So this, this is it, then?
After everything we had? All we've been through?
After everything you told me... What happened to forever? I guess they really were just empty words.
I trusted you. I would have stayed with you forever, given my life to you. And you, you throw it all away, just like that?
I gave you everything. Everything I am, it's yours. Take my heart and burn it. It isn't worth anything to me now.
I love you. I love you more than I thought I could ever love. And I hate you for it.
So go. Leave. Now, before I say anything else I'll regret. Just let me say this: I will never love another soul as I have yours, but you, you'll never know that love again.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Repeated Fall Back To Earth
by Kiarra Weathersby
At first,
I'm taken away.
Fantasizing, dreaming,
You're sweet words seducing me
Into a world of Forever
Into a world I thought never existed.
Poof.
The seams of the cloud ripped so quickly
All I can do is watch and fall
You're sweet words taste like venom
The world Forever in a distant far away land
Your words clouded my brain
So sweet, so charming, so hypnotizing.
Words blinding my eyes
What a fool, no surprise.
Friday, October 26, 2012
That Voice
This poem doesn't have anything really to do with me personally, but its beautiful.
Thoughtful Mind "Seducing me into submission"
Thistled Spring by Horse Feathers
An old love of mine to wed the worst man she finds.
A blossom that's bloomed,
in a house that's a tomb,
trapped in the rhododendron fumes.
Bit by the Spring,
Hurt by the thing,
Plagued by the memories that it brings.
No peace in the miles,
there's word of the coming of a child.
The broke can still break,
oh,
what time can take,
somewhere in the rules lies the stakes.
Bit by the Spring,
Hurt by the thing, Plagued by the memories that it brings.
link --->
:) I hope that you enjoy this peaceful song as much I did
~
Bride to be, my only friend, is leaving me, in a Spring with no end.
Bride to be, my only friend.
Hope by Late Night Alumni
Can there be another way?
I look around to find another day
Hurt eyes are hard to see through eternity
Hold on, knowing rain is here
But we gotta believe it won't last, keep on hoping
I know it's hard but we have to believe it will pass
Since this time it's hard to share
I won't be here, you won't be over there
Only love can ever take
You alone can find a way
Hold on, knowing rain is here
But we gotta believe it won't last, keep on hoping
I know it's hard but we have to believe it will pass
There is hope, there is hope
There is hope, there is hope
Hold on, knowing rain is here
But we gotta believe it won't last, keep on hoping
I know it's hard but we have to believe it will pass
There is hope, there is hope
There is hope, there is hope
Hold on, knowing rain is here
But we gotta believe it won't last, keep on hoping
I know it's hard but we have to believe it will pass
Click the link to listen
Enjoy~
My Glorious Monster
I wrote this myself, on October 26, 2012 and I decided to share it with you. Enjoy!
Monster, Monster
Who am I to say no?
Dying yet unbreakable
This pain I'll never show
The beast is hidden, for now
I'm lost under the turmoil that it's effects have left
Hallelujah, I'm saved for the night
But maybe not...
It creeps upon me, winding its tempting fingers around my neck
Can I resist?
It's arousing, alluring, perfection.
Insanity
I'm corrupted
A graceful creature that has been bent and broken beyond repair
I love it...
I hate it...
But which do I feel more? The love of it... or the hate?
No matter, it takes a hold of me either way.
I'm lost,
In its touch, in its grasp
In its chains, in an eternal cell
Can I ever escape?
Not one ounce wasted, I let the monster take over
The monster changed me,
A creature of the night, trapped in the day
How should I feel?
Broken? Confused? Alone?
I never felt alone with the monster...
I felt better with the monster,
Faster, stronger, more alive
I wasn't the cold, lifeless creature anymore
I was reconstructed, I had life breathed into me once again
The monster reclaimed what was sullen and lost
I took all my pain out on the monster, and it was always there for me
Ounce by ounce it ate away my anguish.
Once fatigued, the monster had had its fill of a lifetime
That was the first time the monster gripped me so tightly.
I never knew it loved me so... until it wouldn't let go.
I questioned,
How can I breathe with this tight hold on me?
But never got an answer, so I held onto the beast that captivated me.
