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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
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
when i stimulated the prayers of rib-beat
when i licked the temple of my teeth,
speed pushed my fingers shaped like confessionals
clasped holy, carved my throat to fixing-
lover; i did this for the anthem of your eyes,
the feel of strangled feet crushing the fame of stars
for the glow of streetlight worship, for the moons
of your crooning throat, for the halls of your arms,
the strayed revels of your arms,
lover: you manufactured a god out of the drugs i used
and had me addicted to the divine, to the dignity of music
you pressed in my direction: just what i am, hallelujah,
marijuana, day and night-
lover, i fell in love with your culture
that preached the real definition of dusked kneecaps,
the plea of closeted throats, the whisper of bless,
unlearning how to say please god in borrowed tongue,
i fell in love with your attention, nervous grace
lover. i levied the rubble of my sins
Even The City KnowsIs it at all easy?
Being by yourself, I mean.
Sitting in a car, on a train, on a bus--wherever you might be now, isn't it hard to be a drifter?
There are no men with newspapers, no women with strollers, no love-crazy teenagers, no annoying toddlers, no anybody.
You stare out the window, like there are people out there, calling your name. The trees are out there, and they've lost all their leaves, all their buds--they've lost everything, just like you.
The sky is out there, and it's gray and colorless, just like you.
The stars are out there, and they're so blown-out-of-proportion, and they're just like you, too.
But the trees, the skies, the stars, they're used to being left alone.
You lack the ebullience of your drink, but it, too, is fading.
Frost has gathered on windows, on the ground, on rivers, everywhere.
Frost comes and goes, just like you, when you finally melt away.
The city draws to darkness and quiet--it disappears, just like you.
But, even frost
Death to the LoversHe screamed,
He tore his hair from his scalp;
But it didn't bring her back.
The beautiful girl
With the gorgeous smile
And witty remarks
Would always lay six feet under.
She would lie in her death bed,
Her arms folded on her chest
And her face full of peace
Known only to the dead.
He would be the first to rot.
First his health,
Then his sanity.
She would forever feed on his emotions
Like a pretty little leech,
Sapping his well being
And happiness from her underground world.
And he would let her,
For a fool like him
Who allowed himself to love,
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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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More