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Unspoken.My words were
and I saw how
into your flawless, ivory
and wrecked your
But this damage
by the words that
left my lips,
but by the words
made it past my
Marigolds.I bought the flowers
to put in your hair.
Now people are telling me
they'd look better
on your grave.
can be the painter,
paint words on my lips.
will be the writer
and write kisses on your skin.
Arachnophobia.You caught me
in your web
spun oh so carefully,
in such a pretty
When you lured me,
all tangled up
you whispered your venom
in my ears
and injected your poison
into my heart.
I never hated spiders,
until I met
Skeletal System.My vessel
as vacant as
a gaping grave
because I put everything
into loving you
I am a
Impasse.We met once,
but you probably
I was just a face
in the crowd,
you were a lightening bug,
in the heart of December.
Burn Me.Two pillows
lay on the ground
One's for me,
and the other
lying in the pits of
Empty Pages.You are the perfect story,
A plot unfurling from your touch,
And poetry in your eyes.
You speak with golden glory,
Into sentences of hate,
And promises of lies.
You are the book
I never had the words to write.
pathological liarsI spin, spin,
on ballet toes,
but my balance is impaired.
I stumble over my own grace
like god is trying to trip me up.
please give me an example
of something that makes me worthwhile.
tonight the roads are winding.
my head is lolling
as I battle myself to keep my eyes open,
and all I can think about is how
the radio stations play
the same goddamn songs
a hundred times in a row.
monotony always frustrates me.
maybe that’s why we didn’t last.
are all carbon copies.
my tattoos frightened you;
you claimed that anything so damaging
shouldn’t be so permanent.
i got them all removed last week.
my arms are bare of ink.
i cut my hair short, shorter than yours,
gave myself a black eye
just to pretend there was a story behind it.
you wouldn’t recognize me anymore,
and I’m so happy I could cry.
you changed your mind, changed your sheets,
changed the woman you loved
like flicking off a switch.
I changed the locks, changed my
MemoriesIt’s funny how I will forget
These things that haven’t happened yet.
Time goes on from days to years
Happy smiles, and bitter tears,
Memories of what’s to come,
A happy tune that I will hum
Friends that come and friends that go,
Sunshine rays and dull moon glow.
Warm embraces and shoves away,
What I think and what I say.
The building blocks that make up me,
Events and thoughts and what’s to be…
All these things, alive and dead,
From the heart, and in the head,
From the future and in the past,
Those memories…. May they last.
==// What Happened to Taking Chances? //==This was obviously meant to happen.
I'll tell myself this again and again;
nothing can change.
No, nothing WILL change.
There was a time when I thought I OWNED this new world,
but as always, I took my chances.
Rolled the dice too many times.
But I lost over and over again.
My luck always hit rock bottom
when I thought that it had been MAXED out.
What happened to being a risk taker?
It died out, along with all my other dreams.
I can't bear to see any romantic JOY
it reminds me too much of last year;
and how everyone suffered
while I thrived.
I'll feel the remorse I didn't know I could feel.
I'll cry even though
I should be happy for my other friends' happiness.
So what did happen to taking chances?
I failed because of you,
both of you.
But that's quite alright.
Because I'd like to say thank you,
for being the most loyal friends I've had.
Being honest when it would be easier to lie
and not hiding what I'd only find out.
Telling me because I'm your friend,
If truth be told, you ruin yourself.The tears, they sting like acid as they pour out your eyes.
Tremors, like earthquakes, violently wrack your frame.
Breathing comes in ragged gasps, as if choked by unseen hands.
Hands that you've created yourself in the murky depth you call your mind.
You suffocate yourself, with assumptions and accusations.
Everyone looking about, whispering to one another, judging.
Your heart rate races and you become skittish and weary of all.
Paranoia roots deep within your heart, piercing like spikes of gold and rust.
And alone, oh how alone you feel in the world you've woven around you.
No one knows your struggles, not even yourself in a clear fashion.
You crave the touch of another, consolation and affection and trust.
But trust, where is the trust? Away, everyone gets pushed away.
Pushed away, or do they run at the first chance they get?
Because in the mirror all that has ever looked back at you, a monster.
It's vicious some days, pathetic others, always ugly, always wounded.
It's the one you'v
not fade awayTwisted up in a trap of I.V.s,
she withered and withered away.
Disease stole her lively light
from the sickbed where she lay.
A month before she perished,
I think she might have said,
"I know that I am dying, sure,
but dying's not the same as dead."
It Hurts You Know...Everyone agrees I would've been better with him.
And that what you did was wrong.
I reacted badly.
But at least I did admit it.
Trust me sweetie,
I've been in a relationship that I thought was real,
and I know what happens when no one's looking.
I also know what it's like to be on the outside;
to want your friends boyfriend more than she wants him.
You wouldn't understand,
you never will.
You can get any guy in the world,
but you just so happened to choose him,
who I just happened to be head over heels for.
Can you feel my envy
trying to rip your "love" away?
I wanted him for the longest time,
isn't it funny that you never had a chance to tell me that?
Oh wait, that's right.
You "loved him" right after he asked you out,
which also just happens to be the day after you were dumped.
Hm, that seems legitimate, right?
I know I'm being lied to when people say you love him.
I know you don't.
If you loved him, I would've known about it first,
before you knew about my feelings.
Romano x Reader: Crazy (1)He has always intrigued me.
Ever since the first encounter, I've spent hours with him, trying to figure him out.
I have been called a child prodigy by some. Music, math, arts, writing; you name it, I've attempted it.
And not just in school. Fencing, tennis, judo, soccer, dance, javelin, archery, track, theater; I've done them all and not only triumphed, but excelled, putting in 110%.
The point is, I'm rather smart.
I've always been pretty good at reading people just by watching how they talk, interact,dress, their body movements, facial expressions; the world is a giant library, each person a book for me to peruse at my leisure.
But not him.
He is the one person, the single novel that rests on a high self, too far up for me to grab, even with the assistance of chairs and ladders. heck, I can't even see the damn bindings of this mysterious piece of literature. He sits up there, taunting and teasing me,laughing at my foolish attempts to get my hands on him.
And I hate it.
It eats away
Acceptance Letter.DEAR Parents of _________,
We hear by send you this letter as a letter of approval for your daughter/son, ________ to enroll in to THE WORLD HERITAGE ACADEMY OF CULTURAL INTERACTIONS.
The Semester starts on the First of September.
All students can bring:
• Backpack with school supplies.
• Enrollment letter and ID
• Three Formal attires
• Casual clothes
• Uniforms (order on school website.)
• Phone, Laptop, or any electronic device of communication.
• We allow weapons if you are taking self-defense lessons
• Money (in any currency)
• Pets are allowed but we ask you to keep them separated
Rules will we stated at the freshman ordination.
My history teacher is a country!Reader chapter 1You woke up to a dreadful and horrifying noise known as your alarm. Realising that it was a school day, you groan and hesitate to get out of bed, but do it anyway. The bed creaks as your bare feet touch the cold floor and even more so when you lift yourself up. Maybe you shouldn't of watched THAT many episodes of hetalia last night. Feet thudding on the floor, you get yourself ready.
You come down the stairs, still tired, and get some breakfast. Since the house is silent you hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. Looking up at it, you are going to be late, as usual.
" great. Another lecture from the head, probably"
rushing to finish, you pick up your bag and take a quick look in the mirror as you leave. Seeing your (H/L) , (H/C) hair, messy and covering over your (E/C) doesn't help increase your confidence going to school, let alone being late.
As you enter, the halls are eerily quiet and quite creepy, you think. Quickly rushing to your class, history, it seems as though you won't
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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