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Whisper For a Good NightWatch me break
Watch me snap.
Watch me as i finally crack.
Watch me bleed
Watch me scream.
I beg you to leave
And take your pain from me.
Watch me run
See me hide.
Watch me writhe from all the pain inside.
Watch me breath
Then watch me die.
Kiss me and whisper for a good night.
Dear DA 4/22/12Dear DA-
I have learned that fear is a device of our own creation. I often watch myself and others in situations where fear is turned into rage, pain, and depression. The communication breaks down and often a fight will rage that never end because the real issue isn't being addressed. I have noticed more and more how fear manipulates our lives in negative ways. It prevents progress, undermines positivity, and ruins our self esteem. We shouldn't ever fear the things that may happen, did happen, or are happening. Instead, I have learned that we should fear only fear itself and those who sew it.
For those who sew fear and negativity cannot help us or themselves. It is easy to be dragged down by them and the insecurity that surrounds us all. This is why we must surround ourselves with people who love and care for us. They are the ones who will bring us up no matter how horrible it may be. It is the people who never make a effort to change that we must avoid. They will never truly love or a
love and hatredI love you.
I hate you.
Stay with me forever!
Stay away from me!
Will you listen to me?
Will you ever be quiet?
Is everything okay?
Everything will never be okay.
I can help you!
I can hurt you!
PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE!
I'm trying to help you!
NO ONE CAN EVER HELP ME!
Depressionit's sneaking up again
it's an illness
it's poison is deep inside of me
I can't escape
my light has disappeared
my hope has abandoned me
I don't want to keep fighting
this loosing battle
I won't win the war
the war with myself
with the guilt
and the saddness
I can't fly
I can't spread my wings
because they are torn
broken beyond repair
just like my mind
I won't win
not after all my love is gone
I've been thrown away
and they still don't see
the lighter side of me
they don't understand
that I'm not meant to be here
I was meant to fly
into the sky
away from the suffering
but they chained me down
with all this guilt
and the fears they induce
they want me dead
but they won't let me die
even if I bleed and cry
I scream for release
from this hell on earth
but they keep me here
as their personal toy
I am nothing but a doll
I am empty
WHAT IS-I DONT EVENWorst romance novels ever
I couldn't even breath when I read this one --->
Eleven Gods of the Night are incarnated for the first time in 65 million years, summoned to protect humanity from an all-encompassing evil that is coming in 2012, at the end of the Mayan calendar. While currently incarnated as deadly, handsome men, they have the ability to assume their prior formsthose of gigantic dinosaurs. One of them, Ty Endeka, develops a powerful attraction to his taxi driver, Kelly Maloy, with whom he must fight the forces of eviland of desire.
Save a Brontesaurus. Ride these guys.
ALSO - Worst analogies ever written by high schoolers :
He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and "Jeopardy" comes on at
Self-HatredI hate myself.
I'm so stupid.
I'm so ugly.
I'm so fat.
And I'm sorry
that I ever
wasted your time,
that I'm fucked up,
that I'm weak,
that I'm shy.
that I don't know how to be
who you want me to be.
I'm sorry you don't like me.
I'm sorry I can't make friends.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I'm me.
I'm sorry I'm alive.
I want to go to sleep,
and never wake up.
I want to die.
ResentmentYou say nothing will ever bother you as you casually brush off both haters and passionate preachers with the same thoughtless flick of your wrist. And you claim nothing will ever get to you under your thick hide of apathy. You seem immovable, no untouchable, meditating with your head held high and a smug grin on your carefree lips that never so much as twitch.
Yet you need not utter a word to get under my skin. I cant stand the sight of you acting so high and mighty, as if worldly affairs do not affect you in the slightest. Your unconcerned attitude shows, perhaps, your inability to care about anything, or anyone, at all. In that respect, I pity you, but it also makes you a waste of space, a faulty investment for humanity.
You have no purpose to your life, so I dont expect you to understand what it means to be determined about a goal; but just for the record, mine is to crack your shell, at any cost, and expose what is inside. Ill put an end to all the a
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attrition
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
may as well buy another packcollapse, and breathe into the carpet:
sunday mornings are not
for falling apart, but damn
the amphorics, this
is not an atmosphere.
you fell in love like you always
wish you didn't, made all their
smiles replaceable, interchangeable,
fell asleep with shadows and kept
drinking, just letting yourself sleep
with blue pills
and tried not to scream.
(keep this image in your head:
fire and nectarines, a sudden jerk
of realization, inspiration
breaking your neck and leaving you forever
breaking bones is not so different
from breaking hearts - it's all about
the leverage, the angle, the mode
(and at least it wasn't personal;
it can color in your own guilt
for starting lines and never ending
The Panic Room (A Supernatural One-Shot)“Dean…? Dean?”
The name felt like lead on Sam’s tongue, so thick and heavy that he wasn’t sure if the syllable had actually made it past his lips.
The only reason he was aware of something cutting into his neck was the trail of red that was marking a small pathway against the stark fabric of his shirt. The dark suit and tie that usually accompanied the white-collared look were missing, but he couldn’t remember why.
His brother’s name seemed to drop soundlessly into the dark space before him. Everything felt heavy. Dull. Maybe he was dreaming.
But dreams shouldn’t smell of dust and abandonment. They shouldn’t be framed by cobwebs and wallpaper so aged that their floral design has faded into funeral bouquets. They shouldn’t have flickering candlelight and robed figures looking down on you.
No, dreams shouldn’t be like that.
But Winchesters don’t have dreams. They have nightmares. Sam smile
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