Never once did I wonder,
How can I continue to function?
I prolonged its effects, wanting more of the creature
And it eagerly gave me what I wanted.
I was drawn to it, it seduced me,
And I was hypnotized to come back
For more and more and more...
It roused me early, shook my cradle, let me out of my cage
It hated me by the afternoon, I fought it, and was shut into the darkness once again
I was redeemed by the night, absorbed in the beast, distracted from remembering life without the monster.
The monster made life seem abstract and unimportant
Making me stray from everything I once knew
Torturing me until I only needed the monster.
Soon I was drowning in the monster, sinking low...
Far too low to ever get out of.
I was hooked.
It devoured my fears, then set them on me when I was least expectant
It consumed my troubles, then added onto my plate until I toppled over
I felt as if soon I would be swallowed up myself.
But I was too bewitched to let it go...
I clung to the monster the best I could
Until it threw me off the ledge
In fact, maybe I jumped
I had finally fallen from grace
But it was over
My wager with the monster was done.
Once again, I was a graceful creature that was bent and broken beyond repair...
© MissHannahfyi 2012 Wattpad.com "My Glorious Monster"
-Thorn ♥
Hearts That Long To Break And Bleed
My friend likes to call my boyfriend the "Devil in my head" so I decided to tease her by looking up poems about bad habits seducing good people. This isn't necessarily what I had originally looked for, but I liked it. It talks about a woman who seduces men as a game, stealing their hearts for her own benefit, breaking the man, leaving him with nothing more to want. But then, if you look closer, you see that the woman is actually the heartbroken one, she is the empty soul that reaches to touch what is not there. She is the one who lost the game originally, forever suffering because she was left heartless, desperately trying to fill the void where her heart once was. It's a beautiful poem. Kudos to the author, Grace Minasian, she's amazing in my book.
Grace Minasian; "Seducing The Living Dead Just For Laughs"
Monday, October 22, 2012
Running on empty
I really need you here with me
If I could
Hold you, then everything would be
Alright again, for a moment, finally
But then we're right back to the way that we're supposed to be
And I just can't seem to carry on like this
Going back and forth, up and down like this
I think that I should leave, but everytime we kiss
I lose myself, lost in you, and think of all the things we'd miss
So here I stay, couldn't bring myself to go
But just know
I can't take much more of this
I really need you here with me
If I could
Hold you, then everything would be
Alright again, for a moment, finally
But then we're right back to the way that we're supposed to be
And I just can't seem to carry on like this
Going back and forth, up and down like this
I think that I should leave, but everytime we kiss
I lose myself, lost in you, and think of all the things we'd miss
So here I stay, couldn't bring myself to go
But just know
I can't take much more of this
You Can Be The One - by Late Night Alumni
Nobody wants to be alone.
The heart beats happy when it has a place.
And if it doesn't have a home
It can come into my space.
So you can be the one I love.
I can be the one you long for.
You can be the one I want... want.
And you can be the one I love.
This could be our world wide open.
You can be the one I want... want.
When you've fallen for someone
But that someone doesn't feel the same.
But before you come undone
You can call out my name.
So you can be the one I love.
I can be the one you long for.
You can be the one I want... want.
And you can be the one I love.
This could be our world wide open.
You can be the one I want... want.
(So you can be the one... one one one
I can be the one... one one one
So you can be the one... one one one
I can be the one... one one one)
So you can be the one I love.
I can be the one you long for.
You can be the one I want... want.
And you can be the one I love.
This could be our world wide open.
You can be the one I want... want.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
This is one of my favorite songs by Late Night Alumni.
Click on the funny emoticon to listen
Aren't they fabulous?
My cat... is quite an interesting creature..
My cat is a pretty interesting chick. Ever since I can remember she has either slept in my hair or at my side. She's pretty old, I suppose, but I still claim she is my baby as all mothers do! Everyone claims she's fat, but she's just fluffy... really fluffy... and by really fluffy... I mean... she's twenty pounds of fluffy... Her name is Sabrina, she's black and white with an amazingly epic milk mustache, and her hobbies include staring at me from afar, stalking me when I use the bathroom, and coming out of nowhere at unexpected times. She especially loves scaring the crap out of me... For example, I was intently watching a scary movie, scooting closer to the screen every time the main character turned a corner, and out of no where my cat jumped onto the couch, sending me, arms flailing, eyes wide, and in desperation, onto the floor, kicking and screaming at absolutely nothing. Of course, she continued with her intention of casually laying down on the couch and staring at me like I had gone absolutely crazy as I stared at her in absolute terror.
