If I had to choose one feeling to live with for the rest of my life, I'd let pain be the ink that stains me for all my days. For pain, I know, will never leave me, and this hole that has been blasted through my resolve, will never truly heal, for a scar will remain, and what else is there to do but accept that which defines you, rather, something you have let define you. A scar, I know, provides at least some comfort in knowing that I can still feel something that will never leave me. Pain.
Pain is everything. It's the smell of the wind and snow, and the familiar buildings upon which memories were honed and sharpened, preparing
"I have no idea what I'm doing down here. But I'm willing to learn."
"You have to fold your hands, like this."
I could see the compassion in her eyes. She wanted me to feel what she felt, to know what she knew. But she couldn't make me believe. It was something that she had to show me.
It was a love. A love to feel every moment of her existence. That no matter what other feelings she would feel, day in and day out, every day at work, or every day at home, that someone would love her unconditionally, and this was what it felt like.
Sometimes, she thought, maybe it was all in her head. But it wasn't, and she knew it. It was rea
The Human Condition
What are we, if we are not learning or adjusting? Simply, we are content. Complacent so that our views have morphed around an individual movement, subjugating experience and pre-conceived knowledge into a vacuum sealed packed with motions of faith and determination.
It is in our minds that we conceive longing. If, for some reason, a gentleman or lady were to ask you, "Where do you see yourself in the future?" Then a fraction of hesitance would perhaps inflict your situation. Maybe you'd be here, or there? Or perhaps you would possess this or that. &
A sensation like any other
One that makes me immortal
Bearing the innocence of darkness
But freeing me of self doubt
The soft humming of heart beats
My head pounding like beautiful concussions
Why can't life feel like this
Where do I go when I'm without
Take your grasp on me, so I can grasp myself
Feed my inspiration
The likes of which condone my emotions
Sparks burn like embers, the silent remains of thought
It all seems so easy
Like it could happen in an instant
Lie to me like you would a bed
And put your worries on hold
The Journey of Happiness
For the one I love
There once existed a tiny village in a not so far away land. It lied nestled in a tranquil valley, peacefully sleeping in the shadow of two mountains, by which the people knew as the loom. In this township, there lived a small girl with an old soul. She had only wanted one thing her entire life. Only dreamed of one thing. But the elders always told to her things as, "You're much too young dear girl," and, "when you're old, you will wish you were young again."
But to any of this she paid no heed
Telling me to go, but hands beg me to stay. Your lips say that you love, your eyes say that you hate. There's truth in your lies, doubt in your faith, what you build you lay to waste.
For I am forever broken, and your face, it radiates with the beauty of soft rains, calm in its tranquility, and capable of terrible deeds.
There's truth in your lies, doubt in your faith, all I've got's what you didn't take.
And I fucking hate you for what you've made me, this abomination incapable of love or conscious affection. Your contradicting malice impedes my ability to function, and for that, I should thank you, for no one will e
The Prince of Destruction by xXxRocketxXx, literature
Literature
The Prince of Destruction
Prologue
-The Paradox of Malevolence-
Smoke and ash swirled in violent winds, consuming one another in ubiquitous flashes of orange and crimson. The black throne of the ever violent spire scape lie fastened to red rock, floating in the storm of space. Winds howled, the ground quaked with tremors, thunder crackled, the sky outside split in bloody, jagged bolts. A voice boomed throughout, and it was internal and external and universal. The air wreaked of rage and blood, and thirsted destruction and all the features of an under worldly presence. Time lagged, it was sped and slowed a
I feel like there is no need for conversation. Some questions are better left, without a reason. And I would rather reveal myself than my, situation. Now and then I consider... my hesitation.
I'm not asleep, but neither am I awake. My mind has been placed in a lucid state, in the heart of raw emotion that can only exist in my bedroom. But I'm not there. I'm in a darker place, and the faint sound of a bedside alarm pushes through into my conscious thought.
The more the light shines through me, I pretend to close my eyes. The more the dark consumes me, I pretend I'm burning, burning bright.
But now my eyes are awake and I'm quaking i
Sometimes we only live for the here and now. Sometimes we're lonely. Sometimes we feel we need a place to be grounded, or fly away again.
My insanity is my sanctuary. Only I possess it's key, and only I can unleash the inner machinations of my deepest conundrum.
I will fly away again. Oh, I will fly away again.
The sanctity of my conscious thought should forever be hidden. But what if... what if it were unleashed. What if others could dream in the way I do, or see and behold the splendid utopia of inner silence that my life force embellishes?
