Rivalkyrie

Steady, steady steps. One at a time. We are progressing slowly, But some day I think we might get there. If all else fails then there will be none. I'm not sure. I have no idea. Not a clue. What the inner workings of your mind are all about. Nor do I understand the concept of me. I have admitted to lying to myself. God knows how many times. I have never, in nature, been a liar. But sometimes it's much too easy to be betrayed By anyone. Things fold into unpredictable consequences. It's not abnormal, no! You can't always trust your instincts. One can't be completely right. Occasional greetings and short conversations, Do you think we are steeri

Literature is dead, But there's no memorial. Literature is dead. And so am I. Why are they getting blamed? Bury it in a grave that was built in five minutes, With no decorations carved, And no symbols Honoring its vast accomplishments. Therefore no one will know Why it was ever a legacy. Contribute to our cause, if you'd be so kind. None is too small. Let's keep them alive, Although no one will try. Do it all the time, But it's so rare. It's a long lost art, But the others are greatly appreciated. Literature is dead, But there's no memorial. Literature is dead, And I died with it.

It will never be perfect, No, not even with practice. As I take a good look at the world, The passion is beaten right out of us, But mostly me. Because I know you won't listen, For you are already indoctrinated, And it's too late. It happens all the time, regardless, Whenever words are spoken. We are broken, But can it be mended? Good is not good, But bad is terrible. What else is there to do? Especially when we're all blind. True, an eye for an eye makes the whole world that way. This is what you humans do. And it can't be helped, And I'm sorry to say. I haven't breathed, ever. Reincarnate, For I still don't know how to live. But it can't be

The storm continued to vent its temperamental rage on the earth and its people. What an outsider would consider 'nice weather' was completely unheard of. This was the regular routine of the weather, and no one seemed to mind it. Stranded alone in the heavy rain was Ice, a tall tomboy female with bold lavender eyes. Her white strands were cut up into a rebellious bob, silk to the touch. These features were accompanied by pale skin, which bore much resemblance to the coloration to paper when compared to the ink black schoolgirl uniform she often wore, but did not favor. Upon her shoulder Ice flung a black pouch which applied weight when put on

Who are you to get what you want? Who appointed you to play us by the strings? We are all our own, Thus, some things the human race is an anachronism for. If this is to be the solution, Then so be it. If that's the case, Develop Contribute, And allow. We're all human, Let us decide. One should not be reprimanded while the other is praised For the same action. Don't gain weight while we beg and miserably starve! If you keep at eating instead of sharing, You'll break the scale and lose yourself. Keep it at balance, As I know it's hard to tame. Release, But don't throw plastic at our faces. It depends on you, Keep it running smoothly, Leader, as

It's getting harder and harder to breathe My tears have drowned my solitude in rivers I'm sorry, Belle… You wanted more and more Nothing could happen No one benefits from putting things off until the next second and the next Now it's too late That could've been me, the elegant figure in the mist with a superb posture, ready to impress all of you aristocrats. I'm sorry, I apologize! Draw me to the front where I supposedly belong All it is that I do is weep near a porcelain doll I wish I had skin like hers. Everyone has something I don't have I can't, I just can't I'm sorry, world… I'll leave on your silent demand!

All she does is mourn herself, frequently extinguishing vacant sorrow that will never be gone, All in the form of frigid, harsh liquid drops emanating from the eyes that can no longer look ahead. Ah, the poor girl. And she lashes out on innocent souls who mercilessly make poor attempts to assist the crippled pneuma. She is alone, for not a hand rises as she questions if anyone is aware of what lies in these sunken depths of hers. Her biting, ruthless exterior, Is all they can see. But her interior is obscure to them. She awaits the day she is a brittle, senile citizen, not as young as she was. It’s lamentable, that life, But if it’

A garden of fantasies, Jam-packed with love and lust. It was like two matches made in heaven, And I was left to decide. Let me tell you the story of my fantasy, A stand over the duration of a few days, But only lasted the night. The pure fragrance of roses filled my nostrils, And became the centerpiece of my heavenly mood. I had first met an ol' friendly mate. We knew by exchanged glances and short-spanned conversations, That we may have found out that all humans are split in the middle at birth, and don't know until they find their missing parts. It's not for sure, oh no! For we didn't get there yet. Three marks on the side of my fist. I had

A butterfly born without wings, I continue to helplessly watch the others. Flutter about, Close together in groups. I fancy the day, I am able to soar like the rest, Spread my vibrant wings, And be free for life. Freedom will be mine soon. Some are on my side, But sadly I am not alike to them. Such connection Is what I see among you all. Sometimes it is love that drives you, Or it could be life, for I am not aware. Just like you, I have a motive. You do not understand, However this concept may soon be gone. In a few years, I hope to have wings, So I can glide up to your level. All beings are different, I'm sure. Maybe I'm not such a bitter ex

The old shovel, And that old garden of the past. That worn out hose, And my teddy bear. All covered in dirt and dust. How could I ever let that spider crawl there? I used to play outside when I was little, I fell off that tree once, and I cried in pain. I'm going to pull that dead leaf off, and keep this tree living. I throw it somewhere, Where did it go, I don't know. Little children step on the leaf, making a crackling noise. A duet with my heart. I once stepped on a dead leaf like that one when I was four. I didn't quite know what it was for, why it died or who pulled it off. As we run in circles on the backyard concrete, There is always a