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Glass Bulletshow can you say you're shattered,
when you're the one that hit me,
when you're the one-
that shot me down-
and broke me apart:
a bullet without a spark
no catalyst to drive you forward,
you try to wound but end up broken in the process;
so i'm the one-
that cleans you up-
and tries to put you back together-
when all i want to do is throw you out
like shattered glass
a fallen hope,
a reality that doesn't exist,
you're lies within a barrel-
ready to fire at will-
but you're weak,
and a hopeless cause without a use
so i'll throw you to the ground,
and watch you break,
because even when you're the one who's destroyed;
i still get cut in the process
Bearing it AllAuthor John Green stated once that "Humans tend to measure time within the framework of important events…The event that we're counting…away from is the defining moment of these people's lives and it reshapes their relationship to the world so completely that it also reshapes their understanding of time." During my "before" I was a dancer; ballet, jazz, and tap. It was everything to me and my dream at the time was to someday dance on Broadway. During one of my classes, while doing battements, it suddenly felt as of my hip had popped out of its socket, causing me to fall to the ground. It didn't hurt at the time, but I still sat out for the rest of the class and went to the doctors the next day. The first trip to the doctors was quite uneventful. I was told that it was probably nothing more than a strained thigh and to just take it easy for two weeks, and if the pain is still there go back to the doctor. That was fine and I did as told, until one day in gym while playing DDR I somehow ma
All In Your HeadSoft spoken words at midnight, but she's not really there. Yet it continues, day after day, month after month. An endless cycle that you're bound to repeat no matter how many times you tell yourself she's gone.
Get it together.
Cherished memories that you can't seem to forget no matter how hard you try. And you try, so fucking hard. But at least when you pretend, the wounds don't hurt so bad. They don't burn and ache and make your vision go red.
Get it together.
So you focus on nothing, her, everything. It doesn't matter. You mutter to yourself, to her, to the shadows. And they respond, they shift, morph, drag you down until you're no more. They suffocate your lungs until you're filled with them. Filled with shadows and her.
Get it together.
Time passes faster, slower, sometimes it doesn't move at all. You're stuck until the next time because there is no in between. There's no stop, pause, no intake of breath. Nothing but a constant hum of silence and screaming. So
001Maybe maybe this time when I tell you everything is alright, it can be the truth. Maybe I won't have to hide anymore. I really don't want to. I want to be well for you. I want to be alright. You deserve so much more than I can give you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not perfect like you deserve. And that I'm so messed up inside, and outside. That I can't be okay. I want to be okay, really I do. I want to be okay for you. I want to be that perfect girl for you. The one you spend forever with. But it's dark where I am, and your light isn't enough to help me see. And I know you're strong, but you're not strong enough to catch me. And I'm falling. Falling so deep. I want to get out. Really, I do. Can't you see?
Or are you okay with the lies? Can you really not see past the surface? That I'm cracked and broken into a million little pieces. Do you not care? Do you really think I'm okay? Do you believe the words that come out of my mouth? Can you not see they're tainted black? That it's
It Was LoveIt was pain, and it was sorrow, and it was everything he didn't want.
It was her un-shed tears, and her flustered cheeks, and quivering lips.
It was hope, and a future, and something unbelievable.
It was a hug, a kiss, an 'iloveyou' that broke him.
It was her, and it was him, and a maybe ever after.
It was being lost, but being found, and never having to worry.
It was rainy days, and cloud watching, and her always in his arms.
It was forever, and for never, and a fairy tale rolled into one.
UntitledThere once was a princess of silver and gold who sparkled in the sunlight and glowed with the moon. But that princess was gone. So long gone and never to be seen again. It was strange when it happened, almost like she left with the moon. The last sliver of her ever seen before she disappeared, but unlike the moon, she didn't return. She didn't slowly come back, piece by piece till she was whole again. No, she stayed hidden away, like clouds covering the sky. The princess became a broken doll of herself, her smile that was once so bright, was now razorblades. Her edges sharp and her eyes dull. She was skin and bones and broken smiles. She danced the night away in torn dresses and broken crowns. Her princes left and her knights turned dark. Her world was a big mess of kaleidoscope colors. Lines blurred till she couldn't tell what was real from what was fake. But everything was fake now. From the smile on her lips to the promises that left them. She lived for the night, but die
Selling the NewsThey tell you to be perfect.
But really it's all lies.
One wrong move and it's all your fault.
Don't try to make it right.
It still breaks in the end.
Paranoia is the new sin,
The savage beast within.
They make it sound like a prayer,
Like it's really all okay.
But you know the truth.
What they're hiding underneath their skin.
They tell you not to worry,
Everything is fine.
But something is still there,
The greater good doesn't exist,
It's all fiction,
Suspicion is the new religion.
CagedSomewhere dark, and damp, and cold.
A rotting corpse, a story told.
Shackles binding, keeping, killing.
An empty silence, no voice is filling.
Pretty words, stories, tales.
A closing darkness where death prevails.
Where once a man, stood, screamed, and raged.
His body left, alone, and caged.
A story on RepeatFor what it's worth,
It's not worth much.
We walk along,
Never anywhere to actually go.
We say things,
We never mean.
It's an endless cycle,
A story on repeat.
A sad tale,
Of our own invention.
One thousand to go.
Words we have spoken,
We speak again.
An Endless cycle,
A story on repeat.
And whispers in the wind.
An endless cycle,
A story on repeat.
She's a WriterShe sits at her desk
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
BetrayedI won't swallow your lies anymore
I can't stand your presence
You used to be my friend
But you're nothing to me now
And soon you'll be
Another bad memory
I won't be able to forget
Do you know what it feels like...To be lonely?
