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The Smoke ArtistI was never one to believe in the supernatural elements of things. Don’t get me wrong, I was a huge fan of horror movies and books. The Shining, Carrion Comfort, Phantoms, those kinds of books. Old Victorian novels were also a favourite, like Dracula, Frankenstein, and Jekyll and Hyde. Urban legends fascinated me. I loved those stories, the ones that made you question the noises in the night, the ones you remembered with a slight shiver as you experienced a feeling that had been described so vividly it stuck with you.
However, you may notice the past tense in those sentences.
That’s because I experienced my own story, barely a few months ago. And I still see them, just hanging around. I have to keep my lights on all through the night. I can’t go out alone. I had to ask to not have night shifts. Ever. Not since then. I can’t stand shadows. They scare me, more than anything else in the world. If I think I see smoke, I have to get away as fast as I can. Matches, ci
Out of reachSometimes, I want you to understand. No matter what you do, you can't change me. I'm not perfect in your eyes, or anyone else's. Not even my own.
I don't need to be reminded on how much I hate myself. I already know. I've done things I thought I would never do. From a young age, I have been evil incarnate. To you I am a shadow.
I have done bad things. But what you don't realise is that I never meant to hurt anyone. I was trying to help. I should probably be in jail for the things I remember that I've done. Maybe an asylum.
But no one died, that I can remember.
The only person who died was me. And I died striving for what wasn't there.
From what I remember, I was trying to be perfect. Trying to do the impossible. I only enjoyed three things and they were the things keeping me going. Free running, drawing, and writing.
Free running was the thing that killed the old me. I refuse to do what I did before. I will still write and draw and run. But I'm not going through Hell again.
You don't u
Carnevil CircusChapter 1: Promise of A lifetime
Shriek ducked under a branch, staying silent as he ran as fast as he could. Away from that place, that STUPID, EVIL, place. He began breathing heavily, they barley let them exercise so they couldn't run. He was only a mile away, at least the experiments gave him extended strength speed and accuracy.
He slid under a fallen tree, and down a steep hill, landing in a muddy river that covered his dark green top in mud and got his baggy black jeans soaked. His combat boots remained dry inside. He grabbed the lavender perfume and sprayed the trees before discarding the can on the river, after creating a leak.
Shriek was fourteen. He had green hair and dark blue eyes with grey tinged pale skin that made him look sick. His hair was cut short, and was messy, covering his left eye. It was darker behind his fringe, which helped in the camouflage. He took a break for a minute.
There was a faint barking in the background of the silence, and loud approac
Make it stopI wasn't scared at first.
I mean, I knew what happened to women who were accused of being witches in this time, but I had a very high pain tolerance, and could engage my natural healing process at any time. Any scars would go quickly, I had potions for that.
When I was caught- well, not really caught. I'm not a witch, am I? Nah. There isn't a proper name for the species yet, as I REFUSE to be called a fairie or fairy, however it's spelt. I just call myself a Hybrid.
Anyway, when I was caught, there was a bit of panic on my end; I thought I'd been really careful but I suppose not. I was taken to the local church where they put me through the tests. They tried the cross first. I guess I'm lucky I'm not a full demon; crosses only work if they're bigger than I am and closer than three inches away. When the cross didn't work, they tried holy water. Holy water doesn't do anything but strengthen my angel DNA, so I was safe on that. In fact, if anything it helped my argument; it ke
No longer sickI'm not tanned and I'm not fair.
My skin is ripped I have no hair.
I cannot speak I cannot move.
I try to talk no words come through.
My lips are dry can't feel a thing.
I can't see I think I'm slipping.
Light hits my face and it gets to my head.
I'm no longer sick; I am dead.
I don't understand why you hate him,
Why you can't love him.
I don't know your reasons,
Perhaps it's because of your differences.
But I think you're being cruel,
Because you know how it's like to be rejected.
I don't want you to think,
That I'm on his side or anything.
I'm trying to take an equal ground.
