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Daunted ReverieI grab the sheets and feel with fingertips
A chilled fabric, testament of
life without you
This quiet sleep without dreams
While the night still holds bright stars
And I gaze out the window wondering
if you ever will exist
Where I can hold you close and
A chiding laugh and I close my eyes
There is a whole lot of sky between
you and I
Which to a dreamer is not so daunting
But my wings are papier-mâché
Tearing in the collected rain of
this brutal reality
In which I can only close my eyes
In RememberanceIn Remembrance
Therein lies this emptiness
That simply wades through veins, festering
And spreading to every inch of the body
Where no one can see but choose to
And I long for the words to find
A way to simply scrape the surface
But they disintegrate before exposure
To a mind so consumed and devastatingly
Vacant where we were meant to spark
And create this growing life
To bring to a world where most want to sweep
Embarrassments and difficulties under
No meter or rhyme can clean it up
When something is indescribable
As the flickering elephant in the room
But even still my smile is sewn, my lips
All I know is the patience for inevitability
Because the world is temporary and
To drop anchor here is suicide for those
Who cannot swim amidst valueless waves of
But as the minute hand skitters the time steps
And I feel it slip into an abyss of abstractions
The world stands still for a split millennia of
Falling tears and stilled breath as I feel you for a
Within the Drum Within the Drum
The copper crept from within, a slow oozing trail staining its way. The notion that something wasn't quite right startled her awake. It was dark out still and she felt it weighing her down, a claustrophobic blanket of restriction. She reached up with soft fingertips, confused to graze a sticky path up her neck. The rough trail on her skin introduced a precipice of acceptance and the recollection of the doctor's warning. A lightning bolt hit and jolted her body out of its sleeping fold and into a tense knot. Turning her head slowly she waited for the next strike as the rockets burst in her head.
A Teaspoon For DrowningI visit many deviant profiles for writers and think to myself, "That could be me. They are so put together. Their writing just screams I AM ME! So little words, so many emotions. Truly beautiful and wonderful in a sparkly blender of Hellz yes!"
Fuck. Testing testing .where is your voice?
Not over here.
Venom Veracity Venom Veracity
I drink a cup of coffee, the aroma of a sigh enveloped by my skin. A tranquil moment. Pensive.
Perhaps if I had known that he would drag her away by the wrists, I might have skittered along the time steps. Avoiding the sparkling stars, their sharp edges never to slice her forearms. The crimson congealing to my skin, so chafed. Bleeding rubies.
Some secrets scuttle into the cracks. And words cannot survive the violence of the mutilation. The clenched jaw, starving screams. I carried the naïveté of her in a pen, ebony splashes dancing. When the water refuted the stars, she lost balance. Catch her.
Held in splintered animosity, the grin of victory scal
The AshesNo one can touch us anymore. You must have not known or else you would be here with me. Right?
Our world is burning
The song is beautiful. It reaches out and grasps my dying fingers. Like a Polaroid, the emotions slowly come into focus, colors and details getting more and more brilliant
I begin to cry. How do I show you? My words have died and they are decaying within me. My tears are ink, and they drop to the burning world, stained and unrecognizable to any who cared to take a look. If I had been able to show you, would then you have stayed for me?
I screamed, the sky r i p p l e d
You didnt notice. You have forgotten how to look up.
You just never cared like I always did
Listening, watching, waiting
Dawns PreludeRetreat is quiet and swift. I sit up, soft sheets falling around my hips as I blink blue depths, ever staring in the distance. Like the sparklers' story, it is fading before my eyes with sparks dying, though I saw its brilliance but moments ago. Stumbling out of bed in a daze, I try to grasp hold of Times retreating veil. He is too fast for me.
I must find the pieces of my dream. Each spark of it slipped out of consciousness and between the cracks of reality in mere seconds. Tearing at the earth, I stretch and reach, longing to skim the tips of my fingers along their rippling frames. The ritual of it all consumes my waking moments.
But before I know it, the sun spins her dance among the clouds, finally taking her bow into the horizon. She retreats into the waking realm as the stars take their cue. They open the gates and the obsidian waters cascade over the sky, trickling onto my world. I look to the ground again, my dream faintly glowing as sparks crackle and leap in
Requiem A muted landscape sits beneath the dark heavens. You step upon it, a scream sewn into your lips. The thread burns.
