Art involves a little clutter, a little mess, here and there;
art is often a rush of inspiration and vision which cannot be bothered to stop and put away the things just pulled from a drawer, or to empty the day-old coffee cup;
it is mad scribbles on a page, then balled up and tossed away, whether into a garbage can or not;
layers of charcoal, dabs of paint;
scattered pencils and pens of ink;
boxes of brushes and bottles and things,
whether organized or not, or very very not;
flower petals and cardboard and stray pieces of metal-
do watch your step, dear, for art is near.
He stole my heart- literally.
Pulled it from a nice little cut in my chest as I lay there, dying, bleeding out like some struck deer on that dark, empty road. And as he disappeared with it, a grin on his face, I saw it, written in blood on the car window beside me: Catcha later, Rosie-posy.
Rosie-posy. He ripped out my heart, and called me posy. I should've known right then all of the fun I was in for.
Seven years later, I'd come to find out why I was, truly, heartless. And why I had come to have such a creepy, loser stalker.
I hope that my travels take me far away from you.
Because the closer we are, the smaller then amount of breaths between us, cause my heart to sink a little and a little more lower, and the breezes feel colder and stars seem dimmer.
I hope the years make my feelings grow hazier.
Maybe with each passing day, your face will fade until you are nothing but an old childhood fancy long forgotten- like a playground swing, swishing slower and slower until at a standstill perfectly.
I know I can forget, and we will finally be alike- I will never think of you, just as you've never thought of me.
The Girl Who Walked on Gravestones by xxThoughInADreamxx, literature
Literature
The Girl Who Walked on Gravestones
Once was a girl, so young and frail
Her eyes were blue, and skin was pale
Her hair dark curl, her smile true
Until she was no longer here.
Her head, lopped off, on one winter day
A tousle of curls, a scream held at bay
Her lips a very fair-toned blue
Her soul let go- but that's not quite true.
Who thought? The place she lost her head
Was where she would eternally rest with the dead.
Now at night, upon midnight's toll
You can hear the sound of a head at roll
And there, in that home of the lost,
A girl will wander, through and across.
Silent, moving, afloat on air
Without a worry, or even a care
Look, and see, she slowly hops
F
I promise you, there will never be a dull star in your sky
Never a comet or swirling planet out of sight
Nor a universe out of reach
Never an empty moon, or galaxy shy
The grass will always shine its greenest
The sky will be the clearest blue
Every tree will have its own old story
Every bird its own sweet tune
And like the rainbows dancing in your eyes
Whenever I see you
The world will fill with brilliant colors
And all will look anew
Art involves a little clutter, a little mess, here and there;
art is often a rush of inspiration and vision which cannot be bothered to stop and put away the things just pulled from a drawer, or to empty the day-old coffee cup;
it is mad scribbles on a page, then balled up and tossed away, whether into a garbage can or not;
layers of charcoal, dabs of paint;
scattered pencils and pens of ink;
boxes of brushes and bottles and things,
whether organized or not, or very very not;
flower petals and cardboard and stray pieces of metal-
do watch your step, dear, for art is near.
He stole my heart- literally.
Pulled it from a nice little cut in my chest as I lay there, dying, bleeding out like some struck deer on that dark, empty road. And as he disappeared with it, a grin on his face, I saw it, written in blood on the car window beside me: Catcha later, Rosie-posy.
Rosie-posy. He ripped out my heart, and called me posy. I should've known right then all of the fun I was in for.
Seven years later, I'd come to find out why I was, truly, heartless. And why I had come to have such a creepy, loser stalker.
I hope that my travels take me far away from you.
Because the closer we are, the smaller then amount of breaths between us, cause my heart to sink a little and a little more lower, and the breezes feel colder and stars seem dimmer.
I hope the years make my feelings grow hazier.
Maybe with each passing day, your face will fade until you are nothing but an old childhood fancy long forgotten- like a playground swing, swishing slower and slower until at a standstill perfectly.
I know I can forget, and we will finally be alike- I will never think of you, just as you've never thought of me.
The Girl Who Walked on Gravestones by xxThoughInADreamxx, literature
Literature
The Girl Who Walked on Gravestones
Once was a girl, so young and frail
Her eyes were blue, and skin was pale
Her hair dark curl, her smile true
Until she was no longer here.
Her head, lopped off, on one winter day
A tousle of curls, a scream held at bay
Her lips a very fair-toned blue
Her soul let go- but that's not quite true.
Who thought? The place she lost her head
Was where she would eternally rest with the dead.
Now at night, upon midnight's toll
You can hear the sound of a head at roll
And there, in that home of the lost,
A girl will wander, through and across.
Silent, moving, afloat on air
Without a worry, or even a care
Look, and see, she slowly hops
F
I promise you, there will never be a dull star in your sky
Never a comet or swirling planet out of sight
Nor a universe out of reach
Never an empty moon, or galaxy shy
The grass will always shine its greenest
The sky will be the clearest blue
Every tree will have its own old story
Every bird its own sweet tune
And like the rainbows dancing in your eyes
Whenever I see you
The world will fill with brilliant colors
And all will look anew
I remember
Your
Widow's Peak
Blue
Glassy
Eyes
Skin fairer than
m i n e
Soft curved smile
Fear of lies
Dreams
Hopes
W ishe s
Rosy like the colors of the
Sky
Kurloz x Reader Without Words by AkitheShinigami, literature
Literature
Kurloz x Reader Without Words
You laughed as Kurloz signed a joke you’d heard at least 60 times, but still never got old. He smiled as you finally did so yourself and waited for your laughing fit to end.
You had gotten a ‘flush crush’ on one of your best Troll friends, who you had been friends with for years and even would help him out of a tight spot. He’d also help you a lot and comfort you, so you’d built confidence in the belief that maybe he liked you back. However, this had proven to be nothing but repeated words as he flatly said no to you and not even give a proper reason why. Worse yet, during the time you sulked behind doors, you
yet. ^_^;;
I haven't been on here in weeks, but hi. I guess I lost my membership o.e I'll see if I can get it back. I need my stamps, yo. I need my stamps.
Got back from the Fair a little while ago. It was... crazy. *_* but i got really good lomein noodles, so i'm yukai. now I'm going to watch Howl's Moving Castle again, and i dont know what else....
The GazettE Meme ~
1) What is your name? ChaChan.
2) Where are you from? J-ville.
3) How long have you been a Gazette fan? Less than a year. :]
4) How did you first come across the GazettE? probably youtube or deviantart.
5) Who is your favorite member? hmmm.... Reita, always.
6) What do you like about your favorite member? he has a very consistant personality and style, he's so strong. plus, he is an amazing bass player.
7) What is somethin
I want to do what's best for my dream, but now, I don't know~
I want to be in that place, forever, but that doesn't mean that it's possible.
When you love something or someone, you have to do what's best, right?
;_;