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
You Are What You Think(Pie TF, Cheetah TF, pumpkin/jack-o'lantern TF, bush TF, fruit TF, clay TF, bubble TF, glass TF)
(Commission for bwv1979)
Walking into Gena Fellowes' lab was always a treat for Jim Marks. He never knew what strange sight he might encounter there. Today he entered to view Gena positioned in front of a cage, observing it closely. But its contents were not moving, nor would they. All this cage contained was a block of cheese.
“Um, Gena, that cheese isn't going anywhere,” he coughed.
She looked up, startled. “Oh, oh, Jim!” she cried, running over and grabbing his arm. She pulled him closer to the cage. “This is no ordinary block of cheese!”
Jim could feel her shaking in excitement, and he could only imagine what she was up to. “Meanwhile there's a mouse somewhere who's feeling very deprived.”
She shook her head in surprise. “No, Jim. That is the mouse!”
She was pointing right at the cheese, and Jim awkw
Space Loli 1: Captain Kat and the Super NovaNova Fett was a legend among space pirates, wanted by the Sol Public Safety Corps in dozens of galaxies for theft, vandalism, and the consumption of local authority. She was poured into a pair of tight fitting leather pants, laser scimitar dangling off one hip, blaster on the other, and combat boots ready to crush anything those two couldn’t finish off. She wore a white, flouncy blouse with a deep neckline left enough to the imagination to make it run wild. Her red hair flowed down off her head and down her back like a soft, curly fire. She was the epitome of pirate, the golden standard for plunder, and she was bored.
Leaning back in her captain’s chair, rubbing her taut, muscular stomach, and most distressingly empty stomach, Nova sighed.
“Meissa, I’m in a mood,” she said to the stoic woman standing at attention next to her “Find me a ship to raid, something that will put up a good fight”
“Yes captain Fett,” she replied, turning to
To Wish Upon a Star (Art Trade and Dragon Vore)
Warning: This story contains soft vore. If vore offends you in any way, do not read this story. However, if you like vore, enjoy!
I remember that it was late at night. Three in the morning, I think. The rest of my family had gone to sleep, just like the rest of my neighbourhood. I had decided to pull an all-nighter roleplay session with my friends on Deviantart. It came to a point which I had no messages at all, with the inbox icon at the top of my monitor labelled '0', even when I was constantly refreshing the page . I let out a long sigh. It had been at least the tenth time I had refreshed the tab, and my notifications were as barren as Death Valley in California. Having a lack of things to reply to, which usually kept me awake, I felt my head slump down my wrist and onto my desk. With exhausted, half-closed eyes, I decided that I would click 'refresh' one last time, and if nothing came up, I would go to sleep for the night.
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