But you're making it hard for me,
I already have enough trouble.
They found out about everything,
They know I'm cutting.
They know I'm hurting.
They know I'm dying.
They know I have problems.
They're trying to fix me.
You guys, you can't seem to help.
Michelle, you're acting strangely. You're hiding from me, and I don't like it. I know you're having problems, and I know it's hard for you, but please. Talk to me. I think you're dying Mimi, and I don't know how to deal with it. I can't understand your problems, I know. But every time he tells me about why he thinks you don't want to love him, it makes me feel sad. It's killing me Mimi.
Talk to me.
Billy, I know it hurt
...Tension, is building between
our bones; cracking
these boundaries that bind
[lets not get lost in the moment
Our Wayward Starsguide the specimen
through the maze
and through the rain
rinsing our clothes
like they're still on fire
and somewhere, well
they probably are
and you pray
like tomorrow itself
is the fuel
that empties our dark places
like what lives there
goes away at dawn
but it doesn't
and i pray
like tonight itself
is the dark
that fuels our light
like what lives in each
feeds the ugly other
and it might
but, we're all prey
and the dream itself
is the place where
our chemical flames
hit the surface
flailing as we sink
in panicked clothes
from a distance
we must look like
lost, accepting the
drowning slow burn
of our descent
we look like what we are
I bet she smells of laurel and pineI've made a career of
standing on the back porch -
calling your name into
the wide-open ears of
You step from the house
to beckon me inside
but I swear a piece of you
is missing; escaped
into wilder arms years ago.
Asabikeshiinh (Filter)Asabikeshiinh (Filter)
I wear the dream snare like a chain.
The willow hoop filled with spider thread,
sway loose as the aves feathers
and the spun yarn traps the fallen.
I tread subconsciousness
like salmon swim
in the falls of Williamette.
And watch the net
take hold of chimera,
a phantasm of phenomena
as I greet the cousin of death
with a firm shake of the hand
and respectful grin.
But wisps of spirits tempestuous
reverberate throughout the lace,
as the new day slowly begins to take shape.
Light returns to Earth as my eyes open.
Conceptions' theories last so long
before absoluteness' presence grabs hold.
I'd rather immerse myself in abstractions.
Big BadI wanted to conquer the whole world, but
all I got was a dark room
and a fistful of dimes.
I remember being sixteen, an
American Spirit burning near my lips,
head out the passenger window
as we sped on like triumph...
You can laugh at the stars
for being so far
away, and it won't cost you
You can blow ash on the grass
and burn holes in the sole
of your shoes,
and it won't cost you
anything but time.
It was those nights
with the cigarettes
and the stars, there was
no promise in it,
no hope either. A big joke
we can all point at, we can
tilt the bottle and laugh.
The yellow half moon
half smiled with us.
The sun those nights
held its head with us.
Life without promise,
one big bad joke
and we were
the god damn punchline.
The Denial Of Truth?Why they
Don't listen to you,
Until it's too late?
Don't believe in you,
Until it's too late?
Start to listen
When it's too late?
Start to believe
When it's too late?
Couldn't listen to you,
When they should have?
Couldn't believe in you,
When they should have?
Silence is the loudest Scream
Silence rips your voice apart,
Your mouth opens to say something, but no sound comes out,
Your tears are falling silently,
You're screaming but you can't hear anything,
They can't hear you either,
Not over the laughter of the shadows surrounding you.
Pain travels up your back,
Across your face,
Down your legs,
Around your neck,
It burns at you.
Your skin is torn off strip by bloody strip,
And your hair ripped off in uneven chunks,
You already knew you were ugly,
But you don't care,
You just want it to stop.
The laughter is loud,
And it echoes through your head,
You feel sick but you can't do a thing.
Finally they leave,
And you are left,
As nothing but muscle and bone,
In a pool of your own blood.
Why are they still laughing?
You only now feel the noose of chains around your neck,
And hear the motor of a car.
It's finally ove
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