And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
after the explosion
are these suns,
a faint projection
from an unreachable darkness,
And then everything is simultaneous;
the entangled mess,
And maybe it's all about editing and being edited-
The pilot painted across a desert,
A desert painted across the pilot.
Or the holographic drift, a surface reflection-
The expanse outside echoed inward,
Jagged orange treelines over the firefly black like someone holding onto a woman
(or the memory of a woman).
Or maybe just the T.V. relay
as I struggle to sleep,
from both dimensions
glowing and whispering:
The horses of your apocalypse/the apocalypse of your horses.
Fixing the damageYou feel damamged
Just like me
We can change that
We can fix each other
So don't give up
We need each other
Mary x Male!Reader
"D-don't you dare look at me!"
I jumped, scared. This ball of fluff----she was talking to me? With a shaky breath, I smiled uneasily at her. "Hey, now...I'm not gonna make fun of ya, or anything."
She blinked, and looked up at me, her eyes shining a bright red. "Y-you won't?" "Nope."
The girl's name was Mary Kozakura.
And she was like a puffball, ever so innocent.
"___! There you are!" Mary looked down at me, smiling sweetly. She was holding a tray, with various yummy-looking food treats on there.
"I-I made these for you, actually..." She was blushing. Wow, she's actually blushing!
"Thank you, Mary." I went to grab a small treat, when suddenly, Mary accidentally slipped on her own two feet, making the treats and tray fall and break in a quick, rumbling earthquake.
We were quiet for a moment, Mary covered in sweets, me looking at her from the couch, gaping.
"I'm so sorry, ___! I didn't mean to do that!" Mary began to stand back up, but fell
glass in the throatthere's something about that
hollow quiet in the night
that bite of air
beneath the clouded moon:
something like calm words,
falling through the gaps
between stained teeth
something like a dull thud,
a stumbling fawn
bruised by a wheel.
something about that
clinging crowding darkness
a sweet invitation:
prey on us sinners,
at the hour of our death.
happyAs someone who is diagnosed with severe depression,
you cannot expect "happy" to be in my vocabulary.
But you must realize that
we all have a different definition.
Happy is not being the richest kid on the block, or
the most popular one in school.
Happy is not always having a smile on your face
or a twinkle in your eye.
Happiness, to me, comes through tears.
Tears from finding out I still have good grades.
Tears from realizing that the friend who ignored me for three years
is now my next-door neighbor.
From discovering that my brother
isn't ashamed of me and who i am.
But happiness also comes in 'if's, 'would's and 'should's, as everything does.
If my mother would accept me
and not see me as corrupt or broken.
If my father would call me because I haven't talked to him in three months but
I only matter on holidays, apparently.
Happiness is when I would be able to have a friend
without fearing when the hurt would come.
But recently, I've discovered my definition of 'happy' ha
Arcadiai. You know how sometimes you want to be a playlist for someone? To be a fifty-three minute and forty-five second track on ambiguity, longing and nostalgia. A homemade mixtape they’d take with their late afternoon drives, when the borders between the dusky setting sun smudge into the perfect shadowed sky. You’re not there with them; your scents not intermingling with each other. But somehow, they’re closer to you than the salty and sugary wind you breathe, while thinking at the same time whether or not they’re in their own world; their own genre.
ii. And maybe it’s because we’re all gripped with a little bit of hypergraphia that goes vomiting on every awkward angle we have. An intensified gripping of intra-fireworks display only happening in our own ossified skulls. It’s thinner than a paper-thin margin how exhales of exhaustion could immediately turn into staccatos of hysterics.
iii. Yet that’s the imperial of music: multi-handed
Fame Versus Infamy Fame or Infamy
If your name could be remembered across the stars
How would you wish for it to be edged in the astral eyes.
Will you contaminate this shared existence with 10,000 plagues
Or will you rise to the skies and pluck at the golden cloud known as success.
Positive or Negative, Good or Evil, the Lime Light or the Cracked Streets.
Insanity vs Sane, Good Will against Power Corruption, the ultimate question.
What is your answer? What will you decide? Bring the World to bleak Ruin or make the World a Better and more Comfortable Place?
Both lead to widespread recognition.
Now, for your answer.