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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:
Don't Fall In Love With A Writer Just because they will bruise your neck with pearls of metaphors; and splash palettes of colours onto your chest with reckless waves and boundless twilight. They will smear ink onto your lips as you kiss them because that is how they leave hickeys. They are wildest in their 2 a.m. diary, and liveliest in book racks of novels; they have butterflies in every heartbeat and they breathe living poems. They leave trails in libraries and coffee shops like Hansel leaves crumbs in forest and they have undying lovers because every love story is ever living in their abyssal oceans of analogies and similes. They know every clichés like the sunset knows the moon rise, and every wound in their heart like blood in their veins. They are terrifying because they weave you in splinters of fires rolling down their cheeks. They are weird because they don't smile much but sometimes you could catch their smiles in poems or tales. They are psychotic
A Rapist Wears PinkA rapist can wear lipstick, make up, dresses or skirts,
Her nails can be painted brightly, her eyes can still harbor hurt.
A rapist can walk with heels, that click as she drags her feet,
A rapist can have a feminine voice, that comes pouring from her vile teeth.
A rapist can be a woman, that much should be clear,
Yet a few ignorant people, will choose not to adhere.
A rapist can pick her victim, as easily as the next,
She can claim she’s just lost or stranded, then force you into sex.
A rapist can cry wolf, as long as she cries feminist first,
A rapist can ruin your life style, make day to day living worse.
A rapist can put you in jail, with one tear of her eye.
A rapist will claim that you’ve hit her, that you wanted her to die.
A rapist is a liar, she hides behind her make up.
A rapist will be in your dreams, even when you wake up.
A rapist has the ability to avoid the clutches of the law,
A rapist can claim you’ve hit her, if you didn’t stand for her at
Avoidant Personality DisorderI've never gotten to explain this to anyone before, since every time I try, I break into some sort of sobbing fit. If my explanation sounds a little funky, that may be why.
Yeah. So, I have APD, or Avoidant Personality Disorder.
To summarize, it's a disorder that makes people want to avoid social contact and criticism by all means.
Unfortunately, that includes me.
I didn't know about the disorder until I browsed through psychological disorders for writing purposes, and happened to find it. I matched every single symptom.
Every last one, period. And I believe, wholeheartedly, that I have it.
This isn't your WebMD diagnosis, not when you feel so badly.
It's a really difficult feeling to describe.
Whenever you so much as try to make conversation with any person, you feel like chopping your head off. In my case, you're afraid to say hello. Or goodbye, or thank you, or I love you, or things that people should be able to say without stopping to think.
You feel unworthy o
everything is temporaryi have never been one to yell, it hurts my throat, or maybe i just lack the passion to get that mad at something. you always did bring out things that i never knew were inside though. we had matching bloodshot eyes, and the same fuck the world attitude running through our veins as if the world owed us something. it didn't then. but it does now. my blood is thick and burning and i want to try and flood it into yours to get the colour back into your cheeks that i just watched drain. i kicked the wall, and opened the window and screamed at the sky-scrappers and i don't know how the world can just keep fucking turning without so much a skipped rotation or a fucking stutter.
you turned small, minor things into giant fucking events that made my chest even tighter. a tickle in my throat, a spreading wildfire on the nape of my neck, a distinct lack of words or feelings to anything more than a lingering heaviness. i lost count of how many times i contemplated stepping in front of that car, bus,
My alter-egosYou see, I have these beings in my head I call alter-egos. They're parts of me that appear whenever I need them. They represent me, they come from the deepest side of my soul. It might seem crazy, but that's the best way I can describe them. They're very different from my other OCs (Vince, Renka, Alice, ete); they're very special to me. Sorry, I'm not good at explaining things myself...
Keiko: can I? Can I explain it? Pleeeeaseee?
Okay, go ahead.
Keiko: okay, we are special beings that live inside Sandra's mind. We were formed of her subconscious, so that makes us different of her other OCs she created herself. We're here to protect her, to make her feel better when she has her episodes of depression. Recently, she decided to make us public because we told her it was a good idea.
Now we will show a list of all the alter-egos Sandra has:
-Abyss (Gloomy Apocalypse): Demon
-Angel (Pulsar Majoris): Male version of Sandra
-Astrid (Star Lollipop): Birdwing
-Dana (Harmonic Holic): Human with
Prayer For PeaceThis is not a pledge for peace, though I wish it was.
A pledge is adhered by everyone, those low and above.
I guess this is a prayer, something that I hold true,
A prayer for peace for everyone, for peace for me and you.
I’ve seen this world and its twisted ways,
I’ve seen more than 295 lives vanish in just days.
I’ve heard of the bombs flying across borders,
Making the lives of the innocent, quick and sorter.
I’ve seen the leaders of the world turn away,
Perhaps they’ll help out if they’re given better pay?
I’ve seen planes vanish, and fall from the sky,
I’ve seen their families mourn, their villages and cities cry.
I think to my self, is this the world God has made,
Is this the world we live in, if so, what have we paid?
We’ve ruined it with wars, hatred and destruction,
We’ve plagued it with chemicals, violence and combustion.
So I do not ask, nor pledge for what I want,
But I pray for peace, for a world that is so gaunt.
TrustIt's almost impossible to make your mark on this world,
The true art in what I do is gone.
Once it was skill, and knowledge mixed with science that created the still image,
You had to know what an f-stop did, you had to know about depth of field.
Now everyone has a camera, everyone is a photographer,
What I pride myself on, is still striving to be better.
Trying to bring my own life's experiences to my images,
Finding the right people, people with soul, people with hurt inside them.
Encouraging those people to let down their walls,
To cry, to laugh, to be sexy, and sultry, and scary and mean and passionate for my lens.
To reveal themselves, sometimes for the first time ever, sometimes for the last time ever,
Some reveal their hearts, some reveal their bodies, all reveal something.
Because if you think I'll just have you just standing there, you are wrong,
You will be encouraged to let go.
Know that I know my art, the technical side, the science behind a great shot,
Trust that for a fle
fellow adventurers and others who want to donti know its been a long time sense she commited suicide but i just recently found out about Amanda Todd the poor girl she just couldnt handle it anymore i wanted to say that it gets better i should know and today im gonna tell you my story
it was an ordanary day in the dew household yes dew as in mountain dew anyway i was deppresed tho that wasnt unusual for me knowing my past it was diffrent this time it was like my deppression was worse then ever i went into my brothers old room to look at pictures because hes at collage so i was missing him then i noticed his clouset was open now ya see he had a real sword in that clouset and i saw it i thought to myself i-its to much i cant handle it anymore i picked the sword up and almost drew it getting ready to drive it right through my 9 year old chest but then i thought to myself why am i doing this all its gonna do is make my family missrable and i dont
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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