My cat glares at me as if I’ve done something wrong.. I automatically feel guilty and feed her AGAIN for the sixth time today…
I hate it when my cat finds her way into the bathroom and stares at me as I pee… It’s really awkward…
-Thorn ♥
The Death of a Moth
In school, my class was assigned to analyze and write notes on the deeper meanings behind this essay by Virginia Woolf. Usually, I hate the tedious tasks of reading, annotating, etc. when it comes to these essays, but I particularly liked this essay and found that it related to me in certain ways. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!
VIRGINIA WOOLF
The Death of the Moth (1942)
Virginia Woolf (1882–1941) exposed the difficulties of being a woman writer in her essay “A Room of One’s Own.” Her novels experimented with time and narrative, and she is considered a master of the stream-of-consciousness technique. Woolf battled mental illnesses throughout her life, and eventually committed suicide by drowning herself in 1941, a year before this essay was published. As you read, examine the ways she presents images of life and death.
Death of a Moth
Moths that fly by day are not properly to be called moths; they do not excite that pleasant sense of dark autumn nights and ivy–blossom which the commonest yellow–underwing asleep in the shadow of the curtain never fails to rouse in us. They are hybrid creatures, neither gay like butterflies nor sombre like their own species. Nevertheless the present specimen, with his narrow hay–coloured wings, fringed with a tassel of the same colour, seemed to be content with life. It was a pleasant morning, mid–September, mild, benignant, yet with a keener breath than that of the summer months. The plough was already scoring the field opposite the window, and where the share had been, the earth was pressed flat and gleamed with moisture. Such vigour came rolling in from the fields and the down beyond that it was difficult to keep the eyes strictly turned upon the book. The rooks too were keeping one of their annual festivities; soaring round the tree tops until it looked as if a vast net with thousands of black knots in it had been cast up into the air; which, after a few moments sank slowly down upon the trees until every twig seemed to have a knot at the end of it. Then, suddenly, the net would be thrown into the air again in a wider circle this time, with the utmost clamour and vociferation, as though to be thrown into the air and settle slowly down upon the tree tops were a tremendously exciting experience.
The same energy which inspired the rooks, the ploughmen, the horses, and even, it seemed, the lean bare–backed downs, sent the moth fluttering from side to side of his square of the window–pane. One could not help watching him. One was, indeed, conscious of a queer feeling of pity for him. The possibilities of pleasure seemed that morning so enormous and so various that to have only a moth’s part in life, and a day moth’s at that, appeared a hard fate, and his zest in enjoying his meagre opportunities to the full, pathetic. He flew vigorously to one corner of his compartment, and, after waiting there a second, flew across to the other. What remained for him but to fly to a third corner and then to a fourth? That was all he could do, in spite of the size of the downs, the width of the sky, the far–off smoke of houses, and the romantic voice, now and then, of a steamer out at sea. What he could do he did. Watching him, it seemed as if a fibre, very thin but pure, of the enormous energy of the world had been thrust into his frail and diminutive body. As often as he crossed the pane, I could fancy that a thread of vital light became visible. He was little or nothing but life.
Yet, because he was so small, and so simple a form of the energy that was rolling in at the open window and driving its way through so many narrow and intricate corridors in my own brain and in those of other human beings, there was something marvellous as well as pathetic about him. It was as if someone had taken a tiny bead of pure life and decking it as lightly as possible with down and feathers, had set it dancing and zig–zagging to show us the true nature of life. Thus displayed one could not get over the strangeness of it. One is apt to forget all about life, seeing it humped and bossed and garnished and cumbered so that it has to move with the greatest circumspection and dignity. Again, the thought of all that life might have been had he been born in any other shape caused one to view his simple activities with a kind of pity.
