She dances in the meadows
Sweet, white ballet shoes
Hah I did this right, right? I don't know why, but the image of little fairies in white ballet shoes hovering over grass dancing is stuck in my head.
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.
Story Time for the Wicked ThingsYou forget that her life is lost and too much blood has fallen
Angels die but love lives on
And a fairytale always ends
Frustration in Her VoiceShe's held her tongue for so long
She's forgotten what to say
When the words seem ready
They get lost along the way
And when the letters start to make a sound
It's been long gone, the end of the day
Witch-EyesDeath follows her Witch-Eyes everywhere
Yet so does life, in her presence of serenity
Her eyes, for knowledge, leave your soul curious - yet bare
So 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 are
If you were the clouds, then I'd be the wind
So that I could show you off to the world
If you were the moon, then I'd be the darkness
So that you could shine beyond me
If 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 knows
if she does...
i'll bet she goes CRAZY
hopefully she'll be strong
if she snaps...
we'll have to kill her
we'll have to try to save her
to save ourselves
to save her
The Season's PriceThe winter's frost
Is the voice of the lost
And your life is the only cost
The flora of spring
As the cruel nymphs sing
Your soul is what you must bring
The summer engulfs with heat
An impossible feat
No angel a sinner will meet
The final leaf of fall
The migration is the last call
To die at the seasonal ball
Confessions of a BorderlineHer gaze is the most peculiar thing,
she can't hold still for anyone.
One minute, it's rosewater delicate
and the next - the fire of a Gatling gun.
She's exactly what occurs when sugar and salt
are mixed in a chemical reaction.
Have you seen the way she walks the die?
Oh, but it's such an attraction!
You may feast your eyes, but you'd better not touch,
in fact, you should never go near her.
But hide away and lock your doors
and teach the kids to fear her!
When she gets upset over the littlest thing,
she gets all suicidal
(though you really should see her when she gets mad
she's full-blown homicidal).
When it comes to sanity (or lack thereof),
she's Harley's fiercest rival.
Can't calm her nerves to live her dream
then she stuffs up every recital.
She very hardly discerns her feelings,
she may hate you but she'll need you to live.
But she's barely a person, so it's perfectly fine
to use her till you've all she can give!
And you can't fall in love with a girl like her
(unless, of course,
DevourOh I'm well aware of my own limitations,
Unlike you, I do not quite have the talent.
I cannot warp the minds of the young and malleable,
I cannot make them believe I am greater than I am.
I am simply, not like you...
But if I were to eat you, I wonder.
Would I too experience such glory?
If I were to devour your flesh,
And drink your soul as if it were a fine wine.
Would I too become great?
Let us find out you and I;
And I'll thank you in advance, for the lovely meal!
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made 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
Losing ItI'm kind of going crazy,
I'm caught inside my mad mind.
Ten different things weigh me down, but I'm still fine!
The words are coming slowly, my mind is on a slur.
I can't string this poem, because the brain is on a blur!
And I get so frustrated, I tear away at skin;
The hair is falling down and the voices make a din!
I wanna shut them out, but I can't find a key,
So all that I can do is simply shut away the ME.
Back BiteIf you think that you can beat me with your fakery,
I won't let you break or put me down; I'm a landmine!
And if you think that you can ever silence this deal,
Then sew your lips shut, while I show you what's real!
You live inside your fairytale world,
And you're ever right.
Think that you can cloud us with this fantasy?
I will show you venom and I will show you poison,
I will spit you verse that is as raw as its poignant
So why don't you sit back, arms flat, relax;
Let a new man take control of the apex!
And if you think that you can touch with flower-kissed verses,
I will take your dreams and I'll turn them into curses;
Don't think that you can fake a writer who's real,
Or I might have to show you how the real dark feels!
The DonorThe Doner 7/27/15
I've had a good life.
I have no regrets.
It''s time for me to die.
What will be my legacy?
These are things I wonder.
How will I be remembered?
Who will mourn me?
Have I done enough?
Did I appreciate the air I breathe?
So I made a decision.
A choice of the heart.
When I die I will donate
parts of me.
Parts I hold dear.
If in the future I can be helpful
to someone who is without - that will
be my purpose.
My corneas, which helped me view beauty
and ugliness in this world.
I will give to someone who can't see.
Maybe they have been blind all their
life or maybe it's new and it kills them.
If I can give them a glimpse of what
I saw then I will die with a grin on my face.
My lungs ( although I had asthma and suffered
occasionally when I was young ) could
breathe new life into a child or
a person with emphysema.
Maybe they will be thankful for a second chance.
And finally my heart. Which now beats faster
knowing my fate. I don't wish to die.
But the cancer is coursing throu
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
NostalgiaThe first time my fingers
Sailed across your shorelines
was magical. It felt like I was running
through the past and pulling memories
from way back. But even nostalgia
eventually becomes useless and mundane.
A chore to hide the bitterness
With sour kisses and cheap perfume.
We lived our lives in New York minutes;
Being wasted was never time wasted,
We survived for a while
on fake laughs and ganja cookies.
But like everything; like with everyone else,
Within an instant,
I made you breakfast,
and was gone.
san gabrielSometimes you dream about a burning grocery store and it means nothing.
This is me standing in a hallway realizing that the people who left
aren't showing up for dinner, that's why it's only a theory.
Look at these streetlights, look at you wearing that wreckage on your face,
soaked in radio. To white windmills flickering across the coast, to
your dogs barking like shootouts behind these gates. An old forest flashes
against the bridge and starts breathing; headlights bleach our hills and you say
What kind of ending is this, I'm never here anymore.
And Hell yeah, I think, how insane that the species blooms in catastrophe,
how improbable to survive this lottery, to conquer the probability
of having never blinked toward the blinding white shipwreck,
to find an abandoned planet and fill it with chairs. Back in the day
I'd probably moan for the other side, but now I'd argue that our people's poetry
is best understood as a consequence; not a shotgun but the stained carpet
being dragged from