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My dear English,Roses are red
Violets are blue
Give me a reason
Or even a few…
Why should I love you?
You don’t fight like German
You don’t make love like French
You don’t sing like Italian
Or dance on my lips like Russian
You’re blank like a leaf of paper
You sound cold and hollow
Your people, your maker
Are the one’s who made you so.
But I am THE poet…
I look for words in colors
You’re just too white, too quiet
That’s why you’re not one of my lovers.
Here is your reason, he said:
I’m a leaf of paper, right?
Blank and white?
And you are THE poet
so I am what you write.
You bastard of strokesRather like a sight
of silence that I heard
don't tell me I'm light
the black can be learned
I'll wait for another hour
til the words are back
and not so silently sour
just cut me some slack!
you bastard of strokes
stop pushing me down
and giving me mocks
the seed is already sown
I am allI thought I will color the walls
They have been black so long...
Yet I love the beauty...
how it crawls
and sings that simple song.
I said I will erase my lines
But no... I'm scared
I'm scared of colors
they would fill my head.
I'm not purple, or red,
blue, or pink, no
color belongs to me,
cause I'm all, I am...
black outside of the white.
Learning to be HumanSomething Borrowed.
It started when she noticed the laughing people, the ones who smiled. She'd never experienced anything like that before. It looked... interesting. So, after a while spent watching from the outside, she figured out how to school her facial muscles into a facsimile of a smile, and how to give an approximation of a laugh. Eventually, over time, she became better at it. But one day, her borrowed smiles and her borrowed laughs became just as accurate as the others'.
It started when she noticed the quieter people, the ones who didn't join in the jollity. The ones who walked with downcast eyes and sloping shoulders, moving around the crowd's edge. She'd never experienced anything like that before. It looked... interesting. So, after a while spent watching from the outside, she learnt to discard her easy smile and her quick laugh. She figured out how to hang her head so that she couldn't see the world pass by, and how to say "I'm fine." without
words, silence and love99% of everything I've learned was through words
I have learned so much reading the words
of strangers (who'd died before I was even born)
like how to kiss the wrong boys
and how to curse the world
and how to dream of an infinity
that ceases to exist, like everything else.
So, excuse me if I turn you into metaphors
or look at you as if you were a poem.
Abused5, 4, 3, 2, 1...
Slashes and tears are my garment;
I'm leaving crippled foot prints,
Savaging the corpse with my sadistic relinquishment.
I give up, I surrender,
Dignity is my thrust of departion;
Desperation no longer earn endearment,
I'll crouch in a corner reminiscing every triumph we had.
Ah, fragments of euphoria is ruling me,
As the masochism in me strikes;
I'm losing it, I'm dancing hysteria,
I'm ecstatic as long as I'm alive.
All Over AgainBreathe in
Hold back the tears
Pretend to be alright
When you're dying inside
Too many secrets
Never truly kept
Too late to turn back
Now that i'm drowning
Inside this pool of despair
I am burdened with my broken soul
All over again
on being a terrible writerI like my poetry free-versed
I could never stick to rules
to save my life
nor could I ever walk a straight line
& maybe my heart's been stained
I am a bitter writer.
Saddest Way To Be Happy.You run into their arms at the end of every day
And I’m just expected to… blink the tears away.
WhispersI am smeared...
...across your lips and mouth.
Slandered by a snake with scales like flesh.
Your eyes blister...
...they ignite and extinguish my fire.
Cursed by a cat with a tongue-like tail.
My blood burns...
...as you thread your talons through it.
Kissed by a corpse with fangs named Fear.
RainGently knocking on my window
Coloring the sky with gray
Flowing down hills toward the meadow
It's the highlight of my day
My face frozen in time
As my cheek of porcelain
Touches the see-through wall
Every time it heats up
Leaving a puddle of smoke suck
To the face of it
Calming me with it's gentle lullaby
As i step into the world of dreams
or is it nightmares?
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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