttentionIt has come to my attention
that people like me
are generally not welcome in fairy tales.
It's the talking birds that do it.
The minute a sparrow shows up to pipe a direful warning
it's all over
down at the first hurdle
The body in the fifty-fathom well
will have to wait
the old woman turned into a hare
the murdered mother in the juniper tree
as I whip out my Sibley guide and look for the entry
with the fieldmark labeled capable of human speech.
For this crime
I have been accused of a failure of wonder
of having chained up my inner child and sent her
to work in the salt mines.
But the truth
(if you really want to know)
is that I have read too many fairy tales
and lived a bit too long
to be surprised by anything that happens in
the cottages of lonely woodcutters.
I can even venture a guess
to why the bear speaks with the voice of a maiden
(my heart goes out to her)
and why, when the animal has saved your life,
you will be required to make a harp out of its bones.
These are o
afghanistan doesn't exist.my disposable income
is fed to the local
pharmacy in exchange
for bright coloured
lacquer, with rainbow
names like 'bo peep'
and 'gum bear'.
how could you ever
feel shame or guilt or
sadness with a name
like 'candied violet' so
adorning your carefully
manicured nails? how a
cocktail of 'coralicious'
and 'tangerine queen'
could make you feel
like anything but a
i sleep in the tropics
in summer and in
the carnival in winter
and it shows on my
nails. i don't own black.
or gray. would you
admit that your sweet
dreams see the things
your waking hours
refuse to? would you
dare let it slip your
lips that he died out
there in your head?
does the world need
to know that you're
worried when he's
joking? when he finds
it... funny... that he's
getting shot at in a
faraway country? that
you can't crumble into
his lap and clutch at
his collar to please
don't go? that you
never knew a soldier.
i don't own sand colour
or army khaki, or the green
peculiarity of his eyes.
just wave goodbye dearest,
today i was
i tried to
could only get
as far as sand before the
cratered moon pulled me back again.
StitchesHer name is Stitches and I love her.
She doesn't believe that - she says it is an improbability.
She doesn't say impossibility and that gives me hope.
No one but me knows why she's called Stitches.
I've run my hands over her soft white skin,
Flushed with the fevers of midnight.
I've touched it.
I've let my fingertips explore the hitches in her skin,
Where her body couldn't quite heal itself.
Old memories of gaping holes and vicious lies.
From her shoulder to her wrist,
From her knee to her ankle,
Any where she can negotiate a knife - she is Stitches.
It makes her cry sometimes.
She says she doesn't like being a rag doll any more.
They're old scars, robbing her flesh of its innocence,
Betraying her old soul - etching it out - a tally on her skin.
IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII
PallorI cried myself sane and then
moved on. How strange, that a man
can split open like a rotten peach and find,
at last, nothingness. How strange to realize:
only then can sunlight enter his veins.
Death dissolves us. Nothing has changed
but everything is different. I spend an hour
pressing my fingers against a wall, the skin
whitening as blood retreats.
There is no regret, no fear. Only a man
who whitens against his final four walls,
the empty chair, the selfish and wandering grief.
Only a man whose face slowly unravels and the way
I wash my face, make dinner, let myself forget.
nightmares.there are demons in your eyes, darling;
fall asleep listening to their screams, fall
asleep tracing your ribcage and wonder if maybe
your heart is a ghost, maybe your heart is haunting
someone, somewhere. fall asleep and dream of
needles prodding at your mind, pulling out the weeds
as if your mind was a garden, your mind is a
garden but once the weeds are gone, there is nothing but
dirt; dirt and worms and nightmares and screams.
dream of fingers shoved down your throat, and they have found
your heart and your heart is not a ghost, no, your heart is alive,
because the fingers are clawing your heart and it hurts like
fingernails on blackboards and you scream, and someone is listening but they're
fall asleep and forget you're dreaming.
Summertime (For the Quiet Kids)People think I’m lonely,
People think I’m sad.
I’ve been called lowly,
I’ve been called mad.
There are worse things
I could be than quiet,
There are more harmful
Things I could do,
Just because I’m different,
Doesn’t mean I’m not right too.
Books are my buddies,
My four walls are my friends.
Green Day are my preachers,
AC/DC are my teachers,
Dancing out of my speakers.
I talk with my pen
And I sing from the soul,
Sometimes it’s diamond bright,
Others, it’s black as coal.
Summer is here,
I can feel it
Sweating into my pores,
And whilst some might go for beaches,
I go for so-called bores.
So when you see someone,
Nose in a book,
With a faraway look,
Don’t pity them;
For they are in their own kind of sunshine.