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Day 1- DanceCobalt.
But, a little less-
Cobalt would be unnatural, after all.
But those eyes-
My hand shakes as I write this.
A small smile
(half a smile,
a smirk, really.)
A laugh, almost;
For once it's me
those perfect eyes have settled on.
Dancing with laughter.
Stealing my breath.
For once it's him
that doesn't have words.
the FeatherHer shirt was a few sizes too large,
sliding down her left shoulder
exposing her back.
Her shoulder blades jutted out
like wings about to spring from porcelain skin.
I longed to ask about the tattoo
a red feather
etched in gold;
a black letter of another language
stark against the white.
i did not know this girl
but i longed to.
I wished to trace-
the feather on her back.
the scars on her arm.
i wanted to know her,
needed to know her.
And then she turned again
brushing red hair behind her shoulder
her cobalt eyes laughing at me.
she knows i watch her.
but she has no idea why.
The ViewToday was just one of those days when you feel like the world hurts.
And you want to give up and lie down.
But there's a point in every day like that at which you come to terms with it. Now is that time. You tell yourself that you've been stupid and diffusional and the entire dilemma becomes childish.
Suddenly you feel as if everyone has a question and you have the answer, and your enjoying it cautiously, this freedom from pain and self-doubt.
It's like your standing on the roof and someone's trying to talk you down when you had no intention of jumping in the first place. You only climbed up for the sun, the wind, and the intoxicating view.
I Tried My Hand at TragedyI tried my hand at tragedy
and with the words we fell
into this loving, living place
that's turning into hell
When letters become feathered wings
and nightmares take to sky
I will remind you once again
my writing doesn't lie
A Love Story of SortsWe were perfect,
We were bright.
It was intoxicating- your love;
We were lovers in the dark
Only you held the key to my heart.
We were wanting in the day,
Fate come as it may,
pushed apart by hard stares
vendors shouting fares
people feigning cares
quite suddenly, it seems,
you were gone.
not by your own doing, I suppose;
but that might hurt less
than knowing that you're out there
and you'd have me
if you could.
The days crawl on.
The sun is duller,
The wind is harsh.
The noise too loud,
The wine too bitter.
I had begun to believe I was going to waste away
when I had a brilliant thought,
Why not run away?
No, NO, can't do that.
It sounds fantastic...
Braver than AngelsWe must be braver than Angels,
you and I.
Slow to anger
and quick to fly
stand under the stars and remind me, darling,
why you say you never lie.
'This fight is bigger than us,' you say.
'We can never win.'
They are bigger, and stronger,
but we're faster,
and never tired.
So take my hand
and we'll take wing,
and tonight will be the night
the angels win the war.
See the colors in my words, dearWhen we were younger, you hated being blind.
But as we grew, you told me of the horrors you heard but did not have to see, terrible things that you simply did not have to notice.
I hope you enjoy your world of peaceful, blissful ignorance.
I wish I could take you back to when we were young, when I held your hand and led you through the maze and even though you couldn't see, you could feel it. and you loved it.
Now you are older and 'mature', and you are content with living in your house.
Why don't you open the window anymore, just to feel the breeze and smell the sweet air?Why do you no longer tend the garden we worked so hard to build? Do those flowers you once cherished bring you no more joy?
I understand that what you hear but cannot see must bring bitterness, but you cannot let it rule your life.
Getting older does not have to mean getting colder.
Haste and PressureI might have known,
what to say
or how to say it,
but they were there.
I hate the watchful eye of silent friends
interrupting quiet moments,
hastening regretted decisions.
Then comes the guilt.
The next day,
the sun does rise,
upon which I think that i can make this work
for a little while.
(maybe longer than the last time.
but you and i both know that had nothing to do with me)
so sorry in advance,
and of course your welcome
Regrets of an OutlawAs I lie here, in the dark and fouls smelling chambers of this castle,
I ponder my life.
I've made such mistakes, and I've learned to run.
But the past followed suit
and now it's leaving me with nothing.
Nothing but sweet memories,
and piercing regrets
(like all the time I spent with him. he abandoned the court life, but I look at him as still upholding those values. And the fear of being rejected kept me from telling him my feelings, speaking of my love. I am but a commoner. He is a prince.)
it's a bullet of pain through my hear
when I think of all I've done
and all I could've done.
(an actual bullet would be greatly appreciated, a swift death sweet compared to the pain and humiliation to come.)
one last question for the world,
posed by an outlaw:
When I hang at dawn,
who will cry?
100 THEMES1. Frail
26. Last Words
30. Bad Dreams
47. Don't Go
51. On Top of the World
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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