You are running, but why? For what is it that you seek? What do you hope to accomplish?
But you cannot answer these questions can you? You were the one that took the needle to your lips.
The moon is solid, unmoving. You thank God it has ceased its descent of drowning in the water. Perhaps then you can catch up. The wind stumbles alongside you, losing strength, a frightening thought. Why are you running?
If only your skin would slide off and let you fly. But you are contained, restricted: a mirror to yesterday. Now there is no time. She suffocated whilst fate outlined her neck in gnarled fingers. Dont watch, just run.
Denial is simply the façade of reality who ba
The WeakeningGrief of gray, the silent trespasser
Descends with splintered wings
Their beat a rhythmic epidemic
A scratching within my being
Once impassioned with yearning
The framework for our own lives
As we tread somewhere in the middle
Between the seasons evolving intellect
Now all is the mask of Façade
Through these drowning eyes
As desire and beauty diminish
Cutting oxygen of the souls language
Loss amidst the tranquil second
While the lifeless gray scars within
Severing lifelines to my passions
Oh sorrow, if I only
Creepypasta: It Never EndsCreepypasta: It Never Ends
I ask you a question, what is right and what is wrong? You might say something like murder is wrong, and dying for a just cause is right. But in the end, how are the two different? They each involve death. Which brings me to my main point: all life depends upon the ending of another’s to exist. Even humans must eat plants and usually animals, and in some odd cases other humans as well. Life could best be portrayed as an endless staircase, constantly turning back in on itself in a quantum Mobius strip. Remember that all life exists solely because it caused another life pain at some point, which in turn had inflicted pain to life before it. That is a central theme in the story I will tell you.
First, proper introductions are in order. I am Sin, with a capital S. I could best be described as the abstract concept of violating the natural order that we call sin, given sentience and a semblance of form. I make my presence felt every day in the life of every m
Beneath Her Beautiful"I'm a tailor," he told her, when they first met. "A dressmaker, too." He knew it wouldn't catch her attention the way a doctor or a CEO might, but his passion was what got them all interested in the end. When she asked about his work, he played up the sensory aspect - the sight of a newly created outfit; the fresh scent of his fabrics and the sheer artistry involved. He talked, too, about the pleasure he found in spotting the imperfections beneath the outer beauty.
By the time he got to his customary pick-up line, the one he'd stolen from a popular song, she was already pretty taken in. He stole her breath when he asked her to show him the imperfections she hid.
He hummed as he manipulated his instruments, scissors making small cuts here and there. The tapestry he was creating would, he knew, be a masterpiece. Like a surgeon, he made precise snips that allowed for a perfect edge.
Everything was just right, and as he pulled her skin away from the muscles below, he sang happily to h
The Amulet"The date is April 10th, 2014. I am here with Tyler Deadlox, Jason Truth, Jerome Acceti, Mitch Huges, Quintin Kipz, and Ian Sundee. They are all room mates who have faced some...supernatural experiences. Would one of you care to tell us what happened?"
A teen with long brown hair and headphones shuffled in his seat and began. "Well...it started when we bought a new home. The old one was too small to hold a group of six. This one was large, had amazing usage of space, and didn't cost nearly as much as the others we looked at. It seemed...well perfect."
"Jerome!! Hand me the other box!" Ty called after he finished placing a lamp on his desk.
"That's the last one for your room dood!" Jerome called back as he walked by his door.
Ty laughed and dusted himself off. He looked at his new room and sighed. It was a new start for all of them. Him especially. Away from his hometown and family for the first time. It was hard, but it had to happen sometime. Ty snapped out of his tho
innocencelast night, i dreamt the devil
tried to slaughter me with a
train. the tracks began at the
back hall and ended at the front
door, pouring outside. how these
things appeared in my home, i cannot
he was not the caricature you may be
imagining; oh, no. he was perhaps
as old as the boy who died this winter,
roughly twenty five summers. ebony
curls sat wickedly on his ears, and his
eyes were two lumps of coal and fire,
sharp enough to paralyze.
i locked him in the garden, eventually.
