white.pale as bones, she whispers words to me,white.7 years ago in Surrealism
and i wonder why the world
can't ever stay the same.
she is without.
she is above, beyond,
sucked dry by hopelessness,
By the White WolfBy the White Wolf4 years ago in Free Verse
By the White Wolf
She's come to me now
It's finally over
I pass into the gray
Her visage terrible and wonderful to behold
Her fur stark white
The spirit of death is she
She comes to guide my soul
What remains of me
I still my heartbeat
I quench my breath
She has marked me with the scent of death
Close your eyes and expose your neck
Let her sink her fangs into you throat
Let her bleed you of your spirit
Let her bleed you of your soul
Let her guide you into the gray
There is no family now
No pack to depend on
In the end we start our road alone
We will see the ones we love when she visits them
Stare into her eyes now
It's time to follow her
Time for the finial journey
Time for you to rest
By the White Wolf
Daughter of WhiteDaughter of White5 years ago in Songs & Lyrics
"Ikite ite gomennasai" itsu no ma ni ka kuchiguse
Yowane bakari haite ita tsumaranu dake no jinsei
Mura no hitotachi wa mina kirei na midori no kami
Nakama hazure no watashi hito to chigau shiroi kami
Mori no oku de hisoka ni sobie tatsu sennenju
Watashi wa koko de hitori kami ni negai wo kaketa
Kodoku ni iki tsudzukeru koto sore wa totemo sabishii
Dare demo ii watashi no tomodachi ni natte hoshii
Kanojo to deatta no wa sennenju
Taorete ita kanojo wo tasuketa no ga hajimari
Itsu no ma ni ka futari wa totemo nakayokunatta
Dakedo watashi to kanojo nani mo ka mo ga chigatta
Mura no naka no dare yori kirei na midori no kami
Sono yasashii koe to egao dare kara mo ai sareta
Doushite konna watashi ni mo yasashiku shite kureru no?
Jibun yori otoru onna wo owarenderu tsumori na no?
Hikutsu na watashi wo dakishim
white and black is...you wanna bewhite and black is...7 years ago in Free Verse
the sort of
to make your
you want eyes
like gas masks
and the smoke
you want their
to the wall
type of voice
you're a billion
a crude sketch
a part of me
that must be
Proud to be white.I am proud to be white.Proud to be white.4 years ago in Free Verse
There I said it.
Why shouldn't I be?
My heritage has nothing to do with myself.
My ancestors have committed no crimes.
They have kept no slaves.
So I am proud to be white.
My family has served in every American war.
From the revolution to Vietnam.
We fought with the North in the civil war.
We cried when Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Died.
My heritage is a part of who I am.
People say that everyone is equal nowadays,
But that's not true
We have the special offers based on race.
Even in the school I grew up in
There was the African-American club,
The Indian club,
The Latino club.
We cant preach equality
Unless we teach people to take pride
In who they are.
I was never taught this
I was taught I had it easier
Because I was white
I was taught
To be humble
Because of what other white people had done
I was taught
To treat others better than I treated myself
Because if I didn't
I was being racist.
I believe without a doubt
That our society doesn't have equality.
White HaunterWhite Haunter5 years ago in Fan Fiction
Okay. This story I'm about to share is very personal, very strange and probably unbelievable.
I don't blame any of you if you don't believe it, and I especially don't blame you if you think I'm crazy, but I can assure you it's all true.
I've only recently really gotten into Pokemon Creepypasta, a lot of even the older stories, like Lavender Town's Tune and Buried Alive are all quite new to me.
Like most readers however, I dismissed these stories, only getting the fun creepy thrill from them that they were intended to give.
However, one story always intrigued me just a little more than the rest. It was the story behind the White Hand. I wasn't sure why, for the longest time the creepy white, skeletal and horrifically detailed severed hand stood out so much to me.
That was until, with surprising clarity I realized it reminded me of the Pokemon Haunter. Not just the Pokemon itself however, but of an eerie incident that happened long, long ago when I was still very young.
See, when I was a
Audubon, Great White HeronBachman's cat would appear to be merely restingAudubon, Great White Heron5 years ago in Free Verse
in the evening sun
if it weren't for the bill speared through its heart.
The Heron is tall as a woman, twice as cruel,
and at least as beautiful.
I brought the bird all the way from Florida
as a gift for my friend,
a pillar of living ivory
to walk among his Magnolias.
But already it's swallowed a dozen ducks,
bitten several children, and now
(the most dire offense) slain poor Francis.
It will be shot and stuffed within the week,
but beasts can't be blamed
for their wickedness.
When it flew along the banks of the Keys,
it snapped up fish with the grace of sharpened wind.
My deckhands would remove their hats
when a flock circled, dove,
and thinned out the flashing tide in an instant.
Even I once gasped at the display.
But a miracle on the marsh
is a crime in the garden.
Even though the animal will die
under trees that are strange to it,
I envy him.
Because my thin brother was hatched
possessing the virtues of a specter,
while I am left clin
White OwlThe white owl opens up her eyes,White Owl5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms
sways her vision to the skies;
seeking out a creature's cry,
through the woods' nocturnal sigh.
