the spiders make their way up
my spine, ghost-like touches
on the back of my neck - crawling,
creeping sensations that make me
feel colder than cold (frigid, grey
wasteland)
pick apart my identity with
every time you use the wrong
name, the wrong
words - (and I stay up late until
four in the morning watching the
shadows move across the ceiling whilst
the life crawls out my eyes until it's
all dead)
because every day is a living nightmare and
every night feels like a day (the words haunt
and worm and burrow their way through me and
my soul is riddled with holes)
sometimes my Mother tells me I look
like the living dead so I bite my tongue
lay him down to rest (unfair) by AnAshBlackSword, literature
Literature
lay him down to rest (unfair)
she's hoping for a miracle and she
doesn't know why - the bird in her
ribcage can no longer fly (because he's
dying s l o w l y)
long past the age of believing
God, angels and unexpected good things
exist, she's still hoping for something that
could prevent the cold, grey mist (the void
that is death)
but the inevitable will happen and so
she asks for him to just have eternal rest
(because maybe God's not listening,
or maybe there's just not enough miracles
for anyone anymore)
one bullet, one life by AnAshBlackSword, literature
Literature
one bullet, one life
midnight veils draped over
a white porcelain doll face,
cold china and crystallised blood
shut eyelids and stiff body -
the sickly sweet scent of flowers,
flowers white as the corpse
behind the glass and you can
almost see the ghost of your
own reflection,
they march, one, two, one, two
one, (one bullet, one life)
two, (two seconds, too late)
lowered down, down, down
swallowed whole by the earth
to rot away with time.
(ashes to ashes, dust to dust)
They will be told it's a
sin, that 'God hates gays,'
and even though sexuality is
different to gender,
it's all once and the same
to the narrow minded.
They will be beaten up
by the other kids at school,
and picked on by the
teachers, some days, they'll
be told to kill themselves
and go back to hell.
They'll be told they don't
exist and that there are only
two genders, and you are what
you were born as. They'll be told
the only place for them is the
mental hospital.
They'll be attacked by the
people they once called 'friends' and
when they go to hospital, no one
will come and visit.
They'll die by their own hand, because
after all, if e
we crawl through dust on broken
soul-bones,
we have become hopeless and say
our place is down in the dirt,
cracked and withered with the
scars of a thousand unlived dreams and
10 thousand lived nightmares,
we have lived too many lifetimes,
lost too much and loved too little
to continue, so we toil by (mindless drones)
and pray for the day we end.
(but if we started looking up and not
down, loved a bit more and cared a bit less,
we could trust in ourselves and fly)
you can't catch the wind by AnAshBlackSword, literature
Literature
you can't catch the wind
you reach out and curl empty fingers
around empty air
trying to catch the wind
in the palm of your hand.
and you always miss;
instead choking vibrant
yellow flowers,
twisting and snapping
their green necks and
trampling them
into the ground.
(because you can't catch the wind,
and you can't catch them either.)
the train wheels glide
over metal iron bars with a
click-clack, click-clack,
I remember the
better days -
days long past,
when I ran fast
up the stairways to
the streets above,
like I was an angel
ascending to heaven
and not just a dirty child
going to dirty, dull grey streets.
(and now it's all just
weary faces, weary faces
I realise -
nothing ever changes)
poem for the missing by AnAshBlackSword, literature
Literature
poem for the missing
I've sat for awhile staring at passing
cars on the opposite side of the fence,
maybe I am expecting to see you
pass by, one more time, I
want to give you a proper goodbye, wishing
I'd realised that on a seemingly ordinary
day, everything had changed and
you would be long gone by Monday.
I'm finding little meaning under
the surface, we are falling apart
at the seams - cracks in everything,
in the sunlight, in the memories, between
the still unfinished pages that
will remain incomplete.
It's like this; we cling and we hold onto
people and they slip through our fingers like sand.
