There's a certain sort of quiet when you don't know you're looking for it.
Bright lights flash flash FLASH, the end of my pencil on the table, tapping one two three, one two three, dancing the macabre as I drown out the voice of your teacher and the voice of who I am. Head head tail, head head tail, head head- no, shit I dropped it oh deary me! Room's too bright, place's too cold, math's too boring. I can't pick the pencil up because I can't be arsed.
Quadruple combination of wonder, would you like some fries with that? No, you wouldn't, because hatred is warm, fiery burning allconsuming-
-while revenge, revenge is the dish best served col
She's trying to listen, trying to keep her ear pressed to your skin, trying to keep her hand fixed on your shoulder and her mind on the snow, her thoughts in rhythm with the beating of your heart. And she's not sure, not sure of anything anymore, not sure whether this is imagined or real or anything she would ever have dreamed of, an illusion charmed up in her desperation, a fantasy crafted by the artists of her mind? For the first time, she's not sitting on this park bench alone, she's got somebody to squeeze her hand while staring into the sky, she's got somebody to stroke her cheek while facing the ice and the stabbing wind.
She blushes a
Let me paint you a nightmare-
Unweave the gossamer bed sheets
Unravel the bound vestiges of
Love that
Scream as they bend and break,
Let me puppet your horror-
Rip apart the shreds that hold together
Your breaking dawn.
And over it a layer of darkness shall sit,
Suffocating the wispy smiling of the
Sun;
A hollow laugh,
Stretching away the
curling of your
lips,
Pinching away the final
tendrils of your
Smile.
Fall Back Into Pieces by crimsoncourreges, literature
Literature
Fall Back Into Pieces
Are you really sure you want to eat that, my pretty?
Inspect it closely. Can't you see? Red flecks on yellow cream, spilling out of the cone that's supposed to contain it, bulging out in all ways possible, from left to right from top to bottom. And you know what? That's going to be you, that's going to be what's left of you if you allow yourself to falter even for a second, only you probably won't smell half as good because you're not stuffed chock-full with artificial colouring and flavouring. Fling it away, dump it, ditch it- ah, that's better, that's right; you're being good today, aren't you?
Excellent, excellent. A nice change. You hav
my skin is white, with tinges of yellow.
folds of fat staring back into my face,
an outer layer peeled away like
Japanese tweezers, pulling off the skin
from a limp Chinese corpse.
want me for not what i am supposed to be,
but only what i am supposed to taste,
all salt and fats and red seasoned meat,
soaked in brown sauces, soaked for so long
that i have forgotten what i was,
lost my roots from the sow that birthed my advent,
the knife that pressed through my skin
to the squealing of my mother
as she watched me die,
die and
die again
flashes of brimstone playing before her eyes.
you do not see me as a being,
only somethin
Ask me not what I am inside,
but for the mask that I wear,
thick make-up I share;
Ask me not for my inner thoughts,
but for the tapestry I weave,
the sighs that I heave.
Love me not for my hopes and my dreams,
but for the paintings I paint,
a scholar, a saint;
For I am sick of being a dumpling-
I want not for people to bite me before they
know of my meat,
For I am done with being a guzheng,
whose screeching sound emits when it is
not played, but picked,
For I am tired of a life where you
wind me like clockwork,
wrap me in chains,
bind my feet with red cloth and
burn me into ash.
I am like bamboo. Hard to bend, but if y
wrapped up in rose-tinted sheets, she lifts her eyelids with a
sigh, gazing into the distance outside her window
and the breaking sun. daytime has arrived, sealing the doors of a
sleepless night shut, marking
the end of a horizon of restless dreams,
winding tapestries with battered seams.
is it too much to ask? no, fat skeleton stares back at her from
her mirror; she needs not have mascara under her eyes
and yet she is snow-white; shot at dawn, wondering
what and why and how
this will be if she stumbles ahead.
Marshmallows in My Coffee by crimsoncourreges, literature
Literature
Marshmallows in My Coffee
Come on, admit it. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're a homosexual, or, at the very least, slightly sexually confused, if you want me to use of those euphemisms my English teacher was always going on about. There's no use trying to hide it from me. Number one, we're friends, and number two, I have an infallible gay-dar that has never malfunctioned, except for that one time where I chased a man in a fairy suit down about fifty alleyways before I learned that he was really a very masculine woman. It wasn't my fault, it really wasn't! She even had facial hair and everything. Plus, she had some of the beefiest arms I'd ever seen.
