The Ugly Butterfly
He breathed heavily, his fists clenched and his green eyes wide and unfocused. They darted everywhere, looking around, searching for something. Anything. Anything to take him away from the monster that was pulling him to his room. "Your mother has told you that she is busy! And she means it! I know you don't like this treatment but it's the only way!"
Breathe… Breathe…
He couldn't hold back, he had to get away!
Dexter started to pull and tug, now tears were filling his eyes as he reached for the edge of the wall and held on, to keep his nanny from pulling him any further. The woman was grunting as she roughly tugged at
There are those days when the sky has no color, and the food has no taste.
And he goes though the motions, slogging though the day,
Walking home, the bitter cold biting to the bone.
A key turns the lock and the door creaks open,
Empty room, all alone.
In these quiet moments,
Her memory would warm him.
Even at this late date, so far away,
The thought of her could make him smile,
And a bit of her flame still burned in his soul…
Ive known you forever
Your my exact opposite
All those years together and alone...
You kept my fire lit
Now I found you again
And I want to help you now
To repay my debt
To get this feeling off my chest
I dont know whats stirring
I cant explain it anyway
But you put up walls
To keep me out
And you stare at me coldly
Give me nothing, not even a sound!
Why wont you let me in?
You know I can help!
But you make my flame grow bright and angry!
To the point I can make you melt!
But does that scare you?
No.
Do you care?
No you just make me feel low.
So I'll leave you alone,
You black souled man.
My fires gonna go out,
But you
She's done. All the lies, guessing games, and blame. She needs help. You won't be there. She can't do this anymore! Please stop! You never listen. Can't you see that you're the one pushing her away? Can't you see that!? She doesn't understand anymore. Right from wrong. Black and white. It all mixes together. She has no idea on what will happen next.
Tha-thump.
Tha-thump.
I'm 0kay.
Keep my head above water, breathe.
...I'm still here.
Tha-thump.
Tha-thump.
I'm
dying.
A stretching of arms,
a reaching of hands,
a green light grasped between fingers,
like salvation itself,
I'm still in here,
I'm still here,
don't leave me,
don't leave me!
I rise up,
out of stone,
out of chains
out of quiet, purple, dark,
out of this metal body,
out of this empty prison,
out of ribbets
and rivets
and blue, bloody ribbons.
I shed my death,
I shed the past,
I shed my fear,
I'm
still
ALIVE.
String can be used for lots of things, but mostly tying things together. Connecting them, making them stronger. But what if string is pulling things in different directions, each direction demanding attention, putting pressure on the system?
Sometimes your strings might run alongside another, creating an affinity, improving relations. It's not dragging you sideways and it's not dragging you down, it's not pulling you away from yourself but sometimes, it can lift you up.
Making me stronger is my closest friend, we don't tangle but we braid, we weave, we spiral round each other. We are each a kite bearer for the other, holding a few of the str
The Conscience of a Freak by Tylantta9, literature
Literature
The Conscience of a Freak
I will carve out your soul with a goddamn spoon and laugh hysterically while your life bleeds away, What do you fear?
Do you fear yourself?
If I hacked off an arm and a leg would you care?
No
You have more
Just look in the mirror
You're like a Frankenstein
A freak
Run
You can't
You're handcuffed to the demonic piano that constantly plays the symphonic likeness of your torment for all eternity
Your life drips from the gutter as you drag down the street
The fire consumes what you once knew
But does it matter?
You're a monster
Society turns you into a shadow
And you fade away into the dust
Only the reaper can save you now
He is your friend
...
The Deadly Gardener (Pt II) by madamsarah, literature
Literature
The Deadly Gardener (Pt II)
She, who he now inhales,
has bloomed and flourished.
He appreciates the caring hands that had tended her so well,
for he prefers his flowers well nourished.
He had come to her every day since the pretty bud had caught his eye,
watching in fascination as she blossomed and thrived.
Unhappy was he, when the bees began to hover;
and so he actioned what he had at first glance derived.
Plucked from her bed and cut from her roots,
her beauty now adorns his house of shade.
And although she will indeed suffer until his clumsy hands come to crush,
never will she suffer the fate to wilt and fade.