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The Trump Card. I walked through the old fair grounds, trying to find something in the least bit entertaining to do. I rode all the rides, ate funnel cake, and played all of the games. But I had a feeling I might of missed something. Eh, who would normally care, right? I mean, you rode everything. But this was a tad different. My friends wanted me to do everything at the fair, because I had only been once in my life.
I continued to walk around, until I stumbled upon what seemed to be an old, circus tent. Me being who I am, my curiosity got the best of me. I glanced at the tent a bit, seeing the... bland colors. Nothing but black and white. I looked up at the top, to see if it had anything. All that was there was a sign that said "Dark Raven's Telling." I noticed a light glowing through the tent. It seemed like a lantern. I pondered for a moment, thinking if I should go in or not. Again, me being the curious person I was, I went in for a little look.
The only thing that was really not
Go To SLEEP. -Jeff the Killer Poem-The black haired boy looked in the mirror.
All he could see that his end was growing nearer.
He smiled for a moment, but he was in pain.
He knew for a fact he was going insane.
He laughed and laughed.
He took a knife and made his little scary "craft"
He cut a smile into his mouth.
In his mind he looked beautiful, without a doubt.
He walked in his room and looked for a lighter.
He turned it on, the fume growing brighter.
He burnt out his eyelids, laughing more and more.
Then he threw the little lighter down to the floor.
He picked up the knife he took in his room.
He would no longer be consumed by gloom.
The boy walked down to the end of the hall.
He knew that they would pay, pay for it all.
He slipped in to the room, quiet as a mouse.
He knew the way around his very own house.
He took the knife and stabbed his kin.
He didn't care, he knew it was sin.
As the knife went deeper than deep.
You could here the very faint whisper.
"Go to sleep."
Mexico short story. -Hetalia-Mexico raced down the long garden that him and his brothers were playing in, trying to catch up to his brother. "Wait, Toni!" He said, still running after his older brother, Spain. They were playing hide and seek, and Mexico was it. He was playing with his brothers, Spain and Portugal. They were both older than him by a few years, and they always picked on him. Mexico wanted to show them that he could be just like them, but every time he tried something, Spain 'the boss' told him that he could never be like them, and that made Mexico very upset. He never knew why.
'Why do they hate me?' He thought to himself, still chasing after Spain. Portugal was hiding in a tree, watching his youngest brother chase after the other. He chuckled at the thought that Mexico said that he could catch Spain. Portugal tried to climb the tree higher, but made a wrong step. He slipped and fell all the way down to the ground with a thud. Mexico and Spain stopped immediately once they heard their brother wince
She's a WriterShe sits at her desk
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
BetrayedI won't swallow your lies anymore
I can't stand your presence
You used to be my friend
But you're nothing to me now
And soon you'll be
Another bad memory
I won't be able to forget
Do you know what it feels like...To be lonely?
To be bullied?
To be called ugly?
To be unattractive?
To be compared to other women?
To be considered unnormal?
To be unloved even though you give love to others?
To face issues that you don't in reality know how to fix?
To think that your goal you're reaching for, is unattainable?
To feel like the cause of many people's problems?
To be held up on a high pedistal that you can't get down off of?
To realize that people don't like you based on your personailty?
To at no avail, keep up your happy and upbeatness for others?
To look at happy couples and wish that you had someone to be happy with?
To stop fighting for anything anymore?
You AgainOh, it's you again. I must admit,
The crooning has
The lies have been
And mine are like swords
It's just you and me
In this sick game
I can tell
You're pulling me in,
And I don't have
To pull you down
Sometimes, I've had
And all I see is
Then it became
I don't know
How to escape
Dark to see.
And all I can
Wonder at every
Turn I make
When can it be
flower petalsi know that when we touch
that my energy is yours
that we are like flowers
because at our roots
we need water and love,
we reach tall as we can
to get to the sun
and stretch our leaves
to welcome it all;
and when we touch
i know that our skin isn’t skin
too soft for this world
when it grows rough with gravel
so i invite you back to our bed,
soft with the earth
where we can lie gently
and sleep until it is time
By the LakeSat beneath a Christmas tree in late-March.
