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
UnawareWhen you are two and five and tenyou are unaware ––of the cactus in the windowsill,how, fragile, each quill bendsand breaks and falls apart.––Twelve years later, on a Tuesday,you dream about a boywho bumps his headon an iron slate and you wakein a cold sweat.You are twelve when you arealways bumping shoulders.Twenty-two years of Thursday.There is nothing at all.And you wonder (andyou wonder why)each time you wake.The cactus in the window bleedswith you when you bump it.No one ever mentionedfrightened things bite.So you have always been unaware.
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
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
SurrenderI remember the colorsyou madethat night on the porchwhen the fireflies claimedthe air around us -the bright blueblazing between your fingersas you saidbreathing was a trickof the night.I raised your handto touch my face,feeling the pink trailof the morningyet to comehumming on your palmand the deep pulseof orchid staining my mouthin soft surrender.
love letters to introvertsi.To the boy who prefers spending Friday nights at home:the world does not understand how beautiful silence soundssometimes. As you crack open that book you've been waiting to read, or plug in your computer, or listen to music, or, or, or, or just maybe stare at the night sky from your bedroom window-(please) remember what everyone else seems to forget;that being alone does not always equal lonely--and that sometimes no company is the best company there is. ii.To the girl who does not speak up in class: I was once you. You are not deficient, I promise, despite everyone telling you otherwise. You might be the only one who will ever know the universes tucked inside your head, because they are beautiful secrets you cannot bring yourself to share,for fear that they might be vandalized. When you speak,
each one of us carries cemeteries beneath our skinyou are not the only oneto walk like there areskeletons underfoot,who looks both waystwicebefore crossing the roadbecause you"knew a girl who";you are aliveand you will experiencehurt, and you willbe so thankfulfor every painful breath you takebecause it's better than wheneverything goes quietand all you feel is exhaustion.there is more than justone cold snapbefore you enterthe winter of your life.there are spellsof sadness and rage,hate and denialof all that you knowand all that you deserve;and you are not the only oneto fight for everyday you are here,alive and breathingand striving to thriveon such an unforgiving planet,in such a worldthat births emotional desertsin its people;you are not the only onewho hurts--please,be gentle.
White Ballet ShoesEveryone watchShe dances in the meadowsSweet, white ballet shoes