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These TracksAs I lie here on these train tracks
I wait to pay my final tax
Reminisce of memories shared
Until the end that you've declared
The sun fell and the moon arose
Escaping the trees are the crows
I'm envious of their free wings
Such emotion heartbreak brings
In midnight sky I see your face
My soul wanders to a special place
But if I leave, you'll still be there
A remembrance of grand despair
Who has meant the most to me
You're the only one I see
This is difficult to withstand
If only you could understand
Your lips are one memory I truly miss
So when you and your lover begin to kiss
Anger swells up within my veins
Adrenaline can't break these chains
Destiny is fate, there is no excuse
I'm stuck here singing lovesick blues
Wishing on stars for a second chance
Just that one last, final dance
My watch tells me it's time to go
My departure will be far from slow
There's one more message that I must send
Before into Heaven I transcend
I still love you, whatever I say
My love for you grows more ea
Beyond Your GatesYou've always been here
Yet I still wonder
Why our relationship
Has gone asunder
Look at my eyes
Look how time flies
One day you just left
Where did you go
Please tell me very soon
This I must know
Why did you leave
Why make me grieve
You need to get courage
To open your eyes
Look at your residence
That would be wise
Grab your suitcase
Leave your disgrace
Come live with me
There's plenty to see
Born to ProtectThe red sun above shines so bright
Guiding our way with its grand light
Down on the Earth exist the guided
Those special souls that live divided
Each living soul has a protector
Whom is one of God's many spectres
Sworn to guard its child 'till death
When the child takes its last breath
Whether the child punches its foe
Or murders him and gets sent to Death Row
The protector shall always be there
Even if the child does not care
When the child finds itself an adult
The protector will feel much guilt
The child will go its separate way
The protector will have nothing to say
The protector will pay its final tax
But protectors possess wings of wax
They fly to the sun to say good bye
Their wings melt and then they die
Please understand this now, my love
You are my wondrous, beautiful dove
I'm your protector, here to serve you
Never leave, and I'll stay here too
Audiohead IThe Arkansas desert sun seemed to have been exerting all its energy that one day, that one summer day, for the temperature had risen ten degrees above the norm. He sat in his room motionless, simply watching the wall; watching the wall to see if it would move. He was convinced that the wall was going to move. Move and encircle him and the world around him in such a way that escape would be impossibly; not even a thought. It did not move; in fact, it never moved. Not a single inch nor single centimeter, for the wall moving would completely defy the the laws of motion that Isaac Newton had defined.
In an quick, swift motion, he leapt up from his seat and sprinted to the wall that he had been staring at for nearly an hour and pushed it with both of his hands. The wall ceased to move. He kicked the wall with his right leg. The wall ceased to move. The wall was not going to surrender to the likes of him. He started to yell until his lungs gave out and the heat overtook him; eventually, he f
Dying IntentThe crimson flicker off in the distance startled the postman. He wore thick-rimmed glasses to aid his sight, but even with them, he could not make out what the flicker wa. He thought about it for a while as he walked towards his next town, and suddenly realized that it was in the same direction of his destination. He wondered if it was a village festivity or event that he was unaware of. After walking another mile, the postman decided to give it a rest and wait until he arrived to figure everything out. The nearest road sign told him that he had nine more miles to go.
After three miles of walking, the Sun began to rise. The postman felt that he needed a short rest, so he sat on the closest bench and drank half of his water bottle. Just as he was about to continue his journey, he was stopped by a group of three highwaymen. They asked him if he had seen any news reports about three thieves stealing from innocent passerby. The postman said he did not, and the highwaymen exchanged glances.
Machine of LifeWe are all just cogs
The machine of life
Always moving on
Some cogs are larger
While others are not
Quiet minute ones
Still complete their jobs
The giant switch man
He who turns it on
Can turn right around
And turn it back off
Cogs live in much fear
Shutting down is scary
But those cogs worry
Whilst others do not
Cogs do not differ
That much in between
But without one cog
The machine would fail
WallowdengarsenSilently sits the intrigued astronomer
Wondering at what the dolop brings
But oh, what a task at hand he has!
Waiting 'till the gruesnort sings
Observing with montear but not vigor
Atop his high and mighty taurel
But below this darsnit of an abode
Waits the quick and nimble martel
To send a dersode to all the venthrush
Asking for their unpaid tax
But 'tis this act that tires him out
And renders him unable to relax
Although there is much mathera that stands
Deep in thought he waits and wonders why
Even though there is much forest and landscape
There is nary a soul that ventures by
He checks the insides of his taurel
To discover if there was a fladure
But fladure 'twas not, yet still it annoys
There must be some way to forge a lure
At once he notices a girl follow the trail
He waved but she pardamares and takes a detour
She nearly uteracks and falls off-path for
She was distracted by the Wallowdengarsen's snore
The church bells ring albeit the distance
Dolotites scream and run about the
I Want AnswersWhat happens when you love someone, but you can't stand their face?