We think we have learned to expect the unexpected
and the
these perpetual lies by AnAshBlackSword, literature
Literature
these perpetual lies
split the sky, let
the cosmos fall to earth
we are all we dream of
and all we dream of, we
have broken,
flowers,
scattered on dead bodies;
weave the bad and the good
pretend it's all one and the
same
you are under the impression
of a could be, a false dream
(and still you believe it)
the spiders make their way up
my spine, ghost-like touches
on the back of my neck - crawling,
creeping sensations that make me
feel colder than cold (frigid, grey
wasteland)
pick apart my identity with
every time you use the wrong
name, the wrong
words - (and I stay up late until
four in the morning watching the
shadows move across the ceiling whilst
the life crawls out my eyes until it's
all dead)
because every day is a living nightmare and
every night feels like a day (the words haunt
and worm and burrow their way through me and
my soul is riddled with holes)
sometimes my Mother tells me I look
like the living dead so I bite my tongue
lay him down to rest (unfair) by AnAshBlackSword, literature
Literature
lay him down to rest (unfair)
she's hoping for a miracle and she
doesn't know why - the bird in her
ribcage can no longer fly (because he's
dying s l o w l y)
long past the age of believing
God, angels and unexpected good things
exist, she's still hoping for something that
could prevent the cold, grey mist (the void
that is death)
but the inevitable will happen and so
she asks for him to just have eternal rest
(because maybe God's not listening,
or maybe there's just not enough miracles
for anyone anymore)
one bullet, one life by AnAshBlackSword, literature
Literature
one bullet, one life
midnight veils draped over
a white porcelain doll face,
cold china and crystallised blood
shut eyelids and stiff body -
the sickly sweet scent of flowers,
flowers white as the corpse
behind the glass and you can
almost see the ghost of your
own reflection,
they march, one, two, one, two
one, (one bullet, one life)
two, (two seconds, too late)
lowered down, down, down
swallowed whole by the earth
to rot away with time.
(ashes to ashes, dust to dust)
They will be told it's a
sin, that 'God hates gays,'
and even though sexuality is
different to gender,
it's all once and the same
to the narrow minded.
They will be beaten up
by the other kids at school,
and picked on by the
teachers, some days, they'll
be told to kill themselves
and go back to hell.
They'll be told they don't
exist and that there are only
two genders, and you are what
you were born as. They'll be told
the only place for them is the
mental hospital.
They'll be attacked by the
people they once called 'friends' and
when they go to hospital, no one
will come and visit.
They'll die by their own hand, because
after all, if e
we crawl through dust on broken
soul-bones,
we have become hopeless and say
our place is down in the dirt,
cracked and withered with the
scars of a thousand unlived dreams and
10 thousand lived nightmares,
we have lived too many lifetimes,
lost too much and loved too little
to continue, so we toil by (mindless drones)
and pray for the day we end.
(but if we started looking up and not
down, loved a bit more and cared a bit less,
we could trust in ourselves and fly)
you can't catch the wind by AnAshBlackSword, literature
Literature
you can't catch the wind
you reach out and curl empty fingers
around empty air
trying to catch the wind
in the palm of your hand.
and you always miss;
instead choking vibrant
yellow flowers,
twisting and snapping
their green necks and
trampling them
into the ground.
(because you can't catch the wind,
and you can't catch them either.)
the train wheels glide
over metal iron bars with a
click-clack, click-clack,
I remember the
better days -
days long past,
when I ran fast
up the stairways to
the streets above,
like I was an angel
ascending to heaven
and not just a dirty child
going to dirty, dull grey streets.
(and now it's all just
weary faces, weary faces
I realise -
nothing ever changes)
poem for the missing by AnAshBlackSword, literature
Literature
poem for the missing
I've sat for awhile staring at passing
cars on the opposite side of the fence,
maybe I am expecting to see you
pass by, one more time, I
want to give you a proper goodbye, wishing
I'd realised that on a seemingly ordinary
day, everything had changed and
you would be long gone by Monday.
I'm finding little meaning under
the surface, we are falling apart
at the seams - cracks in everything,
in the sunlight, in the memories, between
the still unfinished pages that
will remain incomplete.
It's like this; we cling and we hold onto
people and they slip through our fingers like sand.
We think we have learned to expect the unexpected
and the
these perpetual lies by AnAshBlackSword, literature
Literature
these perpetual lies
split the sky, let
the cosmos fall to earth
we are all we dream of
and all we dream of, we
have broken,
flowers,
scattered on dead bodies;
weave the bad and the good
pretend it's all one and the
same
you are under the impression
of a could be, a false dream
(and still you believe it)
Mirror Reflections (Poetry) by Solaresque, literature
Literature
Mirror Reflections (Poetry)
Demon.
I look upon myself in these
Gleaming mirrors with a rational disgust,
And I see this sick, rearing creature glowering back at me,
Its jowls leaking with the fluid of its victims and its talons swathed in pus.
