Cold and forgetful.
She's not designed to feel
the words of cryptic ink
that make me..me.
But, she's kind and loyal.
She's the best that she could be.
Not quite a mystery,
but not an open book either.
She keeps on running,
lost, confused and stunning,
through the world that doesn't care
about her failures and her hidden love affair.
But, she knows that she always has a place with me,
our souls are the same, brilliantly lost at sea
with that wicked smile and mysterious glow
and a fragile, cold hearts like icy glass and snow.
Losing to a rugged heart,
As cold and gray as the sea...
Tangled together like twine,
The barbed wire of fate
Has only gruesome things in store for us;
Digging like razors into my coffin,
Where you have sealed me...
Tell me, are you really that callous, that cruel?
Deep down, I know you felt a flicker,
The faintest, tiniest hint of emotion,
You buried it deep within the abyss of your soul,
Where your ink black heart would keep it safe;
And it dwells there,
Within the prison you so lovingly designed for it,
Never able to escape...
Making the one who saved us into a demon,
While the martyred tyrant runs free;
There isn't any justice in this world...
Never once have I allowed myself to become deluded,
Never have I let myself be led astray;
Yet, I saw fit to absolve the truth,
Plucking it tenderly from the depths of cryptic riddles,
Like picking raspberries, kissed by such warmth...
There is a reason
Nostalgia feels yellow, like the su
When really there aren't two sides to it,
There is only the coin, spinning forever,
Wrapping you in its coils,
Fabled serpent of time biting its own tail...
I n t h e L a b y r i n t h o f t h e
T i m e n o l o n g e r e x i s t s,
A n d i t a l w a y s d i d...
Everyone is capable of both halves,
Yet we fight for an invisible dual nature,
When really nature cannot ever be harnessed,
You will know that yo
the countless mysteries lurking
within that stargazing sanctuary,
like the temple of Athena Nike.
Vanquished by supple light,
it burns with candles of old;
torches of an ancient story
that once consumed the soul.
Entralled by cryptic writings,
it speaks of a natural poetry;
notes muttered unto God
that dances in the wind.
Among achromic columns,
it flows with curtains of silk;
the previous playful maze
of two humble lovers.
I am breathless when I peer
into that restless dwelling.
And how it still remains
under the dark...
They are programmed not to stray
Rebellious circuits need a spark
Shadow actions show dismay
The treasured glass must be maintained
Counterparts are bound to clash
A nightmare train rides rails of dread
Your fragile windows it will smash
Worlds slow as shards rain down
Freedom gusts bring winds of change
Your walls so clear couldn't show a thing
Looking back it seems quite strange
Each danger line pulls you two ways
Mental safeguards blunt the shock
Who would have thought it might not hurt
Surprised hearts tick like a clock
When the hammer falls the cracks will spread
Surging ripples spread like wildfire
Preset perspectives act like chains
With them freedom you can't acquire
Biting and fighting with words and roses.
Ripping pieces and layers of
naive hearts, miserable hearts.
Give them emeralds, black pearls and
amethysts to heal those jaded souls.
Cryptic minds and seductive shapes.
Mysterious smiles and dark, purple lips.
Sweet, sweet words with a bitter aftertaste.
Out of madness straight into heartbreak.
Route 209 was not one of Sinnoh's more memorable locations. The only frequent visitors were those paying respects to the departed at the Lost Tower and the occasional quiet fisherman.
But every once in a while, with no warning, someone would stumble across a wild Vulpix. Sinnoh News Net would be ablaze as reporters and trainers alike clamored for their own sighting, while tourists looked on in amusement - the little fox wasn't so rare in the other regions. A few hours later, it would start to became apparent there was no second Vulpix to be found.
One reporter surveyed the trainers and fans as they tromped about through the grass on one such occasion as if they were on an Easter Egg hunt. She grabbed the arm of her cameraman and homed in on one trainer that seemed to be taking his time with the search. He steadied the camera and set up the shot as the reporter approached her hapless interviewee.
The man looked to be in his mid-twenties, with short brown hair and gr
Sent the lion
To the wardrobe,
So she could
c h a n g e...
But in the end
She found that
She had changed
r o t t e n...
The witch holds
A knife behind her back,
Holding onto her inner chaos
Until the end of
t i m e...
Desolate, and cold,
The hungry lioness
Trudges ever onward
Through the freshly fallen
s n o w...
It's cold here...
is worth all of the marbles
children roll across
oxygen molds itself
in my nasal passages
and my eyelids
turn to stone.
sweep sanguine across jawlines
white opals showing
iris irresistibly irregular
mishapen and carnal
canine corpses gnashing teeth
at my earlobes
taste victory on your lips
and defeat on my breath
my name is godiva
under your serenade
as i crawl through
this seraglio reeks
with freshly planted
wreaths in a body
of herbs not made
craft boxes full of poison
a siren stone vault
filled with decomposing sanity
painted with enigmas
hang the walls with fruits
born for masscre
crack each and decipher
how your mouth aches
carnage in the trapezoids
made for rats,
the peaches drip
solemn and solitude.
the culprit radiates
a familiar gloom
in the crook of the neck
a contortionist spine.
let arachnid crypts
spill destruction across the floor
your veins lay ajar
Pausing, carrying me through the fire,
Over hot coals of malice and contempt...
Your feet have become singed,
A blackfoot medicine man...
There's something radiant
Within your only eyes,
Long since dead, and all anew.
Separate sinew from bone,
The high priestess calls...
From deep within hallowed wood,
She looms at the edge of the thicket...
It comes and has gone once again...