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The Rent Is DueThe rent is due and I don't have the money.
I walk through the lobby, past the doorman who gives me a scowl, out the revolving door.
My father calls. He only ever talks about the bad things.
It's cloudy and gray outside. It's always like that this time of year.
My hands are shaking and I desperately need a smoke.
I see a man and ask if I can bum one off him. He tells me to get away from him.
He calls me a 'hobo'.
Am I? I'm going to be. Soon.
The rent is due and I don't have the money.
I have a mid term that I haven't even started yet.
I should go back inside, but why?
I lost my wallet last week. Someone maxed out all of my cards.
I have a headache.
Cars pass. People speak.
The rent is due and I don't have the money.
When I go home I'm sure someone will be there.
Someone will have called.
Someone will be there.
My furniture will be gone, and my things will be packed.
I have such a headache.
I smell awful.
I look awful.
I'm a 'hobo'.
I have a headache.
I smell bad.
I need a smoke.
Permission to ExistFor her to live without me?
It would take desperate measures. Measures that I don't think others would appreciate.
I, for one, act automatically. I do not think about my actions.
The world is made up of actions. Actions, and consequences.
I don't make choices. I don't change my path. And why?
Because the world is actions and consequences.
Intentions are lost.
Thought is lost.
Blame is lost.
Only consequences have staying power.
And the consequences of me, a vital part of her personality and mind and being, leaving her?
Well, they would be devastating.
And frankly, I don't want to leave.
As much as she'd like to think I can just pull away, pretend as though nothing has ever happened...
Life does not work that way.
Avoiding the problems you have will not make them go away.
And if you try, it will all turn out for the worse.
She thinks she can escape me, but she has never been able to in the past.
And well, to be frank, I don't want her running off.
I don't need permission t
Don't Fall In Love With A Writer Just because they will bruise your neck with pearls of metaphors; and splash palettes of colours onto your chest with reckless waves and boundless twilight. They will smear ink onto your lips as you kiss them because that is how they leave hickeys. They are wildest in their 2 a.m. diary, and liveliest in book racks of novels; they have butterflies in every heartbeat and they breathe living poems. They leave trails in libraries and coffee shops like Hansel leaves crumbs in forest and they have undying lovers because every love story is ever living in their abyssal oceans of analogies and similes. They know every cliché like the sunset knows the moon rise, and every wound in their heart like blood in their veins. They are terrifying because they weave you in splinters of fires rolling down their cheeks. They are weird because they don't smile much but sometimes you could catch their smiles in poems or tales. They are psychotic b
A Rapist Wears PinkA rapist can wear lipstick, make up, dresses or skirts,
Her nails can be painted brightly, her eyes can still harbor hurt.
A rapist can walk with heels, that click as she drags her feet,
A rapist can have a feminine voice, that comes pouring from her vile teeth.
A rapist can be a woman, that much should be clear,
Yet a few ignorant people, will choose not to adhere.
A rapist can pick her victim, as easily as the next,
She can claim she’s just lost or stranded, then force you into sex.
A rapist can cry wolf, as long as she cries feminist first,
A rapist can ruin your life style, make day to day living worse.
A rapist can put you in jail, with one tear of her eye.
A rapist will claim that you’ve hit her, that you wanted her to die.
A rapist is a liar, she hides behind her make up.
A rapist will be in your dreams, even when you wake up.
A rapist has the ability to avoid the clutches of the law,
A rapist can claim you’ve hit her, if you didn’t stand for her at
everything is temporaryi have never been one to yell, it hurts my throat, or maybe i just lack the passion to get that mad at something. you always did bring out things that i never knew were inside though. we had matching bloodshot eyes, and the same fuck the world attitude running through our veins as if the world owed us something. it didn't then. but it does now. my blood is thick and burning and i want to try and flood it into yours to get the colour back into your cheeks that i just watched drain. i kicked the wall, and opened the window and screamed at the sky-scrappers and i don't know how the world can just keep fucking turning without so much a skipped rotation or a fucking stutter.
you turned small, minor things into giant fucking events that made my chest even tighter. a tickle in my throat, a spreading wildfire on the nape of my neck, a distinct lack of words or feelings to anything more than a lingering heaviness. i lost count of how many times i contemplated stepping in front of that car, bus,
My alter-egosYou see, I have these beings in my head I call alter-egos. They're parts of me that appear whenever I need them. They represent me, they come from the deepest side of my soul. It might seem crazy, but that's the best way I can describe them. They're very different from my other OCs (Vince, Renka, Alice, ete); they're very special to me. Sorry, I'm not good at explaining things myself...
Keiko: can I? Can I explain it? Pleeeeaseee?
Okay, go ahead.
