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I Wish You Were Dead
And you're the memory I can't shake, the one ghost that I can't seem to out distance. The hurt from your absence I can't fake, a hollow space in my soul for remembrance. Sometimes I guess I wish you were dead, because then I could logically say why you're gone. But your memory weighs on me like lead, and I wish I could say I was done. That one memory you left to haunt, sad to say it's the only one in my possession. It's there like a taunt, and it's a sweet memory that leaves me with an odd obsession. Something so pretty, shiny and golden, a lie to an innocent child. A clawing memory of days so olden, a memory that sparks longing so wild.
And yes, I wish you were dead, so I could logically say why you're not here. I wish I could get that memory out of my head, but it's going to stay I fear.
Yes, I wish you were dead, dear old Dad.
On A Midnight Drive
The tempests toss...but with a single word they can be still...and in the peace finding solitude and comfort...release... Let us together strive to be perfect beings. Even if that means we become something more than human. Transcending humanity perhaps could be a blessing...to forget pain and regret...to have something more...something of a little more merit. Something greater than fate, or the cards life dealt to devastate...
Dive with me away from the confusion, maybe reality is an illusion. Come away with me into the silence of night…away from the painful blight. Come away with me tonight…on a midnight drive.
The Monster Sentence
Ever have one of those extremely long sentences that became an absolute monster? Let's face it, monster sentences eat paper, they look and sound unprofessional, and sometimes when reading one, it's hard to catch some oxygen.
While some of us love writing long sentences, sometimes wordiness can carry us into dangerous waters. In these dangerous waters, the monster sentence is lurking, just waiting to take a bite out of our writing. Don't let the monster sentence kill your writing style!
Here's an example: The dog ran quickly down the hill to chase the cat the cat then became distracted by a bird the bird was too distracted by a worm to notice the cat stalking it even though the cat was being chased by the dog.
Whew! That was a beast, right? Let's pick that sentence apart and see what can be tamed.
Revision: The dog ran quickly down the hill to chase the cat. The cat then became distracted by a bird. The bird was too distracted by a worm to notice the cat stalking it, even though the cat
Phantom of the Opera Critique
The Phantom of the Opera: Cliché Yet Charming
Though I was not familiar with Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera, I was immediately fascinated when this film (directed by Joel Schumacher) came to my attention. This film which was decisively panned by the majority of professional movie critics, I truly believe is brilliant. In this review, I will reveal why this movie is simply and purely cliché yet charming. The criteria used in my analysis include: content, set, lighting, musical score, acting, and originality.
The movie begins in a dull, black and white, grainy, 1919 Paris, France, at an auction in the old, run-down, Opera Populaire. Even though the opera house is covered in cobwebs and dust, one can easily discern that in its day it was glorious.
The real magic begins with "Lot 666," a chandelier. As the chandelier is lifted from the floor in a display of its fully restored glory, the first chord of the theme song of The Phantom of the Opera begins. A bone-chilling,
A Fresh Start
Over the course of our lives we receive scars,
We amass our hurt and anger in various sized jars.
We act like we're not good enough,
Our emotions hidden behind a wall that is rough.
So we live our lives in dreariness,
Watching the naïve with much weariness.
We scoff at their paltry temporary happiness.
We wear our misery like an honor medal,
Like we've been put through fire to test our mettle.
But maybe we're more vulnerable than we think;
Because once we love we begin to sink.
Fear pushes us to the brink.
But we look at the innocence in disgust,
We proudly swear, "In thee I will not trust."
When in reality, purity is all we lust.
But push on we will and must,
Like a dismal machine full of rust.
But maybe a vulnerability,
Is not some disability.
Because inside of you I can see,
The man you really want to be.
And maybe you can't be him just yet,
Your heart is tender and full of regret.
Your time will come so do not fret.
Because the purest heart,
Cannot tell fancy and love apart.
Nation of Shame
And we shall rise up a new people. Not chained in place by previous inequity or bigotry. We shall oust the individuals who have, for so long, restrained us from our freedom.
But what else are we but a nation in chains begging for scraps from our master's table? What else are we but the foot stool of the abusive and corrupt?
We ought to be more than the slaves of those who were originally indentured to us. Destitute and impoverished we are, our very liberty raped by their power hungry greedy natures. Who are we but tired, poor huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse, the homeless tempest-tost?
We are what we swore to protect and nurture. We are the burdened and afflicted. We are the nation of the forcibly mute. Tortured with visions of freedom and grandeur.
We have nothing…not even our name. We are the nation of shame.