To be bullied?
To be called ugly?
To be unattractive?
To be compared to other women?
To be considered unnormal?
To be unloved even though you give love to others?
To face issues that you don't in reality know how to fix?
To think that your goal you're reaching for, is unattainable?
To feel like the cause of many people's problems?
To be held up on a high pedistal that you can't get down off of?
To realize that people don't like you based on your personailty?
To at no avail, keep up your happy and upbeatness for others?
To look at happy couples and wish that you had someone to be happy with?
To stop fighting for anything anymore?
You AgainOh, it's you again. I must admit,
The crooning has
The lies have been
And mine are like swords
It's just you and me
In this sick game
I can tell
You're pulling me in,
And I don't have
To pull you down
Sometimes, I've had
And all I see is
Then it became
I don't know
How to escape
Dark to see.
And all I can
Wonder at every
Turn I make
When can it be
By the LakeSat beneath a Christmas tree in late-March.
The ground is damp but pliant, it pretends to accept me
and then sneaks its cold fingers through my clothes
to dampen my spirits further with its chilly undertones.
I stare at the river, plump with soon-to-be April showers.
It does roly-polys over the smallest of obstacles and goes on.
It reminds me of what I should be able to do.
It runs as I grind to a full stop, and consider my life sentence.
The sky is blue; not like me, but bright and crisped;
Its been blurred by an amateur around the edges with cloud
But they don’t threaten me with rain just yet so, for now, we are friends.
The sun is missing. No one knows where she is.
She could be dead, by now. At the bottom of the lake.
Could have slunk there in a midday sunset.
She could of drowned her sorrows in the ricocheting tides
of a man made dam and its loosened throat. She could be.
She is not, she is hiding.
The sun hides from the world but leaves a blue sheen behind
to let everyone k
ConfrontationI shed a tear
The damage will be severe
Run away in fear?
I'll fight until the coast is clear!
Reasons We Love Homestuck“Reasons we love H O M E S T U C K.”
Why do this love this web comic, you ask?
Maybe it’s just the way the fandom rolls,
or how mean Andrew Hussie trolls.
It could possibly be Eridan’s accent (WWyeh?)
or even Feferi’s keyboard trident. (---E)
Some people say it’s Equius’ broken bows and arrows, ( D →)
but what about Nepeta’s meows and roleplays? (:33 <)
We really do love Sollux’s lisp,
and also when Karkat’s pissed. (FUCKASS!)
Including Kanaya's fabulous lipstick,
it's also Rose's amazing magic.
How about when Dave starts rapping
and Jade Harley begins napping?
We love Vriska’s eight-pupiled eye,
and how John is such an adorable guy.
Or maybe it’s with all the sprites
or how prospit glows bright.
Can’t forget about Derse’s darkness
or Gamzee and all his soberness. (WHOOPS.)
There’s also this thing with Tav and stairs
which he t
flower petalsi know that when we touch
that my energy is yours
that we are like flowers
because at our roots
we need water and love,
we reach tall as we can
to get to the sun
and stretch our leaves
to welcome it all;
and when we touch
i know that our skin isn’t skin
too soft for this world
when it grows rough with gravel
so i invite you back to our bed,
soft with the earth
where we can lie gently
and sleep until it is time
I Don't Come with the Edgesi.
It cries the way dragonflies leave ripples
in the rain. On days I swallow
whirlpools for breakfast and
drown with libraries for fun,
I can almost allow myself to forget
And it doesn’t want to make
me kneel on my shoulders
or pluck the weeds
from my scars;
I can see it try so hard
to be my friend.
But if I could choose
polka dots over tail lights
and sun screen over
I wouldn’t think thrice
or even once
not to blow the candles
on my grave.
That’s why I keep
the colons of analog clocks
under my tongue;
so I could keep the
figures eight of cliché’s
as keepsakes for old age.
I like to think infinities
have loopholes; tree rings
that dissolve into each other
with exhales for a caress.
And just when the tones
of lyrics would enter the
eutony of names, only then
would I drift into love.
When I wouldn’t be holding
my blood in my temples-
when all I am is a thought.
The running footsteps
we’ve come to cla
Mr MrWith words I cannot utter,
not even to silence.
You cross my mind,
and hold my heart.
With the pain it all brings,
I don't even notice.
You're the drug that I crave,
Addicted to the numbness.
The perfect melody,
a chorus stuck in my head.
I'm lost with you,
drowning in your fire.
You're all I wanna see,
Dreaming when I'm awake.
I need a way,
just to escape.
Un roti de Cupidon"Patron.. je suis pas sûr que ça soit une si bonne idée..."
Un bruissement d'ailes presque froufroutant sur sa gauche le fit se retourner d'un bond, mais il ne put percevoir qu'un bref mouvement du coin de l'oeil. Ils étaient rapides, bien trop rapides. Jamais le vieux ne réussirait. De nouveau ce bruit soyeux, semblable à des ailes de tourterelles, mais bien plus proche. Dans son esprit il pouvait les voir, tournant au dessus de sa tête comme autant de vautours prêts à la curée.
Le bruit assourdi des détonations résonna et tout autour d'Emmanuel une pluie de plumes commença à virevolter tandis que cinq bruits sourds accompagnaient la chute d'autant de corps autour de lui.
"Ramasse les, petit. On a encore du boulot."
Avec une grimace mi admirative, mi dégoûtée, le jeune homme se mit au travail, enfilant des lourds gants de cuir pour se protéger. Son sup
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More