UntitledI once lived in a small village. It was peaceful, pleasent and a quiet place. If you were quiet enough you could could hear the music of flutes, ocarinas and the soft singing of children drift through the air.The houses were decorated with the prettiest of pink, red, purple and white flowers. Children and dogs would play on the hills and the elders would tell stories about brave knights, fierce dragons, creatures of the night, powerful wizards and kind little creatures that flutterd around and granted people good luck.Even in times of storm or war, we still banded together and helped each other out. We would craft mythical creatures and small game pieces with wood and explore the forest with out children.It was perfect, and now I watch the village from above, hearing the children's songs no more and seeing ashes, ruin and the bones that were once mine.
an insane look of loveShe had hair, like that of a waterfall of bloodEyes like the bluest of blue seas, with charcoal in the centerNails that seemed to shine like stars, in the blackest of voidsA voice that was sweet and fragile, but also bitter and coldShe was the creation of a demon and an angel.He had a face of pale snowEyes that seemed to see through ones soulAnd clothes stained with blood as if it were punchAnd a knife, although worn, still shone like that of a fireflyHe is the definition of insanity.These two should’ve never metFor chaos would follow oneAnd death would soon follow the other.