Why are we feeling something's familiar around us. Are we just dreaming. Always we sear
If I had to choose one feeling to live with for the rest of my life, I'd let pain be the ink that stains me for all my days. For pain, I know, will never leave me, and this hole that has been blasted through my resolve, will never truly heal, for a scar will remain, and what else is there to do but accept that which defines you, rather, something you have let define you. A scar, I know, provides at least some comfort in knowing that I can still feel something that will never leave me. Pain.
Pain is everything. It's the smell of the wind and snow, and the familiar buildings upon which memories were honed and sharpened, preparing
"I have no idea what I'm doing down here. But I'm willing to learn."
"You have to fold your hands, like this."
I could see the compassion in her eyes. She wanted me to feel what she felt, to know what she knew. But she couldn't make me believe. It was something that she had to show me.
It was a love. A love to feel every moment of her existence. That no matter what other feelings she would feel, day in and day out, every day at work, or every day at home, that someone would love her unconditionally, and this was what it felt like.
Sometimes, she thought, maybe it was all in her head. But it wasn't, and she knew it. It was rea
The Human Condition
What are we, if we are not learning or adjusting? Simply, we are content. Complacent so that our views have morphed around an individual movement, subjugating experience and pre-conceived knowledge into a vacuum sealed packed with motions of faith and determination.
It is in our minds that we conceive longing. If, for some reason, a gentleman or lady were to ask you, "Where do you see yourself in the future?" Then a fraction of hesitance would perhaps inflict your situation. Maybe you'd be here, or there? Or perhaps you would possess this or that. &
A sensation like any other
One that makes me immortal
Bearing the innocence of darkness
But freeing me of self doubt
The soft humming of heart beats
My head pounding like beautiful concussions
Why can't life feel like this
Where do I go when I'm without
Take your grasp on me, so I can grasp myself
Feed my inspiration
The likes of which condone my emotions
Sparks burn like embers, the silent remains of thought
It all seems so easy
Like it could happen in an instant
Lie to me like you would a bed
And put your worries on hold
The Journey of Happiness
For the one I love
There once existed a tiny village in a not so far away land. It lied nestled in a tranquil valley, peacefully sleeping in the shadow of two mountains, by which the people knew as the loom. In this township, there lived a small girl with an old soul. She had only wanted one thing her entire life. Only dreamed of one thing. But the elders always told to her things as, "You're much too young dear girl," and, "when you're old, you will wish you were young again."
But to any of this she paid no heed
Telling me to go, but hands beg me to stay. Your lips say that you love, your eyes say that you hate. There's truth in your lies, doubt in your faith, what you build you lay to waste.
For I am forever broken, and your face, it radiates with the beauty of soft rains, calm in its tranquility, and capable of terrible deeds.
There's truth in your lies, doubt in your faith, all I've got's what you didn't take.
And I fucking hate you for what you've made me, this abomination incapable of love or conscious affection. Your contradicting malice impedes my ability to function, and for that, I should thank you, for no one will e
The Prince of Destruction by xXxRocketxXx, literature
Literature
The Prince of Destruction
Prologue
-The Paradox of Malevolence-
Smoke and ash swirled in violent winds, consuming one another in ubiquitous flashes of orange and crimson. The black throne of the ever violent spire scape lie fastened to red rock, floating in the storm of space. Winds howled, the ground quaked with tremors, thunder crackled, the sky outside split in bloody, jagged bolts. A voice boomed throughout, and it was internal and external and universal. The air wreaked of rage and blood, and thirsted destruction and all the features of an under worldly presence. Time lagged, it was sped and slowed a
I feel like there is no need for conversation. Some questions are better left, without a reason. And I would rather reveal myself than my, situation. Now and then I consider... my hesitation.
I'm not asleep, but neither am I awake. My mind has been placed in a lucid state, in the heart of raw emotion that can only exist in my bedroom. But I'm not there. I'm in a darker place, and the faint sound of a bedside alarm pushes through into my conscious thought.
The more the light shines through me, I pretend to close my eyes. The more the dark consumes me, I pretend I'm burning, burning bright.
But now my eyes are awake and I'm quaking i
Sometimes we only live for the here and now. Sometimes we're lonely. Sometimes we feel we need a place to be grounded, or fly away again.
My insanity is my sanctuary. Only I possess it's key, and only I can unleash the inner machinations of my deepest conundrum.
I will fly away again. Oh, I will fly away again.
The sanctity of my conscious thought should forever be hidden. But what if... what if it were unleashed. What if others could dream in the way I do, or see and behold the splendid utopia of inner silence that my life force embellishes?
Why are we feeling something's familiar around us. Are we just dreaming. Always we sear
Writing is my passion. I enjoy painting abstract images into somebody's mind, portraying their reading experience almost as if through a dream with a thread of high consciousness remaining.
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