After a time, tired by his dancing apparently, he settled on the window ledge in the sun, and, the queer spectacle being at an end, I forgot about him. Then, looking up, my eye was caught by him. He was trying to resume his dancing, but seemed either so stiff or so awkward that he could only flutter to the bottom of the window–pane; and when he tried to fly across it he failed. Being intent on other matters I watched these futile attempts for a time without thinking, unconsciously waiting for him to resume his flight, as one waits for a machine, that has stopped momentarily, to start again without considering the reason of its failure. After perhaps a seventh attempt he slipped from the wooden ledge and fell, fluttering his wings, on to his back on the window sill. The helplessness of his attitude roused me. It flashed upon me that he was in difficulties; he could no longer raise himself; his legs struggled vainly. But, as I stretched out a pencil, meaning to help him to right himself, it came over me that the failure and awkwardness were the approach of death. I laid the pencil down again.
The legs agitated themselves once more. I looked as if for the enemy against which he struggled. I looked out of doors. What had happened there? Presumably it was midday, and work in the fields had stopped. Stillness and quiet had replaced the previous animation. The birds had taken themselves off to feed in the brooks. The horses stood still. Yet the power was there all the same, massed outside indifferent, impersonal, not attending to anything in particular. Somehow it was opposed to the little hay–coloured moth. It was useless to try to do anything. One could only watch the extraordinary efforts made by those tiny legs against an oncoming doom which could, had it chosen, have submerged an entire city, not merely a city, but masses of human beings; nothing, I knew, had any chance against death. Nevertheless after a pause of exhaustion the legs fluttered again. It was superb this last protest, and so frantic that he succeeded at last in righting himself. One’s sympathies, of course, were all on the side of life. Also, when there was nobody to care or to know, this gigantic effort on the part of an insignificant little moth, against a power of such magnitude, to retain what no one else valued or desired to keep, moved one strangely. Again, somehow, one saw life, a pure bead. I lifted the pencil again, useless though I knew it to be. But even as I did so, the unmistakable tokens of death showed themselves. The body relaxed, and instantly grew stiff. The struggle was over. The insignificant little creature now knew death. As I looked at the dead moth, this minute wayside triumph of so great a force over so mean an antagonist filled me with wonder. Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was now as strange. The moth having righted himself now lay most decently and uncomplainingly composed. O yes, he seemed to say, death is stronger than I am.
-Thorn ♥
The same energy which inspired the rooks, the ploughmen, the horses, and even, it seemed, the lean bare–backed downs, sent the moth fluttering from side to side of his square of the window–pane. One could not help watching him. One was, indeed, conscious of a queer feeling of pity for him. The possibilities of pleasure seemed that morning so enormous and so various that to have only a moth’s part in life, and a day moth’s at that, appeared a hard fate, and his zest in enjoying his meagre opportunities to the full, pathetic. He flew vigorously to one corner of his compartment, and, after waiting there a second, flew across to the other. What remained for him but to fly to a third corner and then to a fourth? That was all he could do, in spite of the size of the downs, the width of the sky, the far–off smoke of houses, and the romantic voice, now and then, of a steamer out at sea. What he could do he did. Watching him, it seemed as if a fibre, very thin but pure, of the enormous energy of the world had been thrust into his frail and diminutive body. As often as he crossed the pane, I could fancy that a thread of vital light became visible. He was little or nothing but life.
Yet, because he was so small, and so simple a form of the energy that was rolling in at the open window and driving its way through so many narrow and intricate corridors in my own brain and in those of other human beings, there was something marvellous as well as pathetic about him. It was as if someone had taken a tiny bead of pure life and decking it as lightly as possible with down and feathers, had set it dancing and zig–zagging to show us the true nature of life. Thus displayed one could not get over the strangeness of it. One is apt to forget all about life, seeing it humped and bossed and garnished and cumbered so that it has to move with the greatest circumspection and dignity. Again, the thought of all that life might have been had he been born in any other shape caused one to view his simple activities with a kind of pity.