Ray sighed and scratched his red hair. Outside, hailstones were piercing through the overcast sky, descending in rain-like torrents and crashing to the ground. This meant that the shop would have to be closed for the day. Ray had been looking forward to curling up in his new leather armchair by the fireplace, reading his new copy of Very Complicated, Ancient, Boring Poetry that You Can Quote to be Pretentious with Your Friends, 1223-1250 A.D.
Instead, he had to deal with this.
The bell tinkled as a tall, dark, but not so handsome stranger pranced into the store. He brandished a green bottle with smoke inside, and held it in front of R
There's a certain sort of quiet when you don't know you're looking for it.
Bright lights flash flash FLASH, the end of my pencil on the table, tapping one two three, one two three, dancing the macabre as I drown out the voice of your teacher and the voice of who I am. Head head tail, head head tail, head head- no, shit I dropped it oh deary me! Room's too bright, place's too cold, math's too boring. I can't pick the pencil up because I can't be arsed.
Quadruple combination of wonder, would you like some fries with that? No, you wouldn't, because hatred is warm, fiery burning allconsuming-
-while revenge, revenge is the dish best served col
She's trying to listen, trying to keep her ear pressed to your skin, trying to keep her hand fixed on your shoulder and her mind on the snow, her thoughts in rhythm with the beating of your heart. And she's not sure, not sure of anything anymore, not sure whether this is imagined or real or anything she would ever have dreamed of, an illusion charmed up in her desperation, a fantasy crafted by the artists of her mind? For the first time, she's not sitting on this park bench alone, she's got somebody to squeeze her hand while staring into the sky, she's got somebody to stroke her cheek while facing the ice and the stabbing wind.
She blushes a
Let me paint you a nightmare-
Unweave the gossamer bed sheets
Unravel the bound vestiges of
Love that
Scream as they bend and break,
Let me puppet your horror-
Rip apart the shreds that hold together
Your breaking dawn.
And over it a layer of darkness shall sit,
Suffocating the wispy smiling of the
Sun;
A hollow laugh,
Stretching away the
curling of your
lips,
Pinching away the final
tendrils of your
Smile.
Fall Back Into Pieces by crimsoncourreges, literature
Literature
Fall Back Into Pieces
Are you really sure you want to eat that, my pretty?
Inspect it closely. Can't you see? Red flecks on yellow cream, spilling out of the cone that's supposed to contain it, bulging out in all ways possible, from left to right from top to bottom. And you know what? That's going to be you, that's going to be what's left of you if you allow yourself to falter even for a second, only you probably won't smell half as good because you're not stuffed chock-full with artificial colouring and flavouring. Fling it away, dump it, ditch it- ah, that's better, that's right; you're being good today, aren't you?
Excellent, excellent. A nice change. You hav
my skin is white, with tinges of yellow.
folds of fat staring back into my face,
an outer layer peeled away like
Japanese tweezers, pulling off the skin
from a limp Chinese corpse.
want me for not what i am supposed to be,
but only what i am supposed to taste,
all salt and fats and red seasoned meat,
soaked in brown sauces, soaked for so long
that i have forgotten what i was,
lost my roots from the sow that birthed my advent,
the knife that pressed through my skin
to the squealing of my mother
as she watched me die,
die and
die again
flashes of brimstone playing before her eyes.
you do not see me as a being,
only somethin
Ask me not what I am inside,
but for the mask that I wear,
thick make-up I share;
Ask me not for my inner thoughts,
but for the tapestry I weave,
the sighs that I heave.
Love me not for my hopes and my dreams,
but for the paintings I paint,
a scholar, a saint;
For I am sick of being a dumpling-
I want not for people to bite me before they
know of my meat,
For I am done with being a guzheng,
whose screeching sound emits when it is
not played, but picked,
For I am tired of a life where you
wind me like clockwork,
wrap me in chains,
bind my feet with red cloth and
burn me into ash.
