Promises are mostly lies to please...
Stream of Consciousness of a Saddened 22 Year OldToday I feel sad.
Well, mostly every day I feel sad, for one reason or another. The reason could be so simple, yet so complicated and difficult to fix. What line of circumstances can be controlled to avoid sadness all together? God forbid someone knows the answer to that question…
I haven’t written in so very long a time. I don’t recall the last thing I wrote, other than a card or a post-it note at work. I haven’t truly written in so long a time. I used to love doing this – writing out my thoughts as they come. “Stream of consciousness” was my favourite style of writing – a haphazard journal that recorded my thoughts in a more in-depth way than an actual journal could.
You see, I’m here now. How-many-ever years it’s been since my last piece, and I’m at a loss. I don’t know where exactly I went wrong or why it’s not better now that my situation has improved. I don’t know why I always feel so nostalgic fo
Crimson Vengeance for CreepieMonetThe light browns of the Morrocan village once stirred the villagers' hearts; they loved their small town, they loved knowing everyone who lived nearby, but that had all changed
One night was all it took to rip out the peace and replace it with terror; one night of bloodlust flowing through the town; grown men were reduced to their knees; respected elders were reduced to the common rabble. Everyone in Asilah fell to the very ground they made their livelihoods on, and all because one man chose one town to run down.
Children and elderly rushed about the streets, seeking hiding places. Women and wives carried buckets of water to burning huts. Grown men planned an offensive, but nothing they did would work; they faced a mad man; a man who had lost all hope for his world, and instead turned to murder; he turned to rape. Any young girl that crossed his path became violated; a baker's daughter fell to her knees in front of the man; her hair a mess and her face splattered faintly in blood
Commission: Spoils of a Treasure HunterThe pizzeria had the finest take on synthesising the perfect Supreme pizza; the capsicum sat atop a bed of thinly sliced ham, and the pineapple rested in amongst the olive fragments. Øyvind Herstad considered it a marvelous indulgence; the perfect requisite for his next great treasure hunt with his delectably gorgeous companions Kaitlyn and Kara Walker.
"Ah yes girls" He spoke intelligently, although not so much the words, as the way he portrayed them across the thin, cool air "Another heist completed, another trophy to add to your walls. It is time however, for us to begin again. I've heard rumour of a treasure crypt in Greece; rumours tell of great fortune befitting a conquering knight. This is where we will head to next."
Kara smiled and glanced around the room, her long brown and white striped hair flowing over her shoulders. The drink in her hand remained still and unnerved as she examined the pizzeria.
"I've heard of this crypt" she spoke quietly, "I've heard t
The Truth Is Hard"Like a rock" she said,
Eyes glinting in the sun,
Shining in their purity,
Blink; then continue;
"Like a brick; like a bone,
Like the urge of a soldier,
trying to go home".
"Like the pain of what was,
And what is still to come"
In grief, she bowed her head;
With grief she became numb.
"You see, I lost the one I loved;
I don't know what to do,
I told him that I would change,
He said "It's me, it isn't you."
"Yet overtime I came to learn,
That what he said was false"
With tears she fell onto the ground,
Filled with dread and dark remorse.
"I would rather have lived with his lies,
Than to know what I learned today,
Because "It's not you" was a lie,
Just like my "I'm okay"".
"The truth is hard" I said to her,
And reassured her thus;
"But although he didn't count on it,
We're not you, we're us"
"We'll stick together; I'll help you through,
Get you back onto your feet;
You're not a victim; you're victorious,
And he, we will defeat."
Waiting Silently in a Tattered Rocking ChairSilence.
She sat in complete silence.
Outside the dull, grey walls of her twelfth-story apartment, the world moved endlessly, noisily.
But to her, there was silence. Complete silence.
A ceiling fan rotated slowly above her; a fly lay dead on the window sill beside her; the festering corpse of a mouse lay putridly on the carpet in the corner of the hot, humid room across from her.
Yet, she sat in silence.
The window was home to a single potted plant; a small green sapling growing hesitantly out into the ever-putrid air of the apartment. It's dish had long-since cracked in the heat, and rot where the water leaks through had slowly begun to develop.
A child's watering can, no bigger than her palm, rested - a faded red - on a table beside the window. The plastic bubbled in the heat; large bulbous growths protruded from its surface.
The spout rarely let out more than a few drops nowadays.
Back in its days - back when old Mrs. Adalai was young - the pot plant was large and vibrant. The apart
Odyssey into 2012 Chapter 1The glare of the first gate blinds her momentarily; her memories flooded with a luminescence overpowering. She can't remember who she is, or why she's here.
She is oblivious to herself and the world around her; all she knows is the gate and the surrounding darkness. Hesitantly, she steps through, and is blinded again by a bright white glare.
