The Beast at the End of the HallwayWe wander the halls in the dark of night, unable to face anyone after The Incident. Here,there is no one to speak to, no one to try to comfort us with empty condolences.One night, we stumble upon an unfamiliar corridor. At the end of the short hallway, a beast stands, staring at us. He sneers, a cold gleam dully shining in his empty eyes. Broken is the best word to describe him, we think to ourselves. His face, probably once handsome, looks hollow and gray. More than anything else, he seems as frightened of us as we are of him. He snarls and backs away from us, an unsuppressed hatred evident in his stiff movements. We can't help but feel pity for this pathetic thing.As we turn away, intending to return to our chambers, the beast does a strange thing. He mimics us. We pause, looking back. He pauses. We inch forward, ready for him to bolt, but he doesn't. After an excruciating moment, we get close enough to see the curiosity and wariness in his eyes.And the gleam of moonlight on glass
Remembering...A life once lived,A self forgotten.How did it end?To become what I am,I had to die.To fall.To pretend.To walk a path,Just going through the motions.Smiles and laughter,None of it real.If life is a stage,I have learned to play my part,Every line is memorized.“I’m fine.” “Good.”“No, nothing’s the matter.”And just like an audience,They believe me,Just watching.It goes on, but no one knowsIf there will be an intermission.Or a Second Act.Perhaps,Perhaps it will end, and I can stop:Drop my mask, wipe away the clown’s smileAnd let the blood flow.“Fin!” cry the Fates.I lay down my scriptTo pick up the knife,And at last, I am real.
Twinkle, TwinkleTwinkle, twinkle, little star,Do you know what you are?Up above our world so high,Wiping all of our tears dry,Twinkle, twinkle, little star,Do you know what you are?When his happy days are gone,And he nothing smiles upon,Then you show your inner light,And twinkle, twinkle all the night.Twinkle, twinkle, little star,Do you know what you are?As he travels through the dark,How he thanks you for your spark.He could not see the way to go,If your heart did not twinkle so.Twinkle, twinkle, little star,Do you know what you are?You catch his heart and hold it tightAnd hold him closely every night.By his side, you will remain,‘Till his smile shines again.Twinkle, twinkle, little star,Do you know what you are?You are the bright and tiny spark,That guides this wanderer through the dark.Though you know not just what you are,Twinkle, twinkle, little star,Oh, twinkle, twinkle, little star,For HE knows what you are.
.: Film :. Miłość posiada własny kadr, gdy film się rozpoczyna.W którym każdy swoją główną rolę odgrywa.Z niby idealnym scenariuszem, reżyserem, aktorami na scenie.Dar filmu, trudne jest jego wczesne docenienie.Uczucie kwitnie, świat pełen radości.Bez problemów, bez zazdrości.za zasłoną miłości schowani.zakochaniMateriał się urywa.Kurtyna zakrywa.Rzekomy idealny rozpada się świat.Który miał trwać bez końca, nieskończenie wiele lat.Została jedynie stara kaseta video, na której zostały te chwile nagrane.Pokazuje, jak dobrze grali, śmiali, czuli, uczucie rozwiane.Po latach wielu, odnaleziona.Z zawartym materiałem ponownie odtworzona.Jedyne co zostało, to wspomnienia.Nie te złe, te dobre, trudne do uwierzenia?
.: Sen :.Zawsze w cieniu ukryty, brak mu czucia.Bierze się znikąd, do nikąd co ranek powraca, cel po nocnych markach snucia.W oczach wieczny ognień złości.Płomieniem żal, knotem nić zazdrości.Zawsze w kącie, w mroku skryty.Przez żadną istotę niezdobyty.Wolny, od siebie zależny, choć wiecznie z łzami w oczach.Włucząc cicho się w zakamarkach po nocach.Samotny twór, w myślach zamknięty.Przez inne istoty nie pojęty.Wieczna duszy męka.Z serca wzięte, innych nęka.Nigdy nie wiadomo, gdzie czy kiedy się objawi.W czarze czernią wylaną, zjawy zbawi.Inni zwą go koszmarem.Zjawy prawdy darem.Zawsze wróci, wiecznie będzie tu.Odbierze ostatniego tchu.
STOLEN INNOCENCESTOLEN INNOCENCEMaybe you're wondering why the title is bold,well that is because a story needs to be toldThis isn't your average poem about a personal thing;actually, it's about a subject that makes my heart sting.Picture a girl, no younger than five whose heart is filled with joy and is oh so alive.Think of the teen you may call your best friendwho just might have nearly met a bitter end.Think of the boy, you might have once knownwhose purity was taken before he was grown.Think of the men women stolen awayonly to be tortured and sold another day.What am I referring to? you may ask.Well this poem of explanation, is my next task.They're the victims of pain and despair; whose hearts did breakon the day they were robbed when people their innocence did take.Innocent and unknowing were these people like you and I;those who, today, are often passed by.Without being able to fight back, they were molested and raped,with hands bound tightly and mouth duct taped.
.........Today....I had someone unknown text me.......asking me..."why do you try? what's the point?"......I replied..."the point is located at the end of my razor blade"...................again...they repeated..."what's the point?"....I said..."to draw on my body"........they replied.."your not worth anything"....while I ended with a.."that's one of my pictures I drew on my arm"..........
............I can't do this anymore.............
NOT GONNA DIENOT GONNA DIEAll your life,You were hated and despise,you were abuse and wanted to die,All because for being alive.You put on a happy mask,So know one would see,The pain you hide,All the misery.You have friends that care,That love you dearly,But are they really?Could they really love the real me?Because of the mask you wear,They can't see the real you,They can only see a fake lie,so... can anyone love the real you?But I'm not going to die,Even when I'm hated and despise,I'm not gonna die....Without putting up a fight...
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