Angels Can Love GhostsWe were just strangersMore Like This
One helped the other
An Angel helping a Ghost
I was the Angel and you were the Ghost
But Angels and Ghosts don't fall in love
No, but somehow our eyes met
And the connection of them grew tight and strong
We knew we couldn't get pulled apart
I remember you laying there dying on that bed, but surviving
and I was the one to check on you
You looked peaceful when you slept, soft when you talked
I don't know why, but somehow, I felt like..
I just don't know.. Like as if you needed me more then anything
And to that day, we fell in love once we talked more
As you recovered, we felt the need to go out together
And as the love grew more, we became more..
And now, I'm happier more then ever
Because now, we both prove Angels can love Ghosts
No matter what.. <3
To fall in love with the idea,It's been a thousand days and we part.More Like This
Your heart will never be mine.
Not again, it won't.
And I regret every second,
every second, I tell you,
of how I neglected your existance,
and fell in love
with the idea of someone else.
"We'll never make another memory."
I share another lifetime in another timeline,
my galaxy is yours.
I could never be enough,
I will assume that's what hurts me the most.
I assume too much, don't I?
Lover, don't I?
No, I have it clear we'll never be one again,
we'll never be anything again.
It hurts, hurts like a motherf_.
Any feelings sha
Love itI feel your hands in my hair.More Like This
I feel your breath on my neck.
I feel your body pressed so close to mine.
I feel your lips on my throat.
I feel your hands move to my back and your lips work their way up to mine.
I feel you and I love it.
I hear you say you love me.
I hear you whisper my name.
I hear you tell me I'm the only one for you.
I hear your breath in my ear.
I hear your soft snores as I fall asleep.
I hear you and I love it.
I see you as I run into your arms.
I see your face break through my world of darkness.
I see you fight away my fears.
I see you wipe away my tears.
I see you're in love with me.
I see you and I love it.
I taste your lips.
I taste your tongue.
I taste your throat as I kiss it.
I taste your love.
I taste your passion.
I taste you and I love it.
I smell your colone as I hold you.
I smell your shampoo as I hug you.
I smell your toothpaste as I kiss you.
I smell your excitement as you cuddle me.
I smell the smell I've been waiting so long to smell.
I smell you and
13/13 Commission SaleMore Like This
On Friday the 13th in June, the only one in 2014, thirteen slots will open for 11x14 pen wash monster sketches!
Anything keeping with my general aesthetic works. Classic monsters, creepy cute stuff, horror icons etc. Comic fans got lots of choices too. Superman? How bout Bizarro? Spider-Man? How bout Hobgoblin? So on and so forth. Batman pretty much always works.
Subjects not limited to character number. I price by size and medium. So one figure will get more detail in an image than say five will in one. Same for backgrounds. Be as specific as you like, but it'll all get filtered though my abnormal brain!
High quality paper, warm and cool tones, for $85 each. Free shipping US, $10 shipping everywhere else.
I'll have a space available in the online store starting at 1300 hours (1pm) June 13, 2014. First come first serve. No excuse for missing out this time!
Stars"The stars are out, the stars are out!" I shout gleefully, dancing through the door. Stillness comes as soon as I lay my eyes upon that beautiful night sky. I grasp my neck but soon release it to let my hands sift through my hair and stretch outwards. Still looking up, I spread my giddiness, "To each of you I will tell a story!" The proclamation joys both speaker and listeners.More Like This
"A story, a story" they repeat. "Tell us, what is a story?"
I cock my head and squint at the tiny beads of light. "Do you not know? Men have told stories for as long as you've shown in the heavens!" I dance a bit more.
The stars smile with all of their compassion, "So few of your kind speaks to us rarely can we hear your words."
I nod, "Then hear me now, a story is the greatest invention of all of mankind's achievements!" then a little quieter, "and to each of you I will tell a story." My face shines once more.
"But we are as many as the blades of grass that grow upon your earth, such are our numbers that
The WriterHaunted by blank pages,More Like This
My mind reels to pick the perfect pretenses.
To utter despair.
To be a writer is to be a storyteller
or word weaver,
I have no story, no stories
I hate endings.
And I have no loom for penstrokes
No fancy threads for my
Fairy TalesThere's some endingsMore Like This
to be discussed
some bad rendings
to be trussed
a fairy tale
where the villain doesn't die
to please you and I
But one day
those endings end
far far away
is too much a trend
hap'ply ever after
loses its touch
has said too much
The Dawn of LegendThe Elder sat gingerly in the rocking chair next to the roaring fireplace. The flames crackled and danced merrily behind her as the stiffness of the day leeched away and warmth spread throughout her weary bones. The atmosphere of the Mousehole Pub was always welcoming and it was wonderful to be able to rest there after a hard day. The rain pounded roughly on the window behind her, worrying the kindly old lady over the children still stuck out there doing their chores. It was dark and muddy, no time for kids to be out. She sighed heavily whilst rocking back and forth in her chair as the landlady brought her the usual spiced cider with a smile.More Like This
"Rough day Sophie?" she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Only the usual Miranda" the wisewoman replied rubbing the bridge of her nose to dispel the onset of a tension headache "people have too many worries, if only they could see how trivial much of it was…" she sighed again losing herself to her thoughts.
