The Blunt Knife

Her eyebrows furrowed.

She was not expecting this.

The knife she retrieved from the kitchen refused to cooperate with her.

As she squeezed it in her fist,

the blade ceased to cut her palm.

She wanted to see her blood spill all over her bed sheets.

This was her relief from the pain she was going through.

She stared at her hand…

The stress bundled up inside her.

She decided to do the best.

However this was, in some eyes, the worst.

She held the knife in front of her

with both hands -

blade facing south.

And with an impeccable, robust force

she pierced her chest

and fell to the floor.

She smiled covered in her blood.

The knife succeeded her.

-- CrimsonRose333

Me with spiders...

I see a spider...

...and I'm all...

Looking for something to kill it with... then I can't find it because it's a freaking ninja or something... So I search and finally...

SUCCESS.

French Girls :)

Okay!! *Draws for an hour* Ready to see it?

Da F@ck is that? 

Walk. Now.... While you still can...

Oh... Uhm... Thanks... *walks away slowly*

Thorn's Randomness

Uhm... so... I was just compared to an autistic baby...

da f@ck?

-Thorn♥

A Gloomy Dancer

In The Dark Gloomy Night

In the dark gloomy night,
Lies a sweet birdie,
In the hopes of her flight,
With a jejune heart,
With her melodious voice,
Awakens the souls,
She cries but no one hears,
And they say 'how sweet is her voice'
'Look the way she sings'
But no one looks at the way she hides her cry,
In her self, and sings it with them in there dance,
She is happy to see them happy,
In hopes of her flight,
She looks at the sky,
Black blanket spread above her,
Warning her to run,
It comes more lower to her,
And she silently watches,
Breaths a little,
Then comes the evil,
Like a vortex,
Roaring, and dominating,
To frighten her,
To feast on her,
To leave her breathless,
In no hopes of her flight,
She looks around,
And nobody realizes,
She has become an evanescent soul now,
Forgotten to sing, forgotten to live,
Enfeebled,
Enervating,
Completely jaded,
Completely faded in the dark gloomy night,
There lies no sweet bird...

-Ayesha Riaz

-Thorn♥

A Broken Piano

Piano

Touched by your goodness, 
I am like that grand piano we found one night on Willoughby 
that someone had smashed and somehow heaved through an open window.
And you might think by this I mean I’m broken or abandoned, or unloved. 
Truth is, I don’t know exactly what I am, 
Any more than the wreckage in the alley knows it’s a piano, 
filling with trash and yellow leaves.   

Maybe I’m all that’s left of what I was.
But touching me, I know, you are the good 
breeze blowing across its rusted strings.   

What would you call that feeling when the wood, 
even with its cracked harp, starts to sing?

-Patrick Phillips

-Thorn♥