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FeelI can feel the coldness of the blade
I watch blood trail from my arm to the floor
My brain tells my tiny, broken heart that the self-inflicted cuts hurt
As the new scar takes place on my arm I imagine what would happen in the morning
You will come to wake me up and then
You will the knife and blood in the sheets
You'll pick up the knife thinking Why? Why does she do this to herself?
Why? To show I have emotion too
And since my heart-cracking sobs and tear-stained eyes doesn't faze you at all
I decided that blood will take tear's unworthy place in the center of my psychotic heart
Because I don't know how to tell you that I
RawI show my true art and
They broke my heart
They gave me new scars and labels
They sent me crashing through the world
Causing others to shun me away in disgust
Somehow I crashed into your angelic arms
I waited for you to sent me in disgust
Instead you held me tight as if trying to push all the pieces of my heart together
And you showed how to get out the Shadows of the Forgotten
And into the Light of the Forgiven
The GameDust swirls around
Shadows dance across the land
They continue to play their little game
Even at midnight
They continue to play
The lights flash
The occasional ring cracks the night air
Their ball flies high in the dark sky
Hoping to land true over the Gates of Victory
Only to land in the enemy's patient trap
TurningI ignore the world
Turning page after page
I look up seeing everyone
Laughing and Talking
I look down at my book
Always being the one alone
Then I look in front of me
Seeing you ignoring the world too
I smile thinking that I'm not always alone
As I read my book again
You smile too
EarthDo you see that woman over there?
She never had a scar
Nothing will never bad happen to her
Her parents never got killed or divorced
She never had a broken heart
No one close to her died
And yet she walks like her body is covered in scars
Her eyes are bloodshot like she cried every time blood was spilled
She winces every time someone is beaten for no reason
She grabs her stomach every time someone starves oneself on purpose
She trips every time a building is bombed or burned down
Her clothes are battered and torn up like she gave the rest of her clothes to the poor
Her body is dirty like she gave all of her soaps to the sinned
She coughs out smoke
Who is she?
She is Earth
I don't talkYou wonder why I don't talk
Why I don't sing
Why I don't dance
Why I don't look back
But I listen and think
That way I live in my own world
A world with no bombs
A world with no screams of horror
A world where the endangered animals run free
A world where race doesn't matter at all
A world where pure rain falls
A world where sunshine prevails
And you wonder why I don't talk
DepressionIt strangles us
Keeps us in hold
It stops a runner from running
A painter from painting
It stops us in time
It makes the wall the only thing in the world
It creates a crater so
You can't see the sunlight
It makes so hard to get out
But when you are in hold
The sun grows brighter
Friends grow stronger
There are ladders and
Hands eager to pull you up
The darkness grabs you but
The sun shines till there is no more darkness
Eventually you take a hand and
Leads you out of the cater
And back in life
A FlowerIn summer, I am planted safe and sound
While others grow bright and tall
I stay inside, hidden from sight
Now its is fall
Many are losing their brightness and craving into the darkness
Animals and bugs alike scurry past me
To find safely in the dying plants
I am nothing but a bud
Everything is too wet and dark to open just yet
Winter has come and it is cold
But luckily I am planted near a tree
He doesn't steal my energy and doesn't let the coldness fall on the me
Since I am still a bud no one notices me
Spring is finally here with its joy
Since I was planted early
I am one of the first ones to opened up to the world
I spread out my petals trying to catch as much joy as I can
A butterfly who was just transform in the tree next to me
Says hello to me then tries to find others who have opened to the world
and chew your food 20 times.
chew it firmly, in the name of goodness.
chew it proper, like you know it matters.
like men of old
men of character.
you aspire character, do you not?
then let mommy see those jaws work.
everything good in this world comes from real work.
and there is no kind like the hard kind.
working is necessary.
it is necessary for something.
you might not know for what
and you do not need to.
for necessity is good
necessity is virtuous.
if it weren't for necessities
we would all be poets
poets and painters.
hah! Imagine that
a world filled with painters..
now, I didn't want to be a painter
I wanted to be a good boy
so I kept at it:
and I closed my eyes, hoping
for a smile
before I swallowed.
A warrior's funeralI am tired
For I have endured
This arduous battle
Without being inured
My blade is stained
With the blood of enemies
But ho! Victory I have attained!
