I want to write something sad and beautiful (just so i can make myself feel the same way i did back then)
The wind is warm for once. The moon is blurry again (I used to draw the wind gusts and name them names of fading people)
Sometimes he's help too. We used to drag our nails across the dirt, carve drops that could be water or blood or cherry juice and stab the waves (they wrecked our castles)
They could be beautiful days (we could be beautiful children) but i have not yet found the scars to prove they ever existed. (I used to tell myself that scars were a way to seal feelings. I have three burnmarks on my leg and they spell love over and
Poets often invite us
Into the world of their dreams
But like fussy tour guides
They keep us
From touching
From tasting
From exploring
On our own
We are given a map
And the door is opened
But we are quickly and forcefully
Taken by the hand
Guided past their truths
Guided past their insecurities
Shown only what they want us to see
I want a poem like a zoo
Designed and explained
But open
So I may marvel at all the creatures
The trademark bears of the soul
The cunning foxes of desire
The exotic tigers of imagination
And take them all in
In time
So I may shy away from the beats that frighten me
So I may run wide eyed t
He has gone past the threshold of his mind,the chilling wind won't make him shiver.
Both eyes open,yet he's asleep,he's facing the ground but he sees far,far away.
There's a smile on his face that will never fade,like the name of his beloved one,carved on his skin with a hot blade.
His clothes are stained and filthy and the wind messed up his long hair,but he doesn't care anymore as he's so calm and beautiful.
Time has stopped right next to him and sang him the song of ages,and he peacefully listened.
Learn the song by heart,my friend.Sing it to me when my time comes to see as far as you do now.I feel jealous of your beauty,my friend,for
The times when 'Pissing in a river' was a rather romantic song can be counted on the fingers of the right hand. Yes, just the right, because, since we're talking about me and my pitiful self, the right hand has two fingers left; the rest of them chopped off by some oddly brutal and now probably dead and rotting factory machine.
Two times then. The first is a story, a fandom of a fairytale and a meaningless bunch of heaped memories. So I will talk about the second because for some reason too strange to express, I feel obliged to.
The times when we gathered in that little garage near Christine Johnson's house chattering about songs never to
Current Residence: In your head deviantWEAR sizing preference: Two sizes larger than it should be Favourite genre of music: Progressive Metal Favourite style of art: Pencil scetches and poetry Operating System: None. Computer crashed. MP3 player of choice: Kubik Skin of choice: Mine >.>
Favourite Visual Artist
Goya
Favourite Movies
Cat's eye
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Children Of Bodom, Warmen, Opeth, Porcupine Tree, Dream Theater
Taged by Kat Hammy1226 (https://www.deviantart.com/hammy1226) :heart:
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1. Two words. Chocolate addict
2. I've sworn to murder the one who pulls the strings in this world, no matter who he/she is
3. I admire people i probably shouldn't admire
4. I love horror
5. Blue is my favourite color
6. Janne Wirman (Warman) is my obsession :3
7. Mr John Petrucci is my other obsession :3
8. It's hard fo