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Doubt I'll see thirty
Hopefully my blade'll be dirty
And I'll die.
I don't want to die;
Just want it to stop,
Everything in my head
Telling me I'm better off dead.
I cut myself,
I said it.
Just read it.
I'm just some kid
Behind a screen,
So why should you care?
I'm not just 'some kid';
I'm the ones people laugh at,
I'm not a minority;
I'm a majority.
All those kids alone,
That death will come.
We're not hopeless.
We hope for
Her Daily MasqueradeToday her parents ask how her day has been
By now the answer has been well rehearsed
She insists to them that everything is fine
But the reality is the reverse
In fact she’s the antonym of the word ‘fine’
This is due to her creatively cursed mind
Steeped in a world of such simplicity
Yesterday friends asked how she has been coping
Waiting for their turn to talk, do they care?
They just see a happy, contented princess
Not a pensive, vacant, glazed over stare
In fact she’s the opposite of contented
Restless and at war with reality
Battling feelings of alienation
From unsupportive friends and family
Tomorrow strangers will ask her what is wrong
But in white lies she has become well versed
Knowing that the tar black pit of torrid truth
Will not dilute and only make things worse
She’s living the antonym of the word ‘truth’
But her lies are not designed to betray
Just to cover the cracks and to smother those
I Belong To You I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another coat like her. Yet here I am, blundering through the elements in my vain search for the acceptance and warmth I found wrapped in Valentino’s woollen sleeves.
Thud. My body slams into the door, making the ‘open’ sign quiver and the bells tinkle in offense. I fight for entry, the door’s assault doubled by the stale funk of
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More