What happens when all you have is just yourself to embrace?
What happens when your heart is going at the fastest pace?
What happens when your heart is the object you misplace?
Who is the one who will give me every answer I need?
Who is the one that makes me get on my knees and plead?
Who is the one who makes me depressed and roll up my weed?
Who is the one who restricts my ability to proceed?
When will this abhorrent torture ever end?
When will I finally find this necessary friend?
When will you finally be able to comprehend?
When will our relationship ever be able to mend?
Where do I get the broom to clean up this mess?
Where do I go to relieve all this stress?
Where do I go to just take all my pain and repress?
Where will I end up, does anybody have a guess?
Why did you even do all of this to me?
Why did you put our love under lock and key?
Why do you always assume my life is worry-free?
Why can't you realize that yo
Prevaricated CommitmentDo you remember the days as well as I do?
We sat in my room, chatted, it was just us two
Then one of those days I decided to ask you
Is our love just imaginary or is it really true?
You just sat there and thought for a minute
It took a while but you finally answered it
All you said was you were not sure if it's legit
But you reassured me by saying let's wait a little bit
But waited I have for one too many years
This calm stature I present is not what is appears
On the other side of the pillow I shed tears
When you sleep-talk I hear about him, I know this, I've got ears
Who is this other guy you've got on your mind?
Who is this guy whom all along you kept behind?
Every day the subtle hints do well to remind
Every little thought of my feelings love to unwind
You sat in your office just drinking coffee
I pull your chair back and ask why you can't see
I'm dying inside is what I say as I plea
Just tell me the truth, do you really love me?
You smile a bit, and you tell me I'm your soul mate
2 heads are better than one.Two heads are better than one: Short stories about people with two heads, so virtuous with one head, don’t lose theirs.
1. The 2 headed monster metaphor.
2. The Siamese twins that did not want to sell to everybody.
3. The Siamese twins who do not care for what they published on Internet.
The beauty of writing / drawing lies in perfecting our skills as a samurai learn to make perfect cuts with his katana or in the same way a basketball player learn to dunk.
If you are part of the artistic community of DeviantArt what I write today may interest you, or if you're on DeviantArt to appreciate their art, you may find seeds of knowledge among my letters.
I can’t hide it, I love writing, but what I like the most is to philosophize about positive aspects that help me be a better person. What you are about to read is a compil
My FuneralThey’re crying again.
Rigor mortis has me at its mercy so I can do nothing to quell their suffering. So I lie and watch through slits of almost closed eyes at the small glimpses I can catch of the living.
It’s an odd sensation being dead for in essence it is absence. An absolute absence of everything. You don’t really notice it when alive, but the sheer lack of sound hits you like a brick wall. The sounds of your breath or the thump of your heart or the thrum of the blood through your veins are gone – sounds you never truly hear when still living. In death all you are met with is silence within yourself and thundering in to take its place are the roaring sounds of the world around your still corpse.
In my constricted vision I can see the broad petals of roses around my head. They are white as paper which is nice. I always imagined myself buried wreathed in roses so at least someone realised. I wonder if it was my sister?
I can hear a choked voice saying my name.
HarbouringTrees shifted around him, the world bending under the strain of focus. Granules of soil moved under his fingertips and blades of grass brushed against his skin. Hues of colour spun around him; shaded of green and brown invading his senses through the Autumn mist. His breathing was slowed to the point of suffocation, but he held no regard for it. This practice would only yield results through complete anonymity. He had to be no one, and nothing. He gradually eased his muscles until they were completely relaxed, and slowly closed his eyes. He could feel the smooth breeze caressing his features. His smell extended beyond the clearing, weaving through the scent of ferns, burning wood in the distance, the sweat of farmers working their crops, and the soothing smell of brewing tea. He could hear the wind moving around leaves, the grinding of a blade against a sharpening stone, the expressive whispers of two lovers in a distant village. And suddenly they flooded through.
It was nauseating to
The MorningThe morning. You know? That certain smell the wind contains during that time, the whiff of the dew still sparkling in the luscious velvet grass. The haze and rays of the twilight lingering on the blue canvas that is the sky. The moon smiling its selenic laugh and Venus winking its Luciferous eye as the brightness begins to illuminate the glorious day and starts you off right with the craving for the bean. For your first caffeine fix of the day...
...And then you realize: so begins another awful day of a dead-end, soul-sucking, mind-numbing, nowhere-heading, nine-to-five, American-dream of a job.
At least you had your coffee. Yay!
The Little PrinceOnce upon a time there was a beautiful Prince, and he loved. That was his blessing and his curse. He felt everything, so deeply, good and bad, and it pierced his soul. It hurt the Prince to love so deeply, and he saw that no one else did. So he forgot that his curse was also a blessing and he hated himself because of it. He felt the pain deeper and deeper and forgot the love. He couldn't make the pain go away, but the devil sent whispers to him telling him he could, but the love and the beauty had to go first. So he tried to kill the beauty inside of him. Tried to convince himself it didn't exist. And he felt the pain deeper and deeper and the love and the beauty less and less.