he found a way back in, of course
(being the devil must have perks).
i retrieved the pocket knife the colour
of motor oil from my nightstand
and stabbed him three times, in the belly.
he bled out all over, staining the picture
frame, the carpet, the wallpaper. i imagined
it was sin, not blood; that i was healing, not
but it was blood; he was human, after all.
as they took him away to the hospital, i watched
him grimace in pain. guilt seeped through my
skin like coffee th
Creepypasta: Mirror, MirrorCreepypasta: Mirror, Mirror
Humans are vain, self-absorbed creatures. If I, once a trusted angel and now a Daemon of myth, am aware of that, then surely they know it on at least some basic level too. My eventual corruption and fall from grace should come as no surprise; I suspect Adonai himself always had his doubts in my purity. I am after all in a prime position to see them at their most selfish and otiose as well. You see, I am a shapeshifter who dwells in the space between the mirror and the reflection.
In my newfound role I stalk my chosen victim through the reflective surfaces in his or her abode. I imitate their every movement as they preen in front of my chosen mirror. I look on from the polished surface with disgust as they bitch and moan under their breath about first-world problems. And just when I can’t stand them any longer, that is when I start to have my fun.
I begin to purposely put flaws in my imitation, and as they look at me thinking they see their own reflecti
Slender - Urban Angel, Archer Part 8
Archer could feel it in Smiler’s grasp as she almost clung onto him, the sense of fear. It was a fear Archer knew of once himself. But he also knew there was no sense to try and stand up to Offender. Yet Archer had and idea and looked at Smiler, urging her to let go of him. As she reluctantly did Archer moved towards Offender with a somewhat relaxed posture and stopped at a fairly safe conversation distance.
If he can’t fight, he can try reasoning… at least.
“As far as I know about you Offender. Doesn’t she have to take your rose for you to… you know?” He drifted. Offender smirked and teleported right before Archer, causing Archer in instinctively step back a few times.
“Fuck her silly?~ Well she DID touch it, and that’s good enough for me.~” Offender pointed out cheerfully. Archer shot a frown back at Smiler who shrugged innocently with a sheepish look plastered on her face. She knew Archer was annoyed she didn’t
MonsterSince you were a child
you have been checking your wardrobes and under your beds for monsters
But what you don't know that there already is a monster in your life
Always following you
Always with you
Until you die
I guess you don't know what I'm talking about right now
We humans forget that there's a monster inside all of us
Locked in a cage in your head
For the right moment for you to snap and break open the cage for it so it can take control
That monster is our insanity
A raging beast that is inside of us all
But one day cage will break
And the beast will be released for it to rampage
She Died Happy Hands are wrapped tight around my neck. A cold blade lightly travels along my veins as if to tell me that the path to my future is slowly narrowing. My blood pumps rapidly despite my careful breathing. I savior the idea that my blood can feel free, at least giving it the illusion that it's running away. But again, my thoughts and the red liquid of my body are brought to a shocking stop as pressure begins against the pulse of my neck.
I felt the edges of my lips slide up towards the crinkles of my eyes as blitz of sharp pain shot through my body. Even if those hands were away from my neck, I'd still feel breathless. Within seconds, my mind was lost - dreaming of the unscarring cuts that will be leftover on my soon-to-be lifeless body. The reaction if in some future my grave were to be dug up, and the look that would become me were to be found. How would the mortician handle my mangled body? Would he or she leave it be, and keep the smile I shall soon die with?
My Dearest BetrayalMy Dearest Betrayal,
Along your spine I zip open your flesh, peeling it back from the muscle and bone. Breathing heavily upon your utter nakedness, I watch the uncontrollable quivering as my poisoning breath scalds as dry ice.
A screaming monster claws its way up your throat, tattered shreds of your gullet are left in its wake. Flailing in the putrid fumes of agony, your yellow eyes search. But there is nobody there for you anymore. A sea of writhing bodies bump and flop against your own, unaware. Encapsulating screams have carved themselves into your irises as the selfish world turns topsy-turvy like a drunkard consumed in his own self pity.
The hair stands on the back of your sweating neck. As the claustrophobic drowning dissipates, a frost crawls to the ends of the earth congealing the flow of your veins. Solitude is now the scumm
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