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crisscross heart make nicotine
Let me drown in your nicotine kisses while the moths from yesterday eat away at my criss-cross heart as I remember what life was like before i met this lie.
I listen to the church bells and sparrows fill the eerie silence in the dusty church and my knees ache from praying about you, and I can still taste the nicotine in my mouth.
That sweet taste of death lingering behind on my tongue while Disbelief still clouds my mind as shadow follow behind me in a line, of torment and torture of how life was before i met you.
My eyes sting, and my lungs hurt, and Im tired of crying. I hate crying. Red-rimmed eyes and heartbroken sobs are all that is left of me. Really, Im empty. Im miserable, really. Just dead.
I lie there on my back, and think of all that i know. I need to see the doctor soon.
split hearts - collabMornings I wake, and find letters by my pillow. Words written in sweet cyanide laced ink, with butterflies floating like acid on the page between intoxicating lines. Twilight curves fancy the words that milk my throat for a reaction. My head is clouded in the mornings, but I do wonder what type of angel has left this for me.
I lay and ponder the delicate letters, joined together with handwriting that is oh so beautiful. Slightly right-slanted and only just small enough to fit all her words onto the ivory leaf; its almost like an art form, the way this angel writes. Maybe I should write back, I think before I lift my weary body from the bed. I could leave them on my pillow for the angel before I fall asleep, or I could put them through the mail, addressed to wherever the letter feels it should go.
But would it ever reach this angel? or would it seem like Im hopelessly lost in a love that doesnt seem real? I feel like the air is scented with oxygen drawn heroin an
A single red rose.
A box of dark chocolate,
In a colourful pink box.
A song to call our own.
A card to make me laugh,
With a teddy bear to match.
A blanket to share.
A t-shirt you gave me.
A cute pair of slippers.
Not gonna happen.
A song you wrote for me.
A silly dance to show off.
A cute funny face in an e-card.
Ill never say it.
A simple kiss on the cheek.
Pick me up from work.
No words to be said.
You cant get me to say it.
A rose everyday in my favourite color?
A cheesy lymric to keep me laughing?
A clean house to come home to?
A dinner already made? though you are a bad cook.
A dessert of chocolate, chocolate coffee cake?
A bath full of bubbles not rose petals?
A bed made and a good book resting on a pillow?
A hot cup of coffee on my nightstand?
A lily by my window?
It is a possibi
Papa: a poem:...Papa.
White hair rounds a balding head.
His brown orbs glisten bright, with glittering life.
Chapped lips laugh a hello.
This didnt happen that long ago.
A birthday passes and he grows ill.
His luminous brown eyes, begin to fad.
Chapped lips whisper a hello.
This didnt happen that long ago.
A fragile, thin body lie peaceful sleeping soundly.
His blissful brown orbs, begin to lose their lustier.
Chapped lips chock a hello.
This didnt happen that long ago.
A heartbeat begins to slow as time speeds up.
His brown orbs, not too long ago they did shin,
They glistened and glittered,
They were full of luminous lustier.
Now they are gray and slowly closing.
Chapped lips no longer part to laugh a hello.
No longer part to whisper silly secrets.
No longer open to say,
I love you.
His life is gone.
And my heart is breaking,
And the tears begin to flow.
This didnt happen that long ago.
When you...when you wake up i wish i could be the first thing you see.
when you wish upon a star i want to be the some one you wish for.
when you burn dinner and order take out i want to be the one who argues with you about the food we order.
when you smell the roses i want them to remind you of me.
when you fall asleep...
i want to be the one sleeping next to you,
holding on tight to you,
whispering to you,
that i will love you for the rest of my life.
30 ways to have Grimmejow...1) Call him Kitty.
2)Try to feed him cat food.
3)Tell him hes weaker then Ichigo.
4)Call him too weak to be an arrancar.
5)Bonus points 4 doing it in front of Aizen or the other arrancars.
6)Show him Ulquiorra X Grimmjow smutt.