In the darkness crickets sing,
far beneath the owl's white wing.
Dew drops to the leaves still cling,
sparkling with a lucent sheen.
Senses alert, she prepares for flight,
hearing creatures near their plight,
she spreads her wings into the night
silent as moonlight, and as white.
Black and WhiteI met him in the sandbox.Black and White6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives
It sits just past the streetlight mamma tells me is old fashioned because it looks more like candy than a stoplight. I don't agree, but I'd never tell her. (she only insults it in this manner after she forgets to look for it and runs a red light)
I was not building sandcastles, or playing house, or pretending to be princess of anything. I was building roadways and mountains and intersections for my little yellow jeep to purr its way over; ignorant of all traffic laws. (Did you know that if you purse your lips and blow, you can grrr just like one?)
He had green eyes to match his green tractor, and we built farms and dug trenches until our little arms were sore and then we planted pebbles while we chanted grow corn grow.
I think I remember her skirts, and the red of her hair, and the twisted rouge of her lips as she yanked him stumbling to his feet and sneered.
She had his green eyes.
I do remember what she said, Dont play with her Michael. She
The White Parade: FinaleChapter VI: And on the Sixth Day...The White Parade: Finale9 years ago in Introductions & Chapters
His heart gives out in the emergency room. Doctors rush to fulfill their Hippocratic Oath. Intubate him first; get him breathing. Get the air in his lungs. While they do that, determine that this is the situation for the defibrillator, then get someone else to wheel it out so they can get his heart working. Charge it up…
The girl screams at the way his body jerks on the table. The heart monitor displays a sudden spike of green, stalling in its sound for a second before the spikes even out again, returning to the comfort of being a flat line.
She screams again. Again, there’s a spike on the monitor; again, it flattens out into an even line. They wonder why she’s still here. Silent messages get sent at light speed, even as thei
Shades Of WhiteNana's hands were like my Sunday best—Shades Of White2 years ago in Free Verse
an ivory kerchief and a blue pocket square;
she used to knit me sweaters,
but the spaces between her knuckles
closed in and made her ache.
Her hands vibrated like the cell phones
she refused to use.
Dad said she was a hassle
and it was costing more to keep her alive
than it would to pay for a funeral-
but I couldn't bear to picture her
ivory skin against ebony caskets
so I hired myself to love her.
She sat at her vanity,
spine ramrod straight
from years of choir
and tight corsets,
and told me stories
of her schoolyard days
as I braided Mother of Pearl
and white feathers
through her hair.
her voice satin
as the pads of my fingers
stroked the folds
of her blouse,
"don't let the world change you.
I promised her, knowing part of me was already blemished
It'd break her heart to know
Though I didn't regret the quenching of my curiosity.
I learned a lot darkening the white:
what I need and w
The White Parade: V of VIChapter V: Four WeeksThe White Parade: V of VI9 years ago in Introductions & Chapters
It’s a month to the show. A month. Four weeks, give or take a day…
“I can’t believe it. Prismacolor markers, pencils…oil paints, turpentine…brushes…” He stares at the bounty with wide eyes. “Where did you get all of this?”
I just grin and set down a bag full of canvases of various sizes on the bed. “I happen to have very good friends.”
Actually, Mac happens to have very good friends. Friends in places an artist can only dream to have friends.
“Are those the…?”
“Mm-hmm. I think someone said something about bringing in an easel later.”
“Really? A-an easel?”
“Mm-hm.” I open the window. A small breeze blows through the screen, but nothing strong enough to disrupt papers. “It’ll be easier than painting on the windowsill.”
“Yeah…” He goes back to staring at the
The White Parade: IV of VIChapter IV: 3AMThe White Parade: IV of VI9 years ago in Introductions & Chapters
“Once again, I can’t stress how…terribly sorry we are about the mishap this afternoon.”
“N-no…no, it’s fine. Honest. I won’t sue unless I develop a habit for the stuff.”
They chuckle nervously. “Regardless… That was a careless move on our part. It could have been worse than a sedative.”
“Is he always that difficult?”
“You mean, ‘Is he always that hysterical?’”
She nods. “He’s never been…that way before. I’ve never seen him like that.”
“Yes, well… Normally we wait until you leave. When you left we just assumed—”
“That I was gone for the day.”
“My camera was there. All my stuff…”
“We didn’t see your things; he must have put them somewhere for saf
Fade to WhiteFade to White4 years ago in Free Verse
Take me to the wild
wide edge of blue
and I shall dream of angels,
arms tapering into clouds,
and women in white
and the moths' soft mouths
that mock my oaths.
I shall sleep among the stones
and the pale trees
that grow beneath the ground -
like giants swallowing the dusk.
And I shall find her
tall and waiting
in the ruins,
the billow of her skirt
her eyes lit like candlemass
against the leaves and petals
streaming through the mist.
White Knight EnglandxReader"I give up! You aren't getting any younger. What are you waiting for? No white knight is going to come along and sweep you off your feet." Hungary was frustrated with you again. You kept turning guys down and she was tired of being the only girl dating out of your group of friends.White Knight EnglandxReader4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes
"Well I'm not waiting for France, who backs me up into the ancient history shelf every time he comes into the library."