Finally he went to the devil, intent on trading his beauty for a life with no pain. He begged the devil to take away his pain.
"But first little Prince, I want your love, and your beauty." the devil said. So the little Prince reached inside of himself and pulled out a shimmering, pulsing, glowing orb of beauty a
I'm Thaila Hey!
I'm an optimist.
Not many things can drag me down.
.... Right? Right.
At least I think.....
Let me start over!
I'm an optimist!
Not many things can drag me down.
I'm surrounded by people I care about.
And surrounded by those who care about me.
I'm pretty sure....
I screwed up again! Once more!!
I'm an optimist!
Not many things can drag me down.
I'm surrounded by people I care about.
And surrounded by those who care about me.
But the world I live in doesn't exist.
It's something they created to shield me.
The world I live in is beautiful.
But the beauty is just a mask.
Beneath the plastic outing of joy and family lies the truth.
They say truth is important.
Then why do they hide it from us?
Are we not suppose to realize what is happening in our own backyard?
I am Thaila.
I am a neutralist.
Not much can surprise me.
I am surrounded by mask's, I am only shown the outside.
In the Ocean of your TearsYou cry, you weep... Your despair is transformed into a tide of torments. Your tears roll on your hollow cheeks and wet your wan face. Furrows were formed by their constant passage, deteriorating your soft skin into forged stone. You cannot stop anymore, whatsoever you don't desire it. It is said that crying is liberating, but it is only another lie among the multitude which set up your world. Time passes, and you engulf yourself in an ocean of disillusion. You only start to understand the consequences of your denied acts. Soon, you must struggle to keep your head out of the aqueous extent. Your forces abandon you quickly, deserting your ungrateful carnal envelope. Your vitality was consumed in your infinite sorrow. Water infiltrates your mouth, your eyes, your nose, but you are unable to fight against this liquid spectrum. And slowly your lungs are gorged with the fruit of your sadness. Your puffy eyelids close for the last time on a universe that you created yourself and you suavely
Ginkgo's Message Hello to those who are listening...my name is Ginkgo. It's hard to remember how old I have gotten but I believe I am 18. The curse I have is like no other since I was turned into a ginkgo tree when I was a young boy.
For years I have stood in place dreaming about when my legs shall move again and I have seen what humans couldn't comprehend. One time a hawk looked me in my dark eyes that are now black holes. The hawk soon found a mate and made a nest on my arm that is now a thick branch. She had five baby birds but, one tried to fly and fell onto the ground.
The forest animals below us ate it and the rest of it was left to the bugs. Soon all the birds flew away leaving an empty nest and my pitiful cries unheard. A couple once rented a house not to far from me but, I don't know what happened...I-I remember that the man dragged her under me his face completely red with rage.
He lifted up a hatchet drove it into my leg making me scream but, not even the spirits of the forest heard my
Snow Blind 1These are the stories of a girl who saw the world differently. Her name is Naysa, and she has a way of seeing the truth in most aspects of life. Whether you think she is right or wrong is up to you. Her story is set a thousand years in the future, but the world has not advanced much. It’s as if the world has been set in a snow globe where the world sits still until it has been shaken on its foundations, and the snowflakes fall in a liquid made of shallow thoughts and excuses.
It was a bitterly cold day despite the clear sky. The empty plain was covered in a sheet of snow that was almost a foot thick. To the east was a small mountain range, and to the north was a small group of pillars on the horizon that were the buildings of the nearest city. The land sat completely frozen. The only disturbance was the steady roar of a train heading north, blowing up snow in its path as it headed toward the city. The train had stopped two times already due to the snow, making a quick train ride
Journal of the RemnantIf I knew how this would all turn out, well, I still would have taken this path. It's not worth it, you know. The one closer to me was easier to reach. The other was farther away, but on the end, there was a shining gold that looked like all I ever wanted. It was all I ever needed, and I stared as you waited on the end of the other trail. I didn't take it, though; I couldn't be troubled. I went down the closer path and I tripped and I fell and couldn't get back up, and still I lay on the floor, just looking at the shining gold light on the edge of the other trail that has evaded me ever since. If I could redo one thing in my entire lifetime, I would rewind to just about the point at the fork roads, look closer at the light to see what I wanted, ever needed, and then choose the same path again because it's the way that I was meant to venture.
Let us go back before I even entered that dastardly forest, shall we? I was just a wanderer travelling on a boundless highway; there were exits, b
[transmissions of a dead girl]i am the
moon: i am
the silver pill
to weigh down
into leaden eyes--
i am the
of the dark.
the stars are
all dead in their
you'll be safe, dear,
as i am the moon,
with all of your
(i am good bye and yet,
you think only of romantic
i am the moon.
i am the crescent
and dead altogether,
i still die.
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