7)Ask him if hes hungry and point to his hollow hole.
8)Ask him what its like to sleep with Ulquiorra.
9)Replace his bed with a cat bed and some cat toys.
10)Ask him if hes top or bottom. Then assume hes bottom and deny anything he says in protest.
11)Take a picture of him sleeping, and send it to everyone.
12)Play the pussycat dolls cd every time he transforms.
13) ask him if he gets fur balls.
14)Give him cat treats when hes being good.
15)Make him an email address : firstname.lastname@example.org
16) Unleash the fan-girls and fan-boys.
17) Dye his hair purple when hes sleeping, then sing Purple is the color of the sexually confused. over and over again.
18)Put weird colored make
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
Skin.I love the way life leaves its mark on our bodies.
Every laugh and smile etched in the crinkles around your eyes and mouth;
Those tan-lines the time you forgot about sunscreen
Because you were so hell-bent on reaching that mountain peak
Or when you just became lost in the gentle lap of waves at the shore;
The scars you got skateboarding in the park at summer dusk
Or when life became pain and it was your only release.
Our bodies are a record of our memories and experiences
They are our travel journals and emotional diaries
Our delicate armour to the elements.
And no matter its colour, its stature, if it's not quite intact
If you sometimes think it takes up too much space, or if it has pointy corners
Your body is the vessel for your soul, and every wonderful facet of who you are
Sparkles from the surface of your skin.
Skin that may grow to be wrinkled, tanned, scarred, well lived-in
Although not always embraced by you the way that others embrace it.
Take the time to explore the s
The human condition of wanting to be everythingI feel as though I am exhausting
The excess skin around
in loose shadows
Across my cheekbones like
And whilst I find myself
To draw open the blinds
Because the light
is too bright
And I really can’t handle
The pane of the sky
With its obnoxious
glaring at me
With such a joyful expression
I know that lately
I am burning myself out
That I consume one too many
Cans of soda and energy drinks
At 2.45 AM
When the rest of the world
Is static in a hushed
Whilst I frantically try
To achieve something
Is too much
Or rather too
An existence for me
So I will continue
In order to
Try and destroy myself
Enough so that
I can be w h o l e
The scarsLife hurts us
It causes us to bleed
Time can heal the wounds
And stop the pain
But the scars remain
For the rest of our lives....
things i don't rememberi.
what you sounded like
as my ears were forming
what dreams or secrets
you confided in me
what pressures sunk
your proud shoulders
or the first time
i caused you
where i was when i decided
that your footsteps
should be followed
that your ideals
should be made my own
on my body
as i learned the world's ways
do not align
with our hopes
when i first
how my feet dangled
every time i wasn't strong enough and
how you made the world
how you were
figuring it all out
thought that life
To the BeautifulYou say we're beautiful,
Us who have been bullied...
But where were you while it was happening?
-I was watching-
You who say "This has to stop!",
There needs to be an end to this...
What are you doing to stop it?
-I did nothing-
It's too late now...
-I failed you-
of me and youthe day you stopped touching me was the day i
stopped speaking to myself. and the silence nearly killed me
LuckyYou talk like you always have a grain of salt,
to throw over your shoulder.
Every word is that hard cheese,
and they swing those whimsical wishbones much like carousels.
You're wasted on your self-image,
staggering down with rigorousness you don't own.
They're taking that steed and throwing horseshoes,
as if one of them might ring 'round your neck;
and save you from yourself.
You'll need a necropolis filled with pennies to barter,
and we won't lend a cent to save your sorry soul.
Your demons count clovers to kiss you,
gluing that fourth leaf to camouflage the truth.
They'd promise you an elephant to watch you die,
sucking sevens to keep you from entering Heaven.
And you can sing your superstitions into space,
but it's dead and empty.
Somewhat like the hollow shell you lounge in,
as the charms make you see spirits.
You say somewhere there's a rabbit dying to give its foot in your favor...
...but don't bet on it unless you can see that whites of its eyes.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More