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Bored in class by GuessMyGame Bored in class :iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 2 0 Maglor by GuessMyGame Maglor :iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 4 0
Literature
sleep
I dont not want to sleep. I know that the tired metaphors will only circle through my head, and that the waves of nostalgia will suck the breath from my lungs. I stare a black ceiling, waiting, waiting... waiting is the worst part of it all.
:iconGuessMyGame:GuessMyGame
:iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 0 0
Minimalist Johnny Weir by GuessMyGame Minimalist Johnny Weir :iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 0 0
Literature
Songbird
“Is anyone listening?” A songbird cries out,
To a dark night with no moon
As the shadows churn and boil over
“Is anyone there?” The songbird cries out,
To one thousand soundless souls,
Who's throats catch their voices and shove them back in their lungs
They shake, as the songbird cries
But not one lift a finger, there is no sound
As the dark night crawls on and despair gathers
“I know you are!” cries the songbird, his wings are broken
The black tide rises and falls in silence,
No moon appears, the shadows boil over
And the songbird is consumed.
On some road, one soul finds his voice again.
“What a beautiful songbird that, such a pity.”
:iconGuessMyGame:GuessMyGame
:iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 0 0
Dove by GuessMyGame Dove :iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 1 0
Literature
Her heart
At the age of 10, her heart was gentle.
She cried some nights and loved her mother.
At the age of 12, her heart was hurting.
She cursed and cried and torn up walls.
At the age of 13, her heart was mending.
She carefully stitched but missed some places.
At the age of 14, her heart heart was sad.
But she turned it to art and watched the sunset.
At the age of 15, her heart broke apart.
It was crushed under foot and she had to make a new one.
At the age of 16, her heart wasn't in pain anymore.
But it didn't feel love at all.
At the age of 17, she laughed easily.
However people shied away.
At the age of 18, she left her home as soon as she could.
She took out some string and made a heart that could love,
Since there was no longer anyone around with the power to break it.
:iconGuessMyGame:GuessMyGame
:iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 0 0
Literature
Smile
Her smile was a million mega-watt lie, that she had nurtured since she was 7. But with each passing mirror, it looked more real. With each new dawn it became a reality. She took her destiny and casually threw it into the waste basket. When she smiled, it was real.
:iconGuessMyGame:GuessMyGame
:iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 0 0
Literature
Fine
It had taken him a year to realize that her version of "fine" was "alive".
He would ask her if she was alright, and she would cock her head, contemplating, and then reply only with "fine". At first he thought she was being evasive, but the truth was that in her mind, that was the right answer. Sure, everything had gone to hell and she had a panic attack last night, but she was alive. So she was fine, with confidence that she would get over it. That she would regain whatever it was that she  lost, and all she needed to be was fine.
:iconGuessMyGame:GuessMyGame
:iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 1 0
Literature
To late
It's to late at nights
to think about leaves-
soft autumn leaves
falli
n
g
But the stars- I don't think I've ever seen them shimmer with such conviction before, each pinprick of radiance blinding like a flashlight, like the flashlights we use in the woods, when the stars were like a river in the unreachable sky, when the dark wasn't scary at all.
It's to late in the night to remember the meadows I ran through or the mountains I climbed, the people I kissed and who they've become. Little feet on hardwood floors, in a house I half remember.
It's to late for things to start making sense again.
:iconGuessMyGame:GuessMyGame
:iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 0 0
Literature
Over
I think the night is over
because I can see the dawn
A light on the horizon
I think the pain is gone
I turn my words from mouring
I can finally write a song
about the way the night feels
and not about what's wrong
:iconGuessMyGame:GuessMyGame
:iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 1 0
Literature
Untitled
It's like the sky shattered into tiny little birds
and they all got trapped inside your eyes
It's like you drank the summer's sunlight
from a red solo cup
and it turned your smile into dewdrops
It's like the phantom of the night
perched on your windowsill
and let you strip away it's mystery
and lock it underneath your lungs
It's something I'll never see again
and I've already been staring to long
:iconGuessMyGame:GuessMyGame
:iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 1 0
Literature
8 words to fall in love
I love you and your screwed up head.
:iconGuessMyGame:GuessMyGame
:iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 1 0
Literature
The Girl on the Counch
The steam of his coffee drifted lazily to the ceiling, sometimes catching on the fractured sunbeams. He watched it with mild interest from his perch on the tan couch, legs pulled to his chest. On the other end of the couch, a girl watched him. Her legs were folded neatly and she was smiling. However, he knew that her eternal smile was a fake one. Though her smile only spoke of kindness, her eyes- they didn't miss anything. She had left the place she used to live without hesitation. She had left her friends, her lovers and everyone easily and she scared him.
      "Why is it that someone who seems to care so much could leave everyone they knew without even dropping their smile?" He had asked her once. She smiled wider and looked over to him with a glint in her eye.
      "It is because I cared. I cared too much and they broke me. I cared to little and I broke them. It was because I saved them that I left all the people I loved." She explained.
   