"Oh! He does!! Oh my God! I never knew working at a library could be so hazardous!" Hungary gasped at this little bit of gossip.
"All I want is a plain man, a modest man, a quiet man. A strait forward and honest man. And NOT Turkey, with that car of his, the one with the fold down back seat."
"Haha! Did he really suggest that!? Sounds just like him." Hungary giggled at the thought.
"But I'm not waiting for a knight in shining white armor either. " Your tone got a bit more serious and Hungary quieted to listen to you. "My white knight: not a Lancelot, nor an angel, just someone to
White~Your eyes areWhite~8 months ago in Free Verse
The light in a stretch of darkness.
Clarity in the midst
Of trial and distress.
The White Parade: I of VIChapter I: The Patient(s)The White Parade: I of VI9 years ago in Introductions & Chapters
They call him The Patient.
No one is really sure what his real name is, save the doctors and nurses who treat him, I guess—but really, what sort of shitty general nickname is “The Patient” in a place like this? This hospital is full of patients—most of them running out of patience for their diseases and the treatments that are supposed to help them. But somehow… It doesn’t matter who you’re talking to, or who is talking to you; say “The Patient” with the right amount of inflection and people automatically know. It doesn’t matter how they know—they just do.
It isn’t that he’s remarkable in any way. He’s tall, thin—the thinness in him probably more from his treatments than his diet or lack thereof. His hair is so blonde that in some lights people must think that it’s white, or that he doesn’t have any. There is the possibility that some
White Lily GirlWhite Lily Girl:White Lily Girl4 years ago in Free Verse
They say that love is plenty
But mine is simply dead.
She sleeps amongst the flowers
I grew upon her bed...
I wonder if she's dreaming
Of smiles and happy things.
Or playing her favourite game
Of rubber balls and strings...
She used to mean the world to me
But humans took her life.
Oh lord that took my child away
I offer you this knife...
It bears the blood of your faithful humans
The ones you taught to scream of hate...
How many more will join the ranks
Of the damned that I create?
Droolings wrecks and putrid bodies
The ultimate art of sanguine pride!
The dead that groan in utter pain
Will stay forever by her side...
Cut and sewn, hewn and cleft
Made to match like ragged dolls.
Each will be a lifeless guardian
Watching from the bitter walls...
You took my child and stole her life
Now I do the same for you...
Your children now shall bear my hatred
And there is nothing you can do.
Come and drink of water or wine
I shall feed you as I feed
White Christmas Love LetterI'm writing to you from underneath a streetlight, watching the black curve of the asphalt road lead away. Soft whispers of wind passing dark and silent while the rain falls, white music over the rooftop of the world like silk and dust and static in the dusk. I look for the light flooding across the open sky, a red blush that makes me think of you, the rosy hues of your cheeks underneath the soft hush of snow on a Winter's day in Florence. The white blanket's tread covering you like a child with a cloak.White Christmas Love Letter4 years ago in Letters
I want to lay you at my feet with that white Christmas, the soft flight of your heart beating with mine, your chest pressed to me and our hands entwined under the pale oblique fall of rain and ice in the dark. Flowers bloom here for Christmas, but not for me without you. Across the world, the blossoms fade and die with cold, their loveliness more beautiful for that fragile flame, extinguished under a damp, light cloud. A moment lost is precious simply for being a memory.
Here, the air s
Black, White, and Red.You watched me melt into a dark surface.Black, White, and Red.2 years ago in Free Verse
Black paint upon the skies,
Stars sprinkled among the canvas.
Moonlight, shining from the corner of your eye.
Atramentous areas surround me.
Fog blankets the land,
Letters written to me in charcoal.
You’ve painted the world,
Bright lights shining in my face.
Bleached eyes, staring back at me.
A world so empty, so dull.
The silver blade sinks into my neck.
I’ve painted my skin,
Upon my doorstep.
Whispers dance among my
Fire burns bright,
Flames upon roses
And causing blisters along our skin.
Warmth melting into our souls.
A knife slices through my flesh,
As blood drips down my shoulders.
You’ve painted my world, black.
I’ve painted my skin, white.
And I've splattered the walls with red.
(not) white and prettygrandma once told me i wasn’t white enough(not) white and pretty1 year ago in Free Verse
because of my
sunkissed skin and
ankle sock tans.
against all the other a m e r i c a n girls,
a weed against all the roses.
i wanted to—
h i d e behind layers of makeup,
underneath foundation and concealer and blush and
finally have pretty, full, lips that aren’t cracked and bitten and
eyelashes that are way longer than naturally possible.
my legs are too short;
my arms are twigs and
my body like a shapeless cardboard box.
my hair is brown and unstyled,
my face is imperfect,
my eyes lined with dark circles.
i were just a bit paler,
my hair just a bit lighter,
my legs just a bit longer;
maybe, then, i could be pretty too.
i know what grandma was saying when she told me
i wasn’t white enough;
but i don’t want to be another clone,
faceless and shapeless against all the colors of the world.
i’d rather be me:
all five feet, n