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Prisoned BeautyI walk into this big empty castle.
Not a soul lives inside.
The frills and skirts endlessly flow over my legs as I move forward.
My curls spill over my shoulders and gently bounce as I move.
The crown on my head is fitted on well, but it is still not too heavy.
My shoes add to my height as if to demand authority, they show the importance in my stride.
My neck is adorned with the finest gold and jewels.
The scent of a garden follows my every movement, and I feel as if I could have a parade of followers at my calling.
But I keep wandering these dark halls, and no one is here. The rooms are empty, The court yards are barren, and I grow tired of climbing these winding stair cases.
The walls have begun to crumble, wind blows dirt in through the shattered glass windows.
The moon light barely shines through, lightly touching everything inside, bright and sure. Gentle and crude.
But the sun still does not rise.
The walls are cold too touch, and there are no throwns on which to s
Mystery of the Thunderbird Act one, scene one, stage right. I led the first cue. The slow beating of drums began and reverberated all throughout the large open theater. The audience fell silent waiting in eager anticipation for the excitement that the night here at the theater held for them.
I was to lead the first the first group onto the stage, I had the responsibility of opening the show. My job was to wait and listen for the right moment. When the drumming slowed and the lutes began their chorus I was to tromp slowly across center stage, then wander of to stage left.
My group and I were dressed as buffalo, our faces were intricately painted and we wore furs and skins in the fashion of old American Indians. I could smell the faint odor of alcohol, some of the other actors must have been drinking in attempt to settle their nerves.
I listened intently for the moment everyone in the building was waiting eagerly for, butterflies filled my stomach and I could hear my
Bleeding HandsMaybe the treasure I'm looking for isn't in this hole.
But I will keep digging. Even when my hands begin to bleed.
Why do I try so hard? Why was I put here?
Everyone else seems to be above me, I can see them walking around in the sunlight on higher ground. They're just enjoying what amazing blessings they don't know they have.
I am burning with hatred. Why am I angry at their happiness?
How can they be so oblivious to what's really going on around them?
But me.. I'm in this dark, cold, lonely hole. With only dirt at my feet. I've dug this hole too many times. I've dug this hole too deep, and how can I expect to go any deeper?
Will anyone pull me out if this is wrong? Will anyone come find me if I get lost?
Maybe I should stay down here, where I'm not in the way, where no one will have to see me covered in this thick dirt, with my torn open hands.
All I can seem to find myself thinking is, "Why am I down here? What did I do to deserve this? What can I do to win their respect?"
Where Are You Going?"Where are you going?" The question rang in my mind, from inside my head. The voice was warm. But I did not answer. I kept walking. I kept walking and walking into the darkness. The darkness was all I knew, and all I have ever known.
The cold sharp rocks of the twisted path stuck and clung into my feet, causing the pain to reach up higher and the cold to cling ever strong. Hunger griped me and I felt empty.
"Where are you going?" Said the warm voice again, but I did not look around. I was lost and I wasn't going to try to change it. The stars above mocked me as they disappeared one-by-one from behind the thorn trees that began to encase me. Just lost, but never had I known what it was like to know the way.
"Wrong way." Said a cold voice, was it mine? But I did not turn back. I knew no other way.
Now only the lifeless gray light of the moon could shine through the overbearing encasement of trees. Ruling above, their branches reaching out, ever stronger did their cage of torment
Race of the Provinces - pt4 Part 4
I was exhausted and hungry, but that made me all the more determined. I had finally made it back up to a surfacing ledge with a little help from my scary new friend.
Just then, the deep loud rumbling erupted from below in the mountain with a long moaning cry, causing me to loose my footing. It was the dragon in the hole echoing his roar through the caves.
"Aha!" I had found it. The dragon had told me to climb back out and go around the hill to a huge slab of rock, and by huge he meant only about a hundred feet tall. It was way bigger then I had originally imagined. So sighing, I and made my way over to it.
"Heellooo??" I cried as I put my ear to it. Supposedly he was behind this.
A low rumble shook the rock.
Race of the Provinces - pt3 Part 3
Slosh, slosh. I tried to stay quiet as I headed down to the opening. I was covered in mud, or what I hoped was just mud. Either way, it did seem to hide my scent from the dragons. My axes were in hand and I carefully stalked down to a particular place in the cave. It let off a faint light in this place, and I thought that maybe if I was lucky enough, it would be the portal chamber we were looking for. If not, I was hoping it would at least lead me to where I could see the sky again. I needed a little fresh air about now.
This place was knee deep with muck and filled the entire tunnel with a thick musty smoke that caused everything to glow. The smell was unbearable but I couldn't help but think about how famished I really was.
Race of the Provinces - pt2 Part 2
Galen was filled with worry and tension. Despair filled them as they didn't know what their next move would be. Galen was worried that he had let his master down and could only think of how horrible the dragons, with their fire and claws were treating the young prince. Alkestis wasn't any better, he could only stare off into the direction that the hoard had flown into, and tighten his grip on his spear. Worriedly he was searching for any sign or speck on the horizon that could prove to be Aldara.