:iconGuessMyGame:GuessMyGame
:iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 0 0
Literature
Veiw
I can't really be normal-
because my mind is tearing itself apart
and anxiety feels like the world is crumbling
and everything has collapsed into static
but I smile still, I promise
I'm not actually working
I'm trying to keep myself from falling apart
and I don't know what happiness is like,
all my laughter is fake.
I feel fat but I'm underweight
and as I sit here trying not to fall apart
people make friends, and then I'm still here
watching myself fracture in a mirror that lies to me
Because I promise, it's all an act,
it's all an act.
But now- it feels normal
to want
to
die
:iconGuessMyGame:GuessMyGame
:iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 0 0
Literature
Glass
Glass is just a wall if you are blind,
and every time you will find,
I am an outsider looking in
I and a sinner stuck in their sin
:iconGuessMyGame:GuessMyGame
:iconguessmygame:GuessMyGame 0 0

Favourites

Literature
Silence
Silence is golden, no sounds are in sight,
Nothing is heard that sheds any light;
Movement turns dark, then quiet comes near,
Listen to stillness and watch dreams appear.
:iconForgeAus:ForgeAus
:iconforgeaus:ForgeAus 148 15
Literature
on florida, after the fact
they say the tallest thing in the state is a landfill.
fitting, for what are we all but used up things rotting in the sun?
this gilded cityscape even Mike Bell couldn’t escape, the king of
running, the concrete kiss that kept him still.
say this is for the ever expanding list of obituaries i recognize
in the paper, not sure whether to mourn or make note,
we, just a bunch of rich kids with nothing else to do but die
and once, summer was just an afternoon thunderstorm,
just a parade of bicycles in the cul-de-sac
and, back then, we didn’t really know cool
till we heard it on the bus radio, know how to
keep ourselves out of trouble, or at least from
getting caught, say this is for those that did;
for dada and gary, i hear they both in the pen now,
better that than the ground, though, i guess
and for bradley, who hasn’t said dead just yet,
just ain’t been living right lately
see these days, those of us that made it out
be lookin back, how suburbia can swallow you who
:iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor
:iconsuccesswithhonor:successwithhonor 50 8
Literature
under the floods.
when i was born,
my mom used to listen to me breathing, she used to
smell me deeper than addiction; she would count my fingers and toes
so carefully, eyes wider than wonder. she reminded the others
that, a little sister did not mean casualty,
a little sister did not mean a coupe on the love surrounding you,
did not mean terrorized territories on white castles
on the empires you've bordered & volumed in the inventions
of your dreams. she gave them simple instructions:
follow yourselves to the end of the edges
of your thereafter,
do not get choked on the rough sentence in between.
they did not know she had just prophesied
her extent. by "sentence", her children were too young to understand
she meant where our father would end up— twenty five to life—
how it would force us to hunt the breakneck rivers
of life, desperately pleading for gospels of growing up
upon its shores. she meant, growing up was often deeply scary.
that sometimes, it doesn't involve god.
so she taught this
:iconsimilar-singularity:similar-singularity
:iconsimilar-singularity:similar-singularity 112 30
Literature
Umbrella March
One, two, three, four
Hear the coming uproar
March! (two, three, four)
See the mighty downpour.
Weapons out, banners bright
Every shape, hue, height;
Rain barrage and passing spray
Remember this Umbrella Day!
And yet! (two, three, four)
This is anything but war
Hup! (two, three, four)
This is earth and sky rapport.
Waterfalls from building tops
Ripple-watching, puddle-hops
Heavy awnings, glowing shops
... But we're all glad when it stops.
:iconEmily-Byrd:Emily-Byrd
:iconemily-byrd:Emily-Byrd 63 22
FACES by Min-Nguen FACES :iconmin-nguen:Min-Nguen 1,219 30 CindyM by avvart CindyM :iconavvart:avvart 1,945 76
Literature
October 19th
October 19th
I arrived at home a pure soul
but I retreat a mosaic of soles.
Yes, I have been stepped on,
I have been led and brought on, spat on,
had the rod on, been beat and been broke.
At least you like my lyric.
At least your bootmarks no longer ache
and glow hurt-red. Marks, my words
when they pelt the ground, raindrops
falling but not on my head;
they cool my wounds. Even nature
is sympathetic. It gives you a sun today
and an excuse to burst from your dungeon.
I say take that chance. There is a want
for freedom there. Boot-march is a twisted
soundtrack there and it has gotten old;
the bright thoughts of bright leaves
and the dear faces of the strollered children
all wide-open and enamored with everything,
are writing you a new set of lyrics.
:iconSpiderMilkshake:SpiderMilkshake
:iconspidermilkshake:SpiderMilkshake 44 18
Frodo Baggins. Dark Forest by NellMcGooffin Frodo Baggins. Dark Forest :iconnellmcgooffin:NellMcGooffin 196 28 Indestructible... by Dark-Indigo Indestructible... :icondark-indigo:Dark-Indigo 765 116 White Winged Lion by anna-lakisova White Winged Lion :iconanna-lakisova:anna-lakisova 2,425 88
Mature content
Grief Monger :iconregal-pinion:Regal-Pinion 29 22
Maglor by EKukanova Maglor :iconekukanova:EKukanova 1,701 235 Turandot by KibiQeQ Turandot :iconkibiqeq:KibiQeQ 1,009 33
Literature
30 sad quotes
Sad Quotes
~I don't run from you, I walk away slowly, and it kills me , 'cause you don't care enough to stop me.
~When you walk away, I count the steps that you take.
~"I love you" is eight letters long, but then again so is "bullshit".
~I wish I had saved all the tears you made me cry, so I could fucking drown you in them.
~Who do you turn to, when the only person in the world who can stop you from crying, is the one making you cry?
~I run in the rain, so that nobody can see my tears.
~Maybe when he broke my heart, he forgot I could feel.
~They say that loving you is my biggest mistake.
But how can it be wrong if it feels so right?
If I ever make a mistake,
It's not that I love you…
It's thinking that someday you'll love me too.
~Giving up doesn't always mean you're weak, sometimes it just means that you're strong enough to let go.
~The saddest thing in the world, is loving someone who used to love you.
~Pain doesn't hurt… when it's all you've ever felt.
~My heart was taken
:iconMai-Taniyama-anime:Mai-Taniyama-anime
:iconmai-taniyama-anime:Mai-Taniyama-anime 435 122
Literature
The van Helsing Legacy: We Shall Not Sleep - 1

