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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:
I Dream About HerI dream about her, quite often, actually. It's been nearly two and a half years since I've seen her face to face, and it truly does break my heart when I remember the good times. She was one of my best friends, one of the greatest influences in my life, and someone who could make me smile. However, all good things must come to an end eventually.
Drugs don't just affect you, they affect your friends. When you've been roped into the bad crowd and refuse to turn to the people who love you most, you're going to lose everything you care about. Well, I cared for her, alright. We were nearly as inseparable as Sempai and I, hanging out nearly 24/7. Sure, there were fights, but every friend has a fight. It's when the line is drawn that things get messy.
In my dreams, I remember how she used to be, how fun she was, how silly she acted, and how she was just pleasant to have around. What happened? Why did she decide to go the way she went? To turn to lying, drug abusing, and overall not caring for
One last time. KristaXReaderFor music please listen
Highly recommended after the game scene though
"Two Kings!” Krista piped laying the cards on in the pot laying on my lap. She sat cross legged on the hospital bed with me. Sitting up straight and laid her cards face down in her lap leaning forward, now were both now down to one card. you looked up from my last card and glared at her. For such an innocent girl she had one hell of a poker face. you swallowed the lump in my throat and laid down my last card.
“One Ace.” you stated and crossed my arms challenging her to say it.
‘that’s it! the cat’s in the-’
“Bullshit!” She called out and flipped over the card that had just laid down….a queen,.
“Damn it Krista!” you shouted smacking the pile off my lap then pouted indignantly.
"Can't you just let me win for once." I asked. Krista giggled an
A little thing on BiphobiaFor those not in the loop, as I assume many of you are not, biphobia is just as terrible as homophobia.
If you haven't noticed my incredible gayness, I am bisexual. But wait! (you might be saying) You're bisexual, not gay!(?) Ha. HA. HAHAHAHAHA. No. I am gay. I am not a full on double diamond studded lesbian/gay rainbow, but a nice cute little bi rainbow that appears after a little rain. You know what I mean.
You probably didn't notice but BAM- that was biphobia.
The first point I'm going to bring up is that bisexuals are part of a magical, mystical triforce composed of themselves, asexuals, and pansexuals. For those unaware, an asexual is someone who does not particularly like sexual activities and a pansexual is someone who loves someone regardless of gender and sex. Why are they in this triforce? Because they are sexualities that are constantly believed to be made up. Why? Because many believe that it's IMPOSSIBLE to
How to love a guy who can't love himself.How to love a guy who really doesn’t love himself.
Well first, there are numerous ways you can do this, so just sit back and listen.
Number one rule, tell him to drop his façade, abandon the stereotypes that society places upon him, find the real him, the core, so fragile and so easily able to be hurt.
When you find the real him, who he really is, then look him in the eyes, past all that buff, and all of that strength and mutter a few simple words. ‘It’s okay to cry.’ And when he cries, when he falls to his knees and allows his body to tremble for the first time in decades, you put your hands on his shoulders and say, ‘Everything will be fine’.
And when he looks up at you, with tears in his eyes, shaking out of either shame or anger, you just smile at him, and say ‘No’, not because he’s crying but because you know he’s threatening to close himself off again to the world, and put on that face that he fe
Just me and you.
I don't know what your name is, but you're in my way.
And now it's time to deal with you.
Y'know every time I sit down to think, you always get in my way.
Whether you're trying to distract me, or you just stop me from thinking, you always try to stop me.
Not this time, fella. Or, lady, whichever you are, fuck if I know.
Well. Shall we dance?
Ok, so, let's try this;
I write a story, and this time, keep the hell away.
I'd like to write one continuous narrative where I don't quit halfway through, or have to completely revamp the characters and storyline just so I can keep writing.
Just. One. Story. And don't make up excuses to make me trip up and write a shitty one; I'd like to be actually good for once.
Ever since you turned up, I don't know where my touch went.
But I think I've found it again, and now it's time for you to pack your bags and get the hell out of my life.
Yeah...I think I can write again. How'd you like that, arsehole?
Good riddance to you. Have fun be
Why Can't I?
"For the love of God, stop your crying!" The camp sports instructor towers over me, her hands on her hips. The anger in her eyes makes me want to curl up in a ball and never wake up. "Get back up. Ya' fell only once, girl."
"I- I can't." I whisper through a choking sob. My head is spinning, my lungs feel like they're on fire, my feet... I can't even begin to explain. Maybe I should've told her about it. Then she would've cut me some slack.
"You heard me. Get up."
I flick my blonde hair away from my eyes and try to
RainAs the electric arc sizzles away like frying bacon, two pieces of steel are fused together into one mechanical mass. Its Thursday night, and for us its the last night of the work week. Weekend ahead, money in our pocket, endless possibilities.
But for now, there are 36" mower decks to run. Bright light on a dark night, smoke and sparks, and 8 hours of staring into a false star. The shop is filled with a light yellow haze, it drifts through the air like a ghost as we work away the hours till dawn.
It is warmer than previous nights, winter is coming to an end and spring begins. Its raining!
Not snowing, not hail, not ice that clings to all things, but the continual 'tap, tap, tap' of heavy rain, almost like the distant roar of a forgotten army.
Sparks fly and fill the night, the haze is stifling, creeping behind helmet and vale. Another hand crafted product is born, and ready for processing, on to the paint line and the day crew.
A hot steel plate that will be painted black, built up wit
Can I Just Say I Love You?Well… um… hello there. I didn't think you'd actually read this, but here goes nothing. So I sorta… you know… love you. Yea, I know it's strange to think about. Me of all people too. I just can't help be die a little inside when you say hi to me and walk to her. You know? I just kinda get a little jealous, but I'm too afraid to tell you I love you. So I wrote this note, hoping you'd read it somehow. So, why don't you just tell me you fell the same way? It would be wonderful to hear again. I know you are a little confused and I know this is strange. I'm not good a writing sonnets and I can't look at you in the eye except when I want you to see that I love you. So next time I see you, I'll look you in the eye. Then you'll know I mean it. Because I do. So, I hope I'll get a message from you or bump into you at the store.
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.
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More