Vexed and infuriated with everyone else. Parthenia had taken full authority and they were headed straight to the mountain. Quickly, they were out of the forest and scaling the steep hills of boulders which seemed to b
Race of the Provinces Race of the Provinces
-An original Story by AJBlueSox
It wasn't the first time that Ekho had sat in the council room during these meetings. He was as impatient as could be, but he kept his composure well before all the members. He was the prince in this city. Not particularly an important prince, and not nearly as important as his brother Soterios, he was the proclaimed Savior of this Kingdom. His father was exceptionally important, he was the King of this world, and this world held the capital city of all the seven great worlds of this region.
But at the moment, all of that seemed to be at its end. Everything was at stake, and the council members were yelling
When I was little. I was told that every little good thing you do, God will add another gem to the crown you're going to wear in heaven. But as a little girl I could only think, "How big is the crown? How small are the gems? Does it matter?" But my real question was related to a Dr. Seuss story about discrimination and comparing ourselves to each other, and that was all that I thought about. So what if someone could manage to do nothing good in their life? What if someone did good things constantly? People don't think, they just do.
But I was also told that everything you do onto others, you do onto Jesus. So maybe other people won't see those gems, only Jesus will. Maybe in heaven we can show each other our accomplishments and be able to tell those stories. Either way, that's not what I decided to believe. I think that whatever heaven will be like, I want my whole mansion filled with those gems for Jesus. Not just my crown. I want my garden with them, my walls,
I am a MouseI am a mouse.
I am quiet, I am nothing.
I am a book that nobody has read.
I am an eclipsed sun and a cloaked moon.
I am irrelevant and unwanted, a broken toy in an attic.
I am the dust in your rear-view mirror that you leave behind.
I am the air that you breathe in and spit out as something different.
I am the palest white. I am the darkest black. I am the dullest, emptiest grey.
I am the old man with forgotten memories and the baby who has yet to make them.
I am a forgotten word, dangling on the tip of your tongue, hanging on the noose of your lips.
I am a dried up stream. I am a felled forest. I am an abandoned cornucopia of resolute nothingness.
And there is Hell burning in my eyes.
Mental Disorder Discrimination"You said you've got depression?
No you don't, you attention seeker.
You're just an average teenager with the perfect life
Desperately looking for sympathy."
Stop crying, you coward.
You're just a childish "scaredy-cat".
Blaming your problems on a mental disorder
That doesn't even exist."
"So you're schizophrenic?
Grow the hell up, and stop acting like a child
You're too old for imaginary friends
You callow, juvenile, little twit."
But if we're attention seekers,
Why do we try so hard to hide our feelings from the world?
Why do we isolate ourselves in our rooms,
Desperately hiding the cuts on our wrists
Trying our best to live a normal life?
And if we're simply "scaredy-cats",
Why is our fear so vividly intense?
Unlike simple fear, our anxiety will stick with us forever
A severe long-lasting feeling of powerful panic.
A feeling from which we'll never be free.
Suddenly we're childish for having a mental disorder?
Schizophrenia is not something we can control.
PainParalized by the suffering
A shiver down my spine
Images of my past haunt me
No one can save me from this hell
to me you are perfect
I do not know the reasons
for all those scars burning
against your bright skin
you've been soaking
a pain reminiscing from past
we both cannot recollect
yet you are so beautiful..
when night gets darker
and I am the one...
who's hungered to undress
the spirit of you
slowly revealing the layers
coming off from shadows
disguised in desires
craving to be fulfilled
I will caress every corner
of your silhouette
until I figure the true shape
of your heart
I will rub those blisters
softly until every nerve
of you gushes into a river
and you moan into a life
I had promised you
years ago when we began
to breathe into each other
for all the truths
I must swallow
and lessons I must learn
you are the one
I am destined to discover
what it means
to love in perfection
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
you talk like a travestyoh, mercury boy, you can't
write your way out of this
body or out of this mind;
you can pray like it's high-fashion,
insist you're only burning yourself out
(but tell me - do you feel like a god yet?)
if only for murky mirrors &
silver cicadas caught
in your ribcage, you've
got a knack for decaying
poem for borderlinesif i could concentrate over
seven hundred thousand eyes
at the roof to the numbers stepping
from the nicities & rows
to go back
to the shattered surface
& the ripples beating over the hang
halfway between shallow
biting lips. maybe--
she couldn't have known
that it takes a whole three minutes
for the lungs to
well, maybe she
who, oh well
the white; the haze--
the booming over
the spume and spray
me get out of my head
just pull up the shutters
my tongue the weight to talk
but that's all we'll ever be:
a match burning itself out for
under the backspray of someone else's wheels
LostI am lost
floating in this thick haze
standing in insecurity
my mind is unsure of what I am feeling
and my heart is unsure of what I know
I am lost in the promise of the future
why is everything so unclear?
I reach out in search of everything
my heart is crying out for its safe place
a place where there is no painful, lost, or lonely longing
my mind cries out for its fulfillment
where there is no worry or uncertain happenings
I fear what is unpredictable
what I don't understand
I know something is missing
I feel something is not quite where it should be
why can't I just go to my safe place?
why must I stay trapped in my fear?
in my insecurity, and my longing?
what is it that I am seeking?
how am I supposed to find it?
who will bring the sun to shine through this dark fog?
where is it that I really belong?
what should I be doing?
why am I really here?
will I ever find this place of pure satisfaction?
why is it this hard?
what can I do - floating lost in this uncertainty?
why do all thes
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More