I am like bamboo. Hard to bend, but if y
Marshmallows in My Coffee by crimsoncourreges, literature
Literature
Marshmallows in My Coffee
Come on, admit it. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're a homosexual, or, at the very least, slightly sexually confused, if you want me to use of those euphemisms my English teacher was always going on about. There's no use trying to hide it from me. Number one, we're friends, and number two, I have an infallible gay-dar that has never malfunctioned, except for that one time where I chased a man in a fairy suit down about fifty alleyways before I learned that he was really a very masculine woman. It wasn't my fault, it really wasn't! She even had facial hair and everything. Plus, she had some of the beefiest arms I'd ever seen.
Ray sighed and scratched his red hair. Outside, hailstones were piercing through the overcast sky, descending in rain-like torrents and crashing to the ground. This meant that the shop would have to be closed for the day. Ray had been looking forward to curling up in his new leather armchair by the fireplace, reading his new copy of Very Complicated, Ancient, Boring Poetry that You Can Quote to be Pretentious with Your Friends, 1223-1250 A.D.
Instead, he had to deal with this.
The bell tinkled as a tall, dark, but not so handsome stranger pranced into the store. He brandished a green bottle with smoke inside, and held it in front of R
10 Ways to Annoy Edward Cullen by nikatil, literature
Literature
10 Ways to Annoy Edward Cullen
10 Ways to Annoy Edward Cullen
10. Sing Discovery Channel by the Bloodhound Gang in your head whenever he is near.
9. Hotwire his Volvo and take it on a joyride.
8. Tell him the relationship he is having with Bella is practically paedophilia and he could be sent to jail for it.
7. Ask how Tanya is.
6. End every argument with Bite me, Edward.
5. Call him Romeo both behind his back and to his face.
4. Whenever he complains or argues, reply with What are you gonna do Edward? Go to Italy?
3. Tell him his hair isnt bronze, its ginger, and he should stop denying himself hes a rang
There's a certain sort of quiet when you don't know you're looking for it.
Bright lights flash flash FLASH, the end of my pencil on the table, tapping one two three, one two three, dancing the macabre as I drown out the voice of your teacher and the voice of who I am. Head head tail, head head tail, head head- no, shit I dropped it oh deary me! Room's too bright, place's too cold, math's too boring. I can't pick the pencil up because I can't be arsed.
Quadruple combination of wonder, would you like some fries with that? No, you wouldn't, because hatred is warm, fiery burning allconsuming-
-while revenge, revenge is the dish best served col
Current Residence: Your socks Favourite genre of music: Anything that's good... Didn't you guess that? Favourite photographer: No prizes for guessing what I'm going to say. Favourite style of art: Anime style. Why, didn't you guess that? xD Operating System: Mac OS X MP3 player of choice: iTunes Shell of choice: Pasta shells!!! Wallpaper of choice: Pictures of my friends and me? LOL Skin of choice: ORANGE Favourite cartoon character: Don't know Personal Quote: "When life gives me lemons, I distill acetic acid to throw at people."
Favourite Visual Artist
Anyone that's good. God, do I have to repeat myself?
Favourite Movies
Anything that's good.
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Anyone that's good.
Favourite Writers
Anyone that's good... (Getting repeptitive here)
Favourite Games
The Sims 2
Favourite Gaming Platform
PS3!
Tools of the Trade
Computer and brain. And, unfortunately for him, Garrett. xD
Ethie (https://www.deviantart.com/ethie)Ethie (https://www.deviantart.com/ethie)Ethie (https://www.deviantart.com/ethie)Ethie (https://www.deviantart.com/ethie)Ethie (https://www.deviantart.com/ethie)Ethie (https://www.deviantart.com/ethie)Ethie (https://www.deviantart.com/ethie)Ethie (https://www.deviantart.com/ethie)Ethie (https://www.deviantart.com/ethie)
Fear my new awesome name. I can't believe it wasn't taken yet!
Yeah. After realizing that my friend's boyfriend, Hankanman (https://www.deviantart.com/hankanman) also has dA, and thinking "DAMN HIS NAME IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN MINE-"
I wish I could change my dA name. WHEE.
https://z8.invisionfree.com/angelhairpasta
To summarize: High school RP with a dash of insanity, crazy teachers, a twist of randomness and a LOT of awesome.
JOIN.
OR NATHANIEL WILL EAT YOUR SOCKS.
Haha it's song lyrics, from a song. We use it as an in-joke between the two of us- ~aphereon is one of my best friends from my old school. I don't really think that XD