The Housefireleaping flames, sputtering loud eating across the girl’s jumping rope all the dolls, engulfed, the bed frame crackling, searing white against the synthetic carpet. It jumps up the door, fighting, winning then scurries excited across the hall to the other rooms and down the stairs searing white against the synthetic carpet and climbing the couch the walls sweat, anxiety climbing while the flame plays. The shoes that should have been put away burn, the rubber sole melts into the linoleum at last the fire turns attention to the walls and they spaThe Housefire
For we can see the starsTick, tick, tick, cried the clock, never ending, never ceasing, but she didn’t hear it. She was flying, far, far away from the ticking clock that was soon to become a screaming clock replaced by screaming parents and all of this occurring around her motionless body that breathed but refused to respond.For we can see the stars
Tired, that’s all she knew in her body, tired from stress, tired from the depression, tired from the sleepless nights filling out scholarship forms that e-mail you only to say sorry, you didn’t make it, tired from the monotony of her life that revolved around the ticking of the clock.
But here she flew,
The Midsummer DanceThe branches made crisscrossed leafy patterns in the quiet afternoon sunlight, creating shadows on the mossy ground. I was out here often, in the afternoon sun beneath the biggest oak in the park. Ordinarily, I was here because this was the only place in town that felt like home, that felt like there was something more than walls and concrete and gossip, but there seemed to be another cause to be here today. Well, it felt like there was anyway. I felt like I was in a dream, or a dream of a dream, and I had instinct or intuition or something else deep in my blood calling me here, so strong it was compulsion. I didn’t know exactly what itThe Midsummer Dance
WindowWindow. Viscous liquid glass that you look through to see the sunrise at school or work, that you see the city lights through stretching on forever like infinite glittering fireflies that mesmerize and flicker and meet the eyes through which you see emotion hunger lust throwing, projecting a thousand enigmas so that other eyes lie but it is yours that lie even though you can’t admit untruth so it must be another that you see through breath-fogged windows.Window
1st journal entry, for those interested(just me)
Amused
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'I could go back,
To every laugh.
But I don't want to go there anymore.'
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I love Death Note, Twilight, Harry Potter, and the Warriors books by Erin Hunter! If you do too, visit my gallery, leave me a message, or write me a note!
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My Heart and Soul: [link]
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ART [link]
Stock [link]
=Magic-Myth
Real beauty comes from within, a treasure for those that can see it.
Very appreciated !
Have a Wonderful Day Rayne
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Un clin d’œil n’est pas un signe d’un flirt seulement
C’est aussi un signe d’une complicité entre deux personnes
Member of : [link] [link] [link]
As to you so-called lack of drawing skills, I like the four you have posted, so far. (The Who were awesome. Their music will rock forever) Your style is raw, a bit primitive, and straight from a place that runs deep. I may be just an old hippie type, but these four feel fine to me.
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Colt
Remember, I
Have a little faith
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Some people worship God, I worship Emmett Cullen. People think I'm weird, but I don't see the difference.
Emmett Cullen wants you to click here: [link]
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