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
-Lieutenant Colonel John McRae
3 May, 1915
One year earlier
Sir Hannibal eyed the boy on the table. Young man, he corrected himself. Peacefully etherised, the patient seemed younger than he really was. His hair had grown longer during his confinement, and it curled in obsidian-dark spirals behind his head, like van Gogh’s brushstrokes. Its darkness emphasized his unearthly pallor. He had been pale before, but it had been every bit of six mon
:iconQuiEstInLiteris:QuiEstInLiteris
:iconquiestinliteris:QuiEstInLiteris 30 19
S T R E N G T H by Sing-sei S T R E N G T H :iconsing-sei:Sing-sei 119 3

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"You should get out there." Carrie had laughed. I had laughed back. We all laughed.


I stare at my reflection in my bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth. I'm 30. I have chronic depression. I look average, faint red blotches visible on my face. I'm easily annoyed and aloof. Above all, I'm crippling lonely. I lower my toothbrush, looking into my own eyes. I accepted it, years ago, that thing would end up this way. I may have escaped from my house and past, but I left a bit of me there. This realization doesn't help me. I drown myself in whichever medium makes the emotions stop.


"You're so beautiful." A man lies. I don't believe him.


I put my toothbrush away and get into bed alone. I've developed a habit of staying up late so that the insomnia is more bearable, so I'm so tired I have to sleep. I hate laying in bed, just existing. For hours. It makes me wonder if living is really worth it at all. But that's normal for me, I stopped considering myself suicidal once I realized I would never have the courage to do it. It's shameful, but fear kept me alive.


"I can't believe you had to go through that." Someone says. They sound concerned. But by now, all this is normal for me. The constant intrusive thought, loneliness, urge to harm myself. I shrug to them. I can bare it. The only hard part is when I start to wonder why I bother at all.


As I lay in bed, the thoughts get more intense. But that's normal. This happens every night. People really don't understand, when I shrug and tell them feeling horrible is just what life is like for me. That's just how it is. I can't change it, no amount of medicine or therapy will help.


"There's nothing I can really do for you. Your depression is situational." I nod. I knew that already.


It's normal. It upsets me, sure. But what am I going to do? Get out there? I don't even know how to get out of my own head. My life is average, really. I'm pretty average. So, it all really doesn't matter.

I dont not want to sleep. I know that the tired metaphors will only circle through my head, and that the waves of nostalgia will suck the breath from my lungs. I stare a black ceiling, waiting, waiting... waiting is the worst part of it all.

Minimalist Johnny Weir
Johnny weir with his creep costume, minimalist. This was fun to make hehe. It's a bit messy but whatevs
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Looking back on how horrible I felt during freshman year, I don't know how I survived. The anxiety still resurfaces sometimes as I stare at the pastel walls of the halls. I am reminded of the deteriorating mental state I had experienced. The swamp I stood, only half in reality. The confusion, harsh feelings of deep love hatred, I remember thinking that if I stayed still long enough I could sink into the ground and become nothing. I have thought that I really didn't have the strength to combat such feelings, that I should not have lived. Then I realized, I was correct. It's wasn't strength that got me through those desperate times, but fear of death.

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Kurina
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.
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:iconquiestinliteris:
QuiEstInLiteris Featured By Owner Feb 18, 2017  Professional Writer
Thank you for adding The van Helsing Legacy to your favorites!
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:iconkittysib:
KittySib Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
:party: Welcome to DA!:party: I hope you like it here!
Thanks for the insightful comment!:D
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