I love ParisEt retrouver le murmure de ParisMore Like This
Emue de sortilèges
Sous son manteau de lumière crue…
Station nulle part, un corbeau noir
Juché sur les toits de verre
Qui déploient leurs ailes transparentes
Sur les quais sinueux,
Nous regarde, moqueur.
Paris est une belle qui se raille,
Ses jupons rouges cachent cent vies,
Et sur ces trottoirs,
De laides bourgeoises,
Et des noirs fiers comme des paons
Croisent le chant des espagnols !
Paris et ses ivrognes qui dansent sous la lune
Quand le matin blêmit,
Paris qui s'abîme en Seine,
Lorsque la lune se pend
Aux réverbères scintillants,
Paris, où des sans âme
Où des sans toits dorment blottis
Sur le Boulmich dans des cabines
De téléphone où rien ne sonne…
Je vous l'assure,
Sa voix friponne, encanaillée
Et Suraiguë, ne ressemble à aucune autre
Et je sais la voix dense de ses quais enfiévrés
Où jamais l'été ne s'éteint tout à fait…
Paris, et moi, qui funambule,
Accrochée à ses basques
Comme à une courtisane
Dont je connais les fards,
Mais qui ne peut
You and your breakfastWhy are thereMore Like This
so many titleless poems
and no poemless titles?
Well, here's one.
On being insecure.I am very afraid of putting myself out there. This is the main reason behind all my procrastination. I always have being afraid to put myself out there.More Like This
It just seems a lot safer to stay in my own little world were every character knows me and loves me because I told them to. I don't really know why, but something just made me so afraid of people.
Maybe afraid isn't the right word. I'm really not "afraid" of anything. I'm insecure, doubtful. I second guess myself and all my choices in life and all the things I like and all the things I don't. I think about all those things at least five times before I press "send". I preview everything to make sure it is perfect. No typo allowed. No mistake can be made.
Well, if I make a mistake than people are a lot less likely to like me. Who likes flawed, failed, dumb, stupid humans? I mean, who likes real humans, right? Because we all have our flaws and we all make mistakes and nobody is born knowing anything so at some point you have to m
Prince!EnglandxPrincess!Reader: The Beast PrologueYou looked down from the highest tower in your castle. It seemed like everyone, even your servants, had at least one companion. At least one person with whom they could let their guard down. You however, you were above friends and silly companions. All that had been left behind the second you had used the spell that had turned you from an ugly human into a beautiful beast.More Like This
This is your story, one that tells of the impenetrable walls around your heart; you, the beast.
All is Repitition and Vanity28 January 2005More Like This
This is a poem I wrote not because I was depressed but because my parents were studying
King Solomon in their bible class.
All Is Repetition and Vanity
Another day begins with the rising of the sun
She travels up, like an arrow from the bow been shun.
Then down, of course, it is gone, day is done
Once more the horrible repetition has spun
To the furious seas the raging river flows
Then up to blue heavens the water again goes
Then the grey sky, his dark cloud shows
Finally back to the streams, another cycle man knows
The wind goes from east to west forever on course
Never to any destination to arrive despite its force
Perpetually across grassy fields like a rampaging horse
One more monotony to hold us in remorse
When man is born first thing from the womb he cries
Then as from his childhood he comes hell rise
Hell grow another generation comes he sighs
Eternally doomed to death, he is old and finally dies