Though at the cost of my life
I am cold, so very cold
And my lifeblood is seeping out
My firsn'final battle shall be over soon
As all are injured hereabout
I am young for this war
For I took my father's place
To die in battle I swore
Just as he did years ago
This is a warrior's funeral
Mine is a death of valor
I would never hide
And I will never cower
For Heaven's call
Is to those who stand and fight
And he who in battle will fall
Is he who bears a warrior's might!
GoodbyeI lost my friend today
There's nothing much to say
I lost my friend today
He left without a word
Just got up and went away
I say again I say
I lost my best friend today
He never told me what was wrong
He never hinted at a cause
I say again I say
I lost my only friend today
I'll say this once
and then never again
Goodbye to the friend
That I lost today
No one would suspectThat behind the mask I'm crying
But on the outside I'm trying
To pretend that I'm alright
As I'm battling this fight
I dress in long sleeves and jeans
I hide my scars so they can't be seen
No one would suspect
That inside I'm so wrecked
That I feel so empty
'Cause no one's by my side
'Cause I've been a jerk and lied
Just trying to protect myself and hide
So many nights I've cried myself to sleep
Hurting myself wishing the cuts were more deep
How I'm aching inside and out
That I'm filled with so much doubt
That I've hated myself for all these years
That behind the smile I hold back the tears
That in the end I know I've become so weak
That if I told you the truth, you'd think I'm a freak
That I feel like everything's all my fault
That I wish my heart would come to a halt
That I was dead a long time ago
That I'm ready to be sent down below
The story of the three ravens
There were three ravens
Who were the three maidens
This is how their story begun
And I wrote this all for fun
The first raven was a writer
Who was a great and mighty fighter
She wrote and wrote and soon created a story
That sometimes made her full of worry
The second raven was an artist
Who really wasn't the smartest
But, she had imagination and still had common sense
That could save her in many needs or make others wince
Then there is the last raven who was the aider
Who was never a traitor
She was the smartest of them all and was always awake
And did many things for others sake
Soon they all decided
And all became united...
That is the story of TheThreeRavens.
The Used Game ParadigmOver the course of this past generation I've been watching the video game market react to the way it's been forced to deal with increasing changes. I've come out against used game sales and even written a journal about boycotting GameStop because (like most people at the time) I believed they were the root cause of all the problems the video game industry has. But that's something I don't believe now as intently as i did then. From where I sit, piracy and used games sales are a problem, but not in the way game companies want us to believe that they are.
Used games are a good thing for consumers. We get to try games out, and if we don't like what we see or finish it early, we trade it in and try another title instead. It's a very good system for us since video game rentals are much harder to come by. Most video rental stores in America have gone extinct and outside specific Red Box Kiosks there aren't a lot of places for consumers to rent video games. The exception, of course, being thr
Am I the only one?
Most days I wonder if you're still alone,
So I would get up alot to get the phone,
and then I stop...
I'm afraid to call you and make a mistake,
and tell you how I feel...
I'm sorry that it's all for my sake,
so you don't leave me...
Somedays I search for you,
and I'd see you with someone else...
I would look past her and say that's not true,
that you are not alone...
and I am the only one who is.
Missing the PointI've been noticing a trend lately where people seem to deliberately be missing the point behind stuff in order to complain. I used to think it was just me, as I watched people write up lengthy articles nitpicking and "debunking" a comic I made because they simply missed the point, but I've started seeing it happening to other people too.
Recently over on The Oatmeal, artist Matthew Inman made a joke about guy gamers vs girl gamers. The joke was pretty simple: A guy gamer makes a mistake and gets bitched out by his fellow teammates online. Contrast to that, a girl gamer makes a mistake and her fellow teammates try to comfort her, tell her she's doing great, and make suggestive comments about hooking up. To me the joke was clear, guys treat girls differently online. However, that's not how the rest of the internet saw it...
From what I've read of the whole Oatmeal flare up, the reasons for the hate seem grounded in the fact he depicted the girl as blond and bubbly (ie: stupid) and not as
At MidnightWhen the moonlight becomes hazy
And the wolves start to howl
I know you're coming
To swept my troubles away
You switch my dreamy music to your special one hour song
It turns sweet summer leaves into falling brittle leaves
It brings creatures that never come around
I know your song is supposed to torture me
Supposed to bring endless nightmare that no one believes
But all that special one hour song only
Swepts my troubles away
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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