The ground is damp but pliant, it pretends to accept me
and then sneaks its cold fingers through my clothes
to dampen my spirits further with its chilly undertones.
I stare at the river, plump with soon-to-be April showers.
It does roly-polys over the smallest of obstacles and goes on.
It reminds me of what I should be able to do.
It runs as I grind to a full stop, and consider my life sentence.
The sky is blue; not like me, but bright and crisped;
Its been blurred by an amateur around the edges with cloud
But they don’t threaten me with rain just yet so, for now, we are friends.
The sun is missing. No one knows where she is.
She could be dead, by now. At the bottom of the lake.
Could have slunk there in a midday sunset.
She could of drowned her sorrows in the ricocheting tides
of a man made dam and its loosened throat. She could be.
She is not, she is hiding.
The sun hides from the world but leaves a blue sheen behind
to let everyone k
Reasons We Love Homestuck“Reasons we love H O M E S T U C K.”
Why do this love this web comic, you ask?
Maybe it’s just the way the fandom rolls,
or how mean Andrew Hussie trolls.
It could possibly be Eridan’s accent (WWyeh?)
or even Feferi’s keyboard trident. (---E)
Some people say it’s Equius’ broken bows and arrows, ( D →)
but what about Nepeta’s meows and roleplays? (:33 <)
We really do love Sollux’s lisp,
and also when Karkat’s pissed. (FUCKASS!)
Including Kanaya's fabulous lipstick,
it's also Rose's amazing magic.
How about when Dave starts rapping
and Jade Harley begins napping?
We love Vriska’s eight-pupiled eye,
and how John is such an adorable guy.
Or maybe it’s with all the sprites
or how prospit glows bright.
Can’t forget about Derse’s darkness
or Gamzee and all his soberness. (WHOOPS.)
There’s also this thing with Tav and stairs
which he t
An artist (revised)
Staring blankly at a white sheet of paper
Can truly be an artist’s worst nightmare
An artist’s duty as its shaper
Their thoughts up in the clouds somewhere
Looking for bits of inspiration
Their eyes searching the skies
Nothing can break their concentration
Nothing can blow out the passion in their eyes
Being an artist does not always mean you are skilled
You do not need to be Picasso or Bach
It means you want to see your dream fulfilled
And that you will never give in to an art block
I Don't Come with the Edgesi.
It cries the way dragonflies leave ripples
in the rain. On days I swallow
whirlpools for breakfast and
drown with libraries for fun,
I can almost allow myself to forget
And it doesn’t want to make
me kneel on my shoulders
or pluck the weeds
from my scars;
I can see it try so hard
to be my friend.
But if I could choose
polka dots over tail lights
and sun screen over
I wouldn’t think thrice
or even once
not to blow the candles
on my grave.
That’s why I keep
the colons of analog clocks
under my tongue;
so I could keep the
figures eight of cliché’s
as keepsakes for old age.
I like to think infinities
have loopholes; tree rings
that dissolve into each other
with exhales for a caress.
And just when the tones
of lyrics would enter the
eutony of names, only then
would I drift into love.
When I wouldn’t be holding
my blood in my temples-
when all I am is a thought.
The running footsteps
we’ve come to cla
Confusion and Illusion.Confusion and Illusion.
Looking at everyone walk by,
Seeing them all smile, and I don't know why.
Even as rain pours down, I still don't see a frown.
It confuses me, but yet that is all I see.
It's pretty much my life,
Not being able to tell why people act the way they do.
It's like being in a room with no emotion.
That is my life.
Being locked away in a room with the ghosts.
The ghosts of my past, and all I see is doom.
Doom, doom, doom. In a small little room.
The walls are a bright sky blue.
And hearing the 'coo' of the birds outside.
It makes me know what my life is.
It's not confusion.
...It's just an illusion...
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More