Keiko: okay, we are special beings that live inside Sandra's mind. We were formed of her subconscious, so that makes us different of her other OCs she created herself. We're here to protect her, to make her feel better when she has her episodes of depression. Recently, she decided to make us public because we told her it was a good idea.
Now we will show a list of all the alter-egos Sandra has:
-Abyss (Gloomy Apocalypse): Demon
-Angel (Pulsar Majoris): Male version of Sandra
-Astrid (Star Lollipop): Birdwing
-Dana (Harmonic Holic): Human with
Prayer For PeaceThis is not a pledge for peace, though I wish it was.
A pledge is adhered by everyone, those low and above.
I guess this is a prayer, something that I hold true,
A prayer for peace for everyone, for peace for me and you.
I’ve seen this world and its twisted ways,
I’ve seen more than 295 lives vanish in just days.
I’ve heard of the bombs flying across borders,
Making the lives of the innocent, quick and sorter.
I’ve seen the leaders of the world turn away,
Perhaps they’ll help out if they’re given better pay?
I’ve seen planes vanish, and fall from the sky,
I’ve seen their families mourn, their villages and cities cry.
I think to my self, is this the world God has made,
Is this the world we live in, if so, what have we paid?
We’ve ruined it with wars, hatred and destruction,
We’ve plagued it with chemicals, violence and combustion.
So I do not ask, nor pledge for what I want,
But I pray for peace, for a world that is so gaunt.
The gentleman with the paper napkin rose!Lonely and heart broken,
I was that night.
I walked out of my hotel room,
right into the bar and into it's magical atmosphere,
beautiful belly dancers,
I sat down and got me a drink,
wanting to drawn,
all of my feelings,
my love, my life.
wanting to be cold,
not wanting to feel anything,
betrayal is a painful
thing to remember!
So I wanted the ability to forget,
since forgiving was much too soon
for my broken heart.
So intense was this pain,
many years later
I still carry it's scars.
and without looking I was at the distance,
welcomed by someone's interest...
There he was looking at me,
and for the longest time
I could not look away, I got hypnotize
by his Indian eyes...
From a paper napkin he made me a flower,
I thought of this detail for hours.
He walked to me and reached for my hands,
placing the object of his creation between my fingers.
He must have made this flowers a thousand times,
because as he did,
he never stopped looking at my eye
fellow adventurers and others who want to donti know its been a long time sense she commited suicide but i just recently found out about Amanda Todd the poor girl she just couldnt handle it anymore i wanted to say that it gets better i should know and today im gonna tell you my story
it was an ordanary day in the dew household yes dew as in mountain dew anyway i was deppresed tho that wasnt unusual for me knowing my past it was diffrent this time it was like my deppression was worse then ever i went into my brothers old room to look at pictures because hes at collage so i was missing him then i noticed his clouset was open now ya see he had a real sword in that clouset and i saw it i thought to myself i-its to much i cant handle it anymore i picked the sword up and almost drew it getting ready to drive it right through my 9 year old chest but then i thought to myself why am i doing this all its gonna do is make my family missrable and i dont
TrustIt's almost impossible to make your mark on this world,
The true art in what I do is gone.
Once it was skill, and knowledge mixed with science that created the still image,
You had to know what an f-stop did, you had to know about depth of field.
Now everyone has a camera, everyone is a photographer,
What I pride myself on, is still striving to be better.
Trying to bring my own life's experiences to my images,
Finding the right people, people with soul, people with hurt inside them.
Encouraging those people to let down their walls,
To cry, to laugh, to be sexy, and sultry, and scary and mean and passionate for my lens.
To reveal themselves, sometimes for the first time ever, sometimes for the last time ever,
Some reveal their hearts, some reveal their bodies, all reveal something.
Because if you think I'll just have you just standing there, you are wrong,
You will be encouraged to let go.
Know that I know my art, the technical side, the science behind a great shot,
Trust that for a fle
AwakeShe must be so peaceful when she sleeps.
The way she must look - so complacent and calm, no frown or grimace. Her eyes would be shut, her breathing so even and soft...not the harsh and ragged breath of anger that I am so used to hearing, even now. What a nice change it would be...curls fluttering down over her face, wavering back and forth in the wake of her breath...
Her chest would rise and fall, smoothly and sweetly, her clothes wrinkling a little with every inhalation. She would barely move, as well - a small twitch or shift here and there, maybe scratching her arm once or twice. It would be...almost cute, perhaps, to watch her. Perhaps her nose might wrinkle up upon the feelings of discomfort, as well...my favorite part would be to see the smile she holds in her sleep, to hear the things she mumbles softly.
But in this moment, she is awake. I see the beautiful brown eyes that sparkle with joy when I am not around. For, when I am, they glare at me. I dislike that. When she glares a
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