Those Voices in my headWords of anger
I can hear them down the stairwell
Words of wrath
As I huddle in my bed
Words of pain
To say the least, I’m feeling unwell
Words of sorrow
Enough has been said
In the dark I am blind
Their voices won’t leave me
Cleaving my mind
Another day, another hell, you must believe me
Whispering in my soul
Although I can mend and bend
Devouring me whole
I will break-It will be the end.
Make it stop-those voices in my head
Whisper, whisper in the black
I have cried and I have bled
No rest, no time to relax
I can’t bear it anymore
Listen to us, to our voice
No I can’t take it anymore
Listen to us and rejoice!
Although in the rivers of time I have wade
Never forget, never forget
The memory of it all never fades
Don’t close your eyes lest you regret
I can’t sleep- I can’t think
Open yourself, let us in
Always on the edge, always on the brink
Don’t fight, don’t sin
Of losing myself, my mind to this insanity
Don’t fear, don
Le peintre et la SeineLe peintre et la Seine
Assis sur un tabouret, le pinceau à la main, les yeux plissés devant le soleil levant, j’observe le fleuve qui s’écoule devant moi, lentement, tranquillement. Les derniers cris des chauves-souris matinales m’accompagnent avec les doux tip-taps des pieds des coureurs qui passent derrière moi. Il y a peu de monde sur les quais le matin, l’air frais et l’attrait du lit sont décidément des forces de la nature qu’uniquement certains peuvent combattre. Je souris un peu.
La question qui m’embête le plus est de savoir comment exprimer clairement la nature du fleuve, comment faire pour raconter son histoire en quelques tracés, avec mes peintures. Je regarde par-dessus ma toile et l’observe. Oui, je peux voir ces féroces drakkars du nord, emplis de vikings sanguinaires qui débarquent sur les berges pour mettre la ville à feu et à sang. Je ferme
Memories of oldOnce upon a time I saw a man on the street
Sitting still, noble yet tears staining his cheek
He was such a man of odd composure
Looking at the passerbys with such leisure
And still crying silently, making no sound
Staring ahead as vigilant as a hound.
I must admit I had to dare, to try
To talk to this man, and with a sigh
He called out first, knowing my need
“Good sir, before you speak, if you would heed
My words and yet not hear them,
Then you are one such that does not listen
For my voice is not that of a broke man
Poor man, drying, dying in the sand
But rather that of this world of old
This green and blue, this gray and cold
I am everywhere and I am naught.
I am age, wisdom and even thought
And what I see, what mine eyes seek
Is nowhere to be found; this place reeks
Of the failure of man to comprehend
The ways and woes come from mine hand.
You may call it nature, you may call it spite
But I only call it what I deem is right.
If you see tears glistening on my face
Blessed and r
Bird Cage: Help MeBird Cage: Help Me
Buried deeply beneath the earth and soil
In chains, burdened with endless toil
Ravenous and starving for warmth and love
Delilah stares with longing at the stars above.
Closed as the ceiling is, shuttered in steal
And despite the cold burn her eyes would feel
Glancing ceaselessly at the armed men, she dreams;
Escape was a hope she entertains, as far as it seems.
Harmless she may be: malnourished and weak
Envious of birds: they have what she seeks
Look, she whispers, look down here
Please come to me for my time is near
May she cry and shout as hard as she could;
Ever the prisoner in her cell under the woods.
L'Ombre de l'Ecrivain“L’enfer n’est pas sur Terre, c’est un lieu qui n’existe que dans nos têtes. »
Le mouchoir était d’un blanc perle, quelques vignes encadraient les bords en se tortillant, des fées se cachant dans les coins. Il était accroché à son chapeau par un petit ruban rouge avec un nœud qui, à chaque mouvement qu’elle faisait, se défaisait un peu plus. Dan la regardait avec un petit sourire, assis sur son fauteuil au Soleil avec la brise qui lui soufflait dans les cheveux. L’après-midi idéal pour un peu de lecture dehors. Elle avait une robe légère et remettait sans cesse son chapeau en place, ombrageant son visage. Il n’arrivait pas à distinguer un seul trait de sa tête autre que ses longs cheveux roux qui lui descendait en cascade rougeoyants jusqu'à la taille. Il se sentait heureux, sans aucune raison, content de n’avo
Fearless: Chapter Three
It wasn’t until the bell of a massive glass door rang out that Ellie snapped out of her thoughts. She grew very aware of the skin of a stranger pressing against her own sleeveless arms, so she teetered forward, hoping to get away from it as much as possible. Then again, she was sitting in someone’s hand. He was touching her, whether either of them liked it or not. Taking a deep breath, Ellie ignored her thundering heart and raised her voice.