After a time, tired by his dancing apparently, he settled on the window ledge in the sun, and, the queer spectacle being at an end, I forgot about him. Then, looking up, my eye was caught by him. He was trying to resume his dancing, but seemed either so stiff or so awkward that he could only flutter to the bottom of the window–pane; and when he tried to fly across it he failed. Being intent on other matters I watched these futile attempts for a time without thinking, unconsciously waiting for him to resume his flight, as one waits for a machine, that has stopped momentarily, to start again without considering the reason of its failure. After perhaps a seventh attempt he slipped from the wooden ledge and fell, fluttering his wings, on to his back on the window sill. The helplessness of his attitude roused me. It flashed upon me that he was in difficulties; he could no longer raise himself; his legs struggled vainly. But, as I stretched out a pencil, meaning to help him to right himself, it came over me that the failure and awkwardness were the approach of death. I laid the pencil down again.
The legs agitated themselves once more. I looked as if for the enemy against which he struggled. I looked out of doors. What had happened there? Presumably it was midday, and work in the fields had stopped. Stillness and quiet had replaced the previous animation. The birds had taken themselves off to feed in the brooks. The horses stood still. Yet the power was there all the same, massed outside indifferent, impersonal, not attending to anything in particular. Somehow it was opposed to the little hay–coloured moth. It was useless to try to do anything. One could only watch the extraordinary efforts made by those tiny legs against an oncoming doom which could, had it chosen, have submerged an entire city, not merely a city, but masses of human beings; nothing, I knew, had any chance against death. Nevertheless after a pause of exhaustion the legs fluttered again. It was superb this last protest, and so frantic that he succeeded at last in righting himself. One’s sympathies, of course, were all on the side of life. Also, when there was nobody to care or to know, this gigantic effort on the part of an insignificant little moth, against a power of such magnitude, to retain what no one else valued or desired to keep, moved one strangely. Again, somehow, one saw life, a pure bead. I lifted the pencil again, useless though I knew it to be. But even as I did so, the unmistakable tokens of death showed themselves. The body relaxed, and instantly grew stiff. The struggle was over. The insignificant little creature now knew death. As I looked at the dead moth, this minute wayside triumph of so great a force over so mean an antagonist filled me with wonder. Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was now as strange. The moth having righted himself now lay most decently and uncomplainingly composed. O yes, he seemed to say, death is stronger than I am.
-Thorn ♥
“It’s weird… you know the end of something great is coming, but you want to hold on… just for one more second… just so it can hurt a little more.”
-Unknown
Thorn's Introduction
(This is me! ^^ I had to post this epic picture first!)
Well, I suppose I should introduce myself; my name is Thorn. Pleased to meet you! I guess you could say I'm more of the random one in my group of bloggers. I like creepy, dark things, so I'll probably be posting things out-of-the-ordinary! I want to be a novelist, or at least something along those lines, so you may, on occasion see something about that. I guess that will be all about me for now!
"Today we are younger than we are ever going to be"
-Unknown
-Thorn ♥
Crimson's Introduction
Love,
Crimson
~Jellicle song for Jellicle Cats!~
Autumn's Introduction
Hey you. I'm Autumn. What, no pic? Yeah, I'll post that later. Maybe.
Anyway, I guess I should tell you a little about myself. I'm really into anime and manga, Japanese culture, and the like. I'm crazy about music and literature, and also have an unhealthy addiction to the internet. My free time ends up being filled with anything from cat videos to political articles. As for things I actually leave my house to do, I'm involved in the drama program at my school, and I go to a lot of dances and such.
The kind of stuff I post will probably be of a vague and philosophical nature, though I can't promise not to post an excessive amount of random jokes or quotes that are meant to be funny but aren't really.
I guess that's all I've got to say for now...it was nice not meeting you.
Anyway, I guess I should tell you a little about myself. I'm really into anime and manga, Japanese culture, and the like. I'm crazy about music and literature, and also have an unhealthy addiction to the internet. My free time ends up being filled with anything from cat videos to political articles. As for things I actually leave my house to do, I'm involved in the drama program at my school, and I go to a lot of dances and such.
The kind of stuff I post will probably be of a vague and philosophical nature, though I can't promise not to post an excessive amount of random jokes or quotes that are meant to be funny but aren't really.
I guess that's all I've got to say for now...it was nice not meeting you.
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