Somewhere in here, there's a songI'm staring at the screen wondering where my words are.They're here somewhere - or at least they once were.I wonder if someone could save me from this.Or if I was doomed to fall from the beginning.
Blood TiesThere was once a little girl, the most loved little girl in all existence. One day, someone killed her. And everyone was sad. Everyone was devastated. 'But how could she die,' they all wondered. She was their heart, their soul, and without her, how could they continue?But they did. Because they had to. And they kept on loving her. Until the day they all died.
What they feelLove was falling from the skylike shattered strays of glass
Story Time for the Wicked ThingsYou forget that her life is lost and too much blood has fallenAngels die but love lives onAnd a fairytale always ends
Frustration in Her VoiceShe's held her tongue for so longShe's forgotten what to sayWhen the words seem readyThey get lost along the wayAnd when the letters start to make a soundIt's been long gone, the end of the day
Witch-EyesDeath follows her Witch-Eyes everywhereYet so does life, in her presence of serenityHer eyes, for knowledge, leave your soul curious - yet bareSo that her voice could take away all inner acerbity
Because I love youIf you were the sun, then I'd be the sky So that I may show just how brilliant you areIf you were the clouds, then I'd be the wind So that I could show you off to the worldIf you were the moon, then I'd be the darkness So that you could shine beyond meIf you were the stars, then I'd be the galaxy So that you may have a home to call your own
Kill the Puppeti wonder if she knowsknows?hahahif she does...i'll bet she goes CRAZYhopefully she'll be stronghahahcrazy...if she snaps...we'll have to kill herwe'll have to try to save herto save ourselvesto save hergiggle
The Season's PriceThe winter's frostIs the voice of the lostAnd your life is the only costThe flora of springAs the cruel nymphs singYour soul is what you must bringThe summer engulfs with heatAn impossible featNo angel a sinner will meetThe final leaf of fallThe migration is the last callTo die at the seasonal ball
LiarStriking designStunning, the messageOutrageous to the knowingUniquely colouredSuperb, the techniqueHilarious to the informedWisely composedSkilfully arrangedMaster of his ArtLiar.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
TakenIt was just a strategic readjustment.It was just a necessary tactical move.It was just your finger moving half an inch leftand curling slightly.It was just the centimeter or two of differencebetween the moment that just was,and the one that is,but you reached for my handand you took my heart.
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flameAnd eagles, turning, turn to fireAsh cold, alone I lieAnd think of you.
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead. It isn’t true. It’s said the stench of hell infects the earthand healths of heated blood are downed. But Hamlet lied. The dead know nothing, the living less. There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
SapiosexualI don’t know what I’ll dowhen the first fistfulof dirt hits the bottom.Maybe I’ll follow you to the grave.Or maybe I’ll prayfor a zombie apocalypse,so we can dine on eachother’s brains one more time.
powerless, and reaching."He's the kind of personwho tells me to 'cheer up'when I'm depressed,"he says, scoffing,and I shake my headand say,"What a useless comment."He chuckles, agrees,but I keep thinking abouthim,about all the "cheer up"sand "just be happy"s he's heard in his life.I want to say "cheer up,"I want my words to magicallycure him, heal him, crush his depressionin a way that no pills ever could,but I know it doesn't work like that.Happiness is not an itemto be obtained with quartersand coupons,it is not a country to travel toin airplanes and sailboats.Happiness is a change in the wind,a flicker from east to westthat cannot be upheld permanently.For him, it is a roadblocked by people who roll their eyesand tell him to get over himself.When I wrap my arms around him,he laughs again,sinks into my body.I think about hollow rooms,sound echoing off the walls.
alcohol and words sometimes mixHe said good night because he couldn’t say goodbye.It was one of those times when his tongue was an anger,his insides an outburst of words and every particle of the universehe has inside him. He was fourteen when he made the excuse it was probably the overwhelmof being anti-poetic and Shakespeareanat the same time that robbed his voice box of his voice. He’s twenty-three now,taller with his own share of metaphoric broken bones and drunken one-night stands but none the wiser on the starshe keeps wishing on. There are two things you can have when you’re afraid:courage or more fear. And he realised with a smirk and a pitfall in his stomach,that he’d been allowing himself to ride more on the latter.But yes, he loved her very much.He just got too drunkon the poesy of unrequited love.
Not My Kind of Fairy TaleDon't give me the KnightWhose armor shines so bright.Give me the Knight,Whose armor is dull and broken.Whose horse is weary,Whose heart is heavy.Give me the Knight who looks at the dragon with pity,For that dragon has done nothing,And is just as imprisoned as the princess he guards.Don't give me a princess who only wishes to be saved,By that Knight whose armor shines so bright.Give me the princess who wishes to escape yes,But wants to free the dragon,Who does not wish to marry her savior--Nay, give me the princess who wants to explore,Who wants to live and to learn.For the years of imprisonment only made her yearn,Not for the Knight whose armor shines bright,But to see the world and live in the light.Do not give me the evil dragon,Whose soul purpose is to give that bright Knight something to fight.No, give me the dragon who is weary,Who longs for the freedom of the sky,Whose leg is burdened with chains,And whose heart aches for the princess he must guard,Lest h
White Ballet ShoesEveryone watchShe dances in the meadowsSweet, white ballet shoes