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shatteredI did it again and again. I shattered your spirits over and over full well knowing that you would mend yourself and come back and strike harder. But, that expression in your eyes, the kind I never saw before, screamed death. Dead. Broken. Did I break you yet again? Did I apologize and love you again? I did. And Ill do it again. But that look. Why that look?
Did I go too far?
Maybe, not like I care. Youll come back again. You always do.
But did I truly break you?
So much that you cant, dare I say it, mend?
Such a hallow look. Why?
You should have expected it.
Youre just my doll.
My beautiful, fragile doll.
This is a game that I control
The type created for only one winner. Me.
Must I take your shattered pieces and grind them to dust?
Do I want to?
Maybe I went too far.
Pushed you so far over the cliff that you cant climb back up
I noticed the freefall you gave yourself.
Letting me toss you around without fret
Why cease to achieve your life
Not there anymoreI tightened my hands on the rubber of my gun out of stress.
The anxiety reminded me of back when I was only 14.
Paintballs in my hand loading them then putting on my goggles.
Hiding behind trees and under shrubs in the forest, wondering when Id be hit. Smelling of mud and dirt when I got home late.
Now I could smell the dirt on my vest clearly even in the stale air. I can still remember the smell of paint as I would fire harmlessly at my friends
The cushioning of my oversized helmet would always end up in my mouth but my green camo helmet fit my bigger head now. Even so I pressed my hand on top of the metal on top of my head down in memory.
I can still taste the paint on my tongue, a bad mix of the sweat that was already intruding my mouth.
Me and my comrades walk stealthily closer to the small, guarded bunkers, a little crack or some crunches of branches and leaves under us barely being heard.
Two grown men, like us, were guarding the door to the entrance of the bunker, complete
kissing fishesKissing Fishes
paper planes with flitting dreams written on them
and flying angel hearts come from a mythical land.
violins sing my tune and prucussions drum softly.
as I walk across the small bridge over a lake, and sit under a cherryblossom tree
I think about those green eyes and look up to the green skies.
"The fish are flying, the fish are flying," my child voice says.
I stand up and reach out to give one an innocent kiss on the cheek but its not the right one.
I was only just understanding.
I leave that spot to start to grow into myself and search for the one.
I listen to pretty piano melodies and laugh with the abstract flower buds.
I meet a songful whistler, a bird with cute wings, but can't fly.
Much like a peacock with great grey eyes.
I stay quiet and listen to him talk about his big nest and watch him flaunt his wings and tail feathers.
but I still listen to the buds and they say the bird likes to hang in the shade too much and doesn't lik
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More