My Darkest Sin, My Evil Desire
Slowly the darkness creeps, into the world it seeps. Like a bead of rain water, indeed it does not falter. In the shadows it lurks, waiting to do its evil works. The monster within, slowly it inches in. Like a long forgotten nightmare, its horrors truly too great to bear. The demon of the soul, bound to eat its victim whole. Something truly beautiful in the beast, one cannot resist it in the least. Gasp for air, you enter its insidious lair. Evil, you are my bane; smite it all as you will ordain. Baptize me in the blood; clean me in the crimson flood. Lay me down, let me drown. For in the darkness I cannot hide scenes so gory I nearly cried. I lied you are the thing clawing out from the inside. You are my evil within, my darkest sin. My evil desire.
When I was younger a year made no difference, a year really had no influence. I remember when a day was just a day; it didn't really matter anyway. Time floated by me, and it really didn't mean anything.
Now, I'm ushered into this new place, where all is puzzling even my face. A year is a century, filled with uncountable days all blurry. Time rushes by me, and it really does mean everything.
And it really is shocking that as I look back, was it the blink of an eye because it all looks dim and black.
Perhaps this isn't what it seems, maybe these horrific ideas are nothing but dreams.
When did it change? When did everything become so obscenely strange?
Moving from childhood and the familiar, into this new world that's so peculiar.
And as I wake up and remember it all now, it makes me sad and I wonder how...
When did I grow up?
Maybe you and I did have something, it's not like it meant absolutely nothing. Maybe it wasn't healthy but it was lifesaving. Maybe it was everything, maybe it was the only thing. Maybe you were all I was craving. Maybe I was only for devotion starving; our relationship was slowly fading, before even the very beginning. Maybe it was you I couldn't bare facing. Maybe your brown eyes always set my heart racing. Maybe I didn't know if you were only manipulating? Maybe somehow you were actually lying? Maybe my trust was slowly dying. Maybe in light of my paranoia we were failing. Maybe it was just our friendship poisoning. Maybe I couldn't bear staying. Maybe I couldn't express every single feeling. Maybe I couldn't stand the idea of disappointing. Maybe I couldn't force my heart to be ready for opening. Maybe this toxin was not really enthralling. Maybe this desire was slowly killing. Maybe our love was only poisoning. Maybe through this venom I was frozen, left with one thing:
Suicide is no joke.Suicide is no joke. There is no coming back from it. Once you have done it, you are gone. Your pain may be over, but the pain to your family and loved ones will never be over. They will be left with countless questions that will forever be unanswered. If you're in pain, you need to let somebody know. There is no use suffering in silence. If you are suffering through depression, the worst thing you can try to do is beat it on your own. Just remember that there are people out there who love you and care for you. Even if you only have one person in your life who cares, that is still one person that would be devastated if you were no longer here.
Suicide is a very final way to deal with life's issues. It is a dark and permanent solution to potentially short term problems. All I ask is for you to stop and think. There is always a solution to your problems. There is always someone out there who can help you. Never think that you're alone because you are not. Some people may understand a lot
It's Too Late When We DieIf you want to die then fine, go die
But before you go, think
Think about every dream you've dreamed
Think about every star you've wished upon
Think about every desire that has ever coursed through your veins
Everyone of those things could become true
Everyone of those things could become a reality
If you go pack you bags now
You will be packing nothing but pain
You will leave this place with nothing but your suffering
So fight, fight everyday
Pour fire into your heart
Harness the hurt
Control the memories
And leave this world old and grey
And leave this world carrying happiness
Don't ever give up because,
It's too late when we die..
TendernessHer name was Tenderness. Blue used to call her this way because she was very cute, very lovely, and when Blue saw her the first time, the first emotion he felt was Tenderness. Tenderness was a young paintress, very very talented. Her art was different: she didn't paint with a brush, she painted with her heart! Her colours were her emotions, and her canvas was her soul. Every painting made by her was a masterpiece, a piece of herself consacreted in an eternal work of art. Her paintings were the mirror of herself: soft, delicate...and beautiful!
Tenderness is a very talented paintress! Tenderness paints with heart and soul! Tenderness probably is looking for perfection in this imperfect world! Tenderness is Artist and Muse at the same time!
Someone SpecialHe sat alone at the train station. Every day, he remained... At the same time, in the same seat, with the same book. His hands never tried to turn to the next page, not even once...
I asked what he was reading. There was no answer. Only the same cold, stoic gaze... Creeping through my retinas. Locked together. No hellos, no goodbyes. Just dark eyes, regarding me with mirthful disdain.
I wanted dearly to break him from his painful reverie... But I eventually realized, no one could do that for him. He had to do it himself... And the timing wasn't right. I could wait for him forever, it wouldn't make the slightest difference...
All of the trains were late... That day, and every day.