"Ahh…I see none of the urchins are in y
Under the eye of the SphinxCHAPTER ONEMore Like This
Under the shifting sands of the great deserts of Egypt one wouldn't have expected to find a complete retinue of armed men, women and complicated excavation equipment. Nor would one have expected to discover the secret chambers that dotted the earth beneath the legendary Sphinx.
There they were in all their glory, miles below the surface of the desert, full of soldiers and trucks, priceless artefacts and harsh spotlights that cast white beams across the dusty old rooms. Some of these rooms were massive, hundreds of feet across and they echoed dully to the sound of footsteps and barked orders.
Every cavernous room was piled with electronics and digging tools, boxes and boxes of crates marked with a familiar symbol, one that had no place in the modern world. It was made famous by some of the best films of the era and now in 2006 a fresh coat of black paint illuminated the swastika in all its sinister lines.
Highly polished jackboots clicked in a staccato rhythm as armed guards
Under the eye of the Sphinx p2CHAPTER TWOMore Like This
The water hit him hard like a hammer, it knocked the breath out from his lungs almost but he swam down towards the slowly sinking woman. She was like a dead weight when he got to her; he wrapped her up in his arms and began to haul towards the surface.
Anubis' Scion had greater than human strength, one of the many perks of his unique parentage and whilst his father would be displeased that he was attempting to wrest someone from his loving arms, he knew that Talibah's survival would increase his own.
He was about half way to the surface when he felt her shift, her eyes opened and she stared at him. The woman was smiling damn it, she almost grinned under the cold clear water. Solomon's eyes went wide and he let go, broke the surface of the pool and spluttered to the side where he'd ripped up the grating.
Talibah lifted her head above the water and shook it, she moved quickly towards the edge and out of the pool before Solomon could question her. She spent a could minu
Kofi AnwoorIt is for this reason I have sat at the feet of ancient poets whose mediumMore Like This
is the village square and the market place."
In the small farming village of Wheta, not far from the sea in Ghana, a son
of a tailor and a chieftains daughter tried with his pen to capture the
rhythms of his people. The rhythms were vernacular, reverberating between
the word and the physical de
letters and cold lasso-swoops of language. Raised in Wheta, the poet left to
search for an education in the universities of the cities over seas, in New
York and in London. It was there that he found the outside world's written
word, and found also his quest in helping it.
He tried with these stories, these legends, these beats, and patterns of
sound, to fill back in and flesh out the written word of the world outside
his birthplace, which he looked at and saw anemic, bare-boned, paper-thin
and pale of pigment like thin milk. He tried to reunite the written word of
the world with its forbearers, to which, in the dia
Anyan: Chapter 2Chapter 2: The Rise of the StorytellerMore Like This
The tired father walked into his home, an unusually wide smile on his face as he placed his coat onto the hanger and greeted his wife with a kiss on the cheek.
You look happy, she commented, a mimicking smile crossing her own face as she turned away from the cooking and towards Gonol.
He smiled an answer, but turned his head to one side in playful reluctance to agree. He was about to speak when his daughter bounded into the kitchen, her arms wide for a hug. Hey there! he greeted Nama by taking the child in his arms and throwing her up. Youre getting heavy! he commented with a groan, still smiling wide.
He put Nama down, who proceeded to run around the room like a bird in an aviary, and turned back to his wife, Wheres Anyan? he asked.
Tolaka frowned in confusion to the unusual question, as she turned back to the bubbling food. In her room, she said slowly, Shes upse
Jerk Your Strings- Chapter 1As the sun began to set, two figures approached the small village of Weston. One was tall and broad, the other somewhat shorter, with the same build.More Like This
Suddenly, a smaller figure, a girl rushed out to greet them.
"Brothers! Guess what?" she exclaimed, dancing around on the the spot.
"What is it Synnove?" asked Dyre Vidar, the taller figure, scooping her up and placing her on his wide-set shoulders.
"The Innja is back!"
The Innja, was the travelling storyteller, who walked across the lands to find strange tales.
The inhabitants of Weston all crowded into the main plaza to hear his tales. Whether fact or fiction, he always had one to enchant his audience with, male or female, young or old.
The trio of siblings hurried to the center of town.
"I wonder what he has to tell this time," wonder Wray, the other figure, aloud.
"Whatever tis, I hope its good. He's been gone for a whole harvest cycle," remarked Dyre.
Soon, they reached the gathering, in the center on top of a cart, sto