Slowly the glare dies down as her eyes adjust. She can see clearly now; both the gate and her memory. She had traveled a long way to be here, to open this gate. She had travelled across the galaxy in the blink of an eye, she had opened a portal through time and space, and she had climbed through it. A portal in her mind, and it was such a portal that she could grant herself this omnipresence.
Her people were the Skylarks, and they knew her as a Gatekeeper; they recognised her unique abilities as mirroring those of the ancients. She was the remnant of a past long forgotten
She arrived in a city overrun by smog and giant grey buildings. "Is thi
Gentle EdgesDarling..be gentle with my edges,
they may be sharp and rough,
but they are a big part of me
that made me strong when I was weak.
HumanDying sun and the birth of the moon.
Foxes playing in the snow and ancient memories.
Receiving presents and getting drunk in the daylight.
Useless criticism and sad songs.
White weddings and pale funerals.
Kind words and happy endings.
Heartbreak, success, failure, death and happiness.
A good book and life in general.
Simple things like that can make you cry.
And that's okay.
You're not made of stone and iron,
you're not a cold, heartless machine...
You're just human.
And that's more than okay.
I Ship UsI can not measure our love
in words, but in how tight
we hug when we finally
see each other again. There
is starshine in your smile
and I could swear that you
are Aurora, wreathed in
beauty, but with less sleeping
and more ass-kicking.
You are kind and selfless,
a true paragon of love
and a goddess of all things
good. where most have blood,
you have eternal love.
all the light in the world
is simply not enough
to express the light
your friendship and
love bring to me.
Passion and excitement
exude from everything
that you do and you pour
your heart into; everything you
make, everything you touch.
When we first met, there wasn't
a doubt in my mind that I
had found one of my soulmates,
someone who could laugh
over puns and obsess over
pokemon, someone who wouldn't
judge me on anything I'd done.
A kind soul that is there
for all to see. One that has
been scarred and one I
wish to protect. Everything
you do becomes better
simply by your being there.
You are the reason I believe
in friends b
Just A GirlShe just a broken girl that
pours her secrets into the night
in the form of melodies and
the fire that burns so bright.
She's just a naive girl that
writes random heartbreaking art and
tries to keep her heart from
She's just a girl that
tries so hard to survive in the world
filled with two-faced people and
endless inner wars that keep on burning..
Disappearing Piece By PieceClosed doors.
Memories in scars.
Tears that fall unheeded,
and wishes from afar.
Disappear, oh Disappear.
Voices in my head,
I cannot entertain you.
I cannot end up dead.
You know that I won't stay forever,
so you up the Pain.
I still don't understand you,
though I know what you seek to gain.
You cannot have my body,
it's under my control...
and though you whittle away the pieces,
and I'm no longer whole...
I'm stronger than you think me,
stronger than I know.
Damn you Shadows!
I do not want to go!
I want to stay,
I want to see!
Please, oh please...
Ocean's TouchThere is this strange comfort
of being weightless in the sea.
Just floating there alone and undisturbed,
with your eyes closed and your mind at ease.
The smell of the ocean grounds you and relaxes you
while the gentle waves stroke your sensitive skin.
You feel safe and the options and life choices
no longer torture your brain.
You feel free, calm and sane
for that little period of time when nothing matters,
the pressure is gone and everything is fine.
The ocean's touch lingers on your exposed skin,
not like a lover, but a healer.
speak up before it's too lateit saddens me deeply
how the difference
between making your life
and taking your life
is a single letter
remember the importance
speak up before it's too late
Dazzling ParagraphsI can feel the thunder in my mind and icy rivers in my veins.
The soft wind in my hair and the ocean's breath in my lungs.
I can still feel your burning touch in the cold, gentle rain.
And your hands, I can feel them everywhere and that makes me shiver.
I can feel the stars shake when you look at me in the dark moonlight.
I can feel those dazzling paragraphs that you write with your lips on my neck.
I can still taste that scandal that you call a kiss.
I write for you and my words are sparking madness in my heart and my soul.
I write about you because I know that at one time we had it all and that gives me hope.
i am too much and yet not enough.i.)
she tells me i have
the heart of a mouse,
put your ear against
my ribs and hear the
crying to escape. today,
my wings are slashed. this
is nothing unusual, this
is nothing different except
it's a Tuesday and i
promised to cry only
Mondays and Thursdays.
(its a good thing we both know
i only keep half my promises)
we do not speak about it. but,
neither do we pretend it's
not there - something to
be ignored and overlooked. she
acknowledges, salutes and
moves on; she's a soldier
that refuses to fight and
i think i am glad of this.
(learning to be peaceful after a
lifetime of war is slow going,
but we're getting there.)
sorry is a forbidden
word in this house. sometimes
i forget this and
apologise for taking up
the air. sometimes she
forgets this and apologises
for taking up the space. on
these days, we sip black
tea whilst i thread my
fingers through her hair and
read. it never matters what,
she just likes to hear my
voice and words take u