(Neither is real.)
And when I peer more closely, I see dulled eyes, serene, wizened, and soft
Moist skin beyond the scars. I notice blue in my veins and a
Fragile mortality reflected back at me—
Here I am another. I am a—
Human.
I’d sworn to have scraped the gums
From that gaping orifice you call a mouth,
Had you crossed paths with me once more—
And I wonder if imbeciles like you
Know what is fear and live by his wrath;
If not vexed by his vice, then perhaps by my own.
I have a little red angel
Resting on my sleeve
And all day and night
It whispers dirty deeds.
I try to ignore it
But each day it grows stronger
And I don't think I'll be able
To ignore it for much longer.
It wants me to do things
So horrid and insane
And the very thought of listening
Seems to me so inane.
But the longer I hear it,
The more it starts to make sense.
It's like I almost believe
When it says others are so dense,
When it says other are corrupted
And don't deserve this life,
This gift that they've been given
When they cause so much strife.
And so the little red angel
Says I should amend the shame,
That I should demolish this problem
My story can no longer have a happy ending,
the last chapter and every second page has been ripped out of the book.
It makes no sense anymore, it´s unreadable, the content just doesn´t connect.
Although you were the main character in it,
you are now only written in the third person and past tense.
The plot has gone stale and the risk of repeating things that have already happened is great.
That´s what happens when the hero in the book dies before his time.
For the characters left behind their part is still actual but
somehow their world stops and they are left in limbo.
Sad, so many stories left unfinished......
Written by Su
deceiving myself by Sunflowers-And-Fur, literature
Literature
deceiving myself
back then,
the night never told her shadow
that she was the enemy;
she wasn't lost and insecure,
her stars weren't dimming.
back then,
words were foreign
because her demons
were fledglings,
and her foundation to believe
were a pair of black ballerina slippers.
back then,
she danced in a little upstairs room
at a studio run by an instructor
collaborating on a new era
with old way of thinking.
and to this day,
one particular class
still snags at her skin
and yanks at her hair
with a force of remembrance
and idiocy.
and to this day,
she can still recall
that smoothly running routine;
and one of the more clumsy girls
accidentally yanking do
(Perfection in) Atrophy (Poetry) by Solaresque, literature
Literature
(Perfection in) Atrophy (Poetry)
Perpetual order
And some kind of
Righteous coincidence
Are the essence of this world;
They call it perfection but it’s
Merely the adroit flay of
Things; lend it time and
It’ll all fall apart.
(You shall bear witness
To this with moist eyes,
And a heaviness in your
Sore, withering heart.)
I've got a random question for anyone who is interested, and that is what do you think I look like?
You can guess hair colour, eye colour, height and whatever else you think of and I'll tell you if you are right XDD
This question has absolutely no importance or significance, other than I get really curious about the most stupid and random things XD So guess away!
Also, how is everyone? Did anyone do anything interesting today?
- Ash
if a weekend even counts as leaving?? I don't even know if it does, but I went off on holiday with my family to Scotland for a weekend and I turned off my phone and had NO WIFI, so that meant no DA or fanfiction or anything.
So if you commented or favourited any of my work, I'm currently going through my 176 mail thingies so I might miss you or just kinda .... not reply because I'm EXHAUSTED. Please forgive me, I'm usually not this lazy (I promise!!), but I've also got some other stuff like EXAMS YIPPEE next week and my fanfiction readers will actually kill me if I don't update soon. legit, my life is on the line here.
Hope everyone is doin
I got tagged again!! this time by the lovely YourTallestPinkamena (https://www.deviantart.com/yourtallestpinkamena) :D Go check her out as well, she's an amazing artist!
Rules
1.) Post these rules on your journal entry.
2.) Answer the 10 questions asked by the person who tagged you. Then refer to the following link and choose 10 questions to post on your journal entry...
3.) You can tag as many people as you want.
4.) No tag-backs.
1.) If you could say anything to Walt Disney right now, what would it be?
Damn you for killing off Mufasa because that ruined my childhood, but thank you for all the awesome addicting movies you produce! <33
2.) How did you first discover the "magic"
In the event you still check dA... I was thinking about you again. It’s “Pinkamena”. If you ever see this... I’d like to touch bases just to know you’re okay.
Why could you not just tell me that you wish not to speak to me? Please be honest if we are over. Ignoring me makes for bad feelings and often bad endings.