I whispered... "I tried."
He whispered back... "It doesn't matter..."
Those three words; each of them a dagger, forever slicing. And I walked away, immortal wounds dripping crimson from my chest...
Discovery of Titanic On this day in Nineteen-Hundred and Eighty-Five, the great black seas of the North Atlantic were parted by crafts never before seen in this realm. They plunged beneath the surface of the waves, beneath the rolling tide, and as they descended, the sea became dimmer, and dimmer....and dimmer still until all grew black and infinite. The lights from the craft shone upon the strangest of fishes, and many waves of small plankton-creatures glazed past the windows, and on to their way in this strange and ethereal world.
Down, down, down....farther still. Then, with a soft 'plunk', the craft lands upon the sea floor. The white Atlantic sand drifts up in waves, floating in the water like smoke. Drifting around and away. The lights shine on this world, but they do not show much. The ocean is too vast, to immense for them to illumine much. The fishes dart back and forth, curious as to who this intruder really is. They have never seen anything like it in all th
DreamHer name was Dream! Well, to be honest that wasn't her real name: Blue used to call her this way because she was like a Dream. Blue never met such an amzing, intelligent, talented and deep person! Too good to be true...a Dream. But Dream was real!! Dream was one of the greatest poetess of our times. She was a sort of source of inspiration! She was sweet, she was polite...she was a beautiful human being. I'm sure her smile was a sort of shining sun, warm and beautiful! Her face was the representation of sweetness, and her soul was, how to say, the reflection of humanity! Dream was suffering, but despite the suffering, she always comforted the others! Dream was an extraordinary girl! Dream is a living dream!
Dream is a great artist! Dream is an extraordinary girl! Dream is a living beautiful dream! Dream is all the good in this world!!!
In This SpaceMy favorite space in the entire world is the space between my window and my bed, only separated by the brown Chester Drawer that was painted canvas white and now chips away to show tidbits of the chestnut brown. This is my favorite space. A cage between the pages of my sketchbook; torn out. Here, it’s just far enough from you. I can see the smile on your face. And the emptiness in your eyes. I can see how they’ll never match one another again. And it makes me wonder if you can hear me breathing too heavy in order to make myself faint.
This space in between my bed and my window is as big as the space in between your eyes. And I wonder if you can see right through me. Or do you just not pay attention to the sundry voices in my head. In this space, I sat down and watched the rain break the glass. This space is where I watched the ants trail in through the hole in the window’s net. I fed them bread crumbs from my sandwich. Until they infested the spot and expected a yard
FelicityHer name was Felicity! They used to call her this way because she seemed to be always happy. Felicity was a nice girl, very funny and always ready to make you laugh. But Felicity hasn't been always happy. In the past she suffered, we don't know why, we don't know how, but she suffered. Fortunately Felicity doesn't suffer anymore. She's better than she thinks! Felicity loves to watch tv series, probably because she likes to get lost in a world of fantasy, where all the sorrows of the life don't exist. Felicity is a good friend. I think that Felicity is a dreamer too!
Felicity is a young girl who suffered. Felicity is happy now! Felicity loves tv series! Felicity is the need to escape from this world, but also the life that goes on!
Stranger Season 02 - part 1(9)SEASON 2
Anyways before you read in this story,there can be with sexual or/and violence parts.And include Gay parts.
He were gone…
for 3 months
i didn’t seen Fabian anywhere,he was skipping the school.
I was getting worried…maybe something happened to my weird new….friend..?
Where is he..? Is he okay..?
so many questions in my mind.
My test..? haha i failed…of course....And teacher was forced to call my parents..now i can’t go hang on anywhere…
No friends.school problems...everything usual…
i was missing Fabi,these black eyes,silly sounds,and each new thing i was learning about him.
When my parents didn’t seen,i was walking out again…the sea,the forest ..everything was almos
I sit in quiet agony, the sound of suffering stirs me from my reverie. Torturous blasphemy. The screams now come rather pitifully.
And what is this for? Some sort of obsession or lore?
I stand at the door, waiting for a footstep on the floor. I want at the brink, feeling my eyes close in a painful blink. Physical sting is all I drink.
And what is this for? Some sort of obsession or lore?
Hold me captive in this cell, but in these four walls I will not dwell. Hold me until my rebellion begins to quell. But you will die in this hell as well.
And what is this for? Some sort of obsession or lore?
So lock me in this damn prison…but you will never take my vision…you can never steal my ambition…you will never break my determination.
And what is this for? Some sort of obsession or lore?
Lock me in this jail, but we both know you will fail.
Burn you wicked tormentor...
I will be the victor.
So open that door...
Open that door...
You will get all you deserve and more.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More