“Could you maybe...like...put me down?” Shaking violently, the girl managed to balance herself on her knees, grabbing for the giant thumb that hung near her like the bar that fastens one in to a roller coaster car. The first thing she noticed as her air-condition-chilled arms wrapped around the appendage was how very warm it was. Curious, her fingers began to explore the small area they spanned across, feeling the lines and curves and smooth and rough grooves of a colossal fingerprint.
Evric was certainly aware of the
Fearless: Chapter Four
Evric had zipped his jacket almost all the way up, leaving a small gap so that he could hold Ellie against his chest, the flaps of the jacket and his hand covering her from the drenching rain.
Ellie’s heart was pounding in rhythm with Evric’s gargantuan footsteps, yet she felt safe and warm in his grasp for once. Yes, the wind was still tossing her reddish-brown hair into her face, but every other part of her was covered.
Tired of having to squint, Ellie faced the wall of warm blue shirt fabric. She let her knuckles go white as they grabbed at it, and then she burrowed hard against what she briefly forgot was Evric. That was, until she felt his larger-than-life heart softly pummeling against her, shaking her to the core but also calming her.
His fingers curled firmly but tenderly around her, allowing her to relax without the worry that she might fall. She was comfortably curled up, leaning against the taren’s warm body, but at the same time she was anxious.
The Teacher's Assistant--France x Male!Reader-PT3
Previously: '"Alright,it's a date then!" Francis smiled before waving goodbye. "See you then!" (M/N) stood there,mouth agape.
"I-IT'S NOT A DATE!" But the happy Frenchman had already ohonhon-ed his way back to his car.
Francis drummed his fingers on the table, anticipating (M/N)'s arrival. Oh (M/N)...the sweet, new assistant. He's the luckiest person ever to have such a cute little assistant! And if he's still stressed out, they can go to his place and get rid of some stress...ohon~
Francis knows that (M/N) doesn't think of this as a date, and neither does he honestly. It's just lunch. He just liked the reaction that he knew he'd get from the (H/C) haired man. Even if this isn't a date, Francis is determined to get (M/N) to love him...or at least like him!
The door of the diner opened with a ring and Francis looked up hopefully. Nope. It was just a different person. His hopes were shrinking after waiting for so long. Maybe he de
Practically Kidnapped ch1Ch1. Why couldn't it have been money?
Last week was a good week. My mom and I went to the market to buy a few things and it was over all a fun trip. I liked it. Who wouldn't, though? Sifting through random stuff that doesn't belong to you, silently judging others based on what they bought and are undoubtably going to throw away later. It's great, really.
But this week... Mom was too happy, too excited. Hell, she was always excited, but this morning she flew into my room, not literally, at least, but she pulled me out of bed with the biggest smile on her face. I thought we had won a million dollars or something. Ooooh how I wish it had been a million dollars. Maybe just a hundred...not sure why she'd be excited about a hundred, but hey.
"Get dressed, pack a bag," she yelled, releasing me to pull out a floral backpack and an ugly black suitcase from the depths of my closet. I barely had time to wet my lips, readying myself to ask a questio
Hans : Phoenix of the Southern Isles - Sneak Peek
Princess Anna followed the peculiar sounds down the stairs. "Hello?", she wondered. "Olaf? Sven?" She lit a candle as a figure was illuminated in front of her. The princess gasped before dropping her candle, sending it crashing to the ground.
"This way!", urged the Arendelle captain as his soldiers joined in. "The sound came from over here!" The men's boots stomped across the hall as one of the doors swung open. They watched as Vita barged through, holding Princess Anna hostage with a flintlock pistol. The soldiers drew their swords and stood ready.
"Back up!", barked Vita as she twisted the gun's nozzle against the side of Anna's head. "Now!" Anna winced at the pressure. "I'll shoot her. You know I will! Back! NOW!"
The men looked at each other, slowly backing up as Vita made her way down the adjacent hall. "Elsa!", hopelessly cried Anna. She then elbowed her attacker in the chest and threw a punch.
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