kidko123

Hardened eyes, conflicted with violence, blades unsheathed— Shake. Wary footing, wavering will, danger ahead— Quake Blade on blade, steel on steel, skill over conviction— Mistake. Slip on stone, a sword an inch too long, break in concentration— Blink. Blurred vision, blood liberated from skin, regretting decisions— Think. Pride laid to waste, life cut short under blade, coloured dreams gone grey— Slain. Heart split apart, hands turned skyward, knees to gravel— Pray. Pray for the prideful life that's lost: by man thrown away in vain.

I'll put her together, piece by piece, as artfully as she was made. So that, though she and I may forget, to you her life will be conveyed. -------------------------------------- Startling clear eyes, a subtle penchant for lies, and an orchid in her braid. Profound and profane, hair like lion's mane, time spent in a room, dim, dark, and tame, no light to be seen, no hope to be held, no black and white message, only grey areas of life— and apparitions of hell. Imagination roaming, background din droning, by latex hands in her bed is she laid. Personality passes away, identity disappears in a day, every memory lost, and where there

Remember when your older sibling was your superhero? When all you did to get ready for school was eat a bowl of cereal, no make-up involved, and the only gossip you would hear would be about how Johnny broke his arm, from climbing that big oak tree in the school yard. Remember when the basement would be a dark chasm, home to demons of horror? (Well it still sorta is...) When the biggest problem you had was forgetting how to tie your shoes, and all you had to worry about was being able to remember the way home? Yeah, I miss that too.

I think I should get out more. It's not really easy though. Who knew fluorescent lights could be so captivating? Well, maybe, it's not that I don't want to go out, or that there's nothing out there I find interesting, but maybe I'm just, I don't know... ...scared? I suppose a blue painted sky does seem more open than white plastered ceilings. I think I should get out more. ————————————————————————————————— I think I should be more of an extr

Don't you ever feel that you're just stuck ? As if you want to move, but there's nothing for you, anywhere, to move toward. I guess it's just one of those things that you can't really fight, can you? I mean, I've always just waited it out, whittled away while I bided my time hoping for something to come along something I could look forward to, that would put an end to such vapid, tasteless days spent simply surviving. I suppose unless I'm doing something working for something I'm only ever just surviving.

11pm. He's riding a bus that he didn't even know ran this late. He's sitting, next to a she, a she he knows he shouldn't love, but one he can't say he doesn't. She's leaning against him, hair draped on collarbone, asleep; it'd been a long day. He felt the warmth of her hoodied head pressing against his shoulder, and he rested his head on hers; all he wanted to do was to hold her close and stop time in its place. But it kept going. They came to their station. And said their goodbyes. And she gave him a kiss. And he was happy, but sad, because he was just too realistic; too grounded to fly, too earthbound to dream. He knew that the mag

She's in the kitchen, at the counter, and she's holding a couple of knives. She didn't know what they were "technically" called; she just thought that one of them was a boning knife, the other a carving knife. She scrutinized both. The carving knife was longer. So she decided to use that one. Plus, she personally liked the word "carving," because that's exactly what she'd be doing with it. So, while her parents sat on the couch and watched the results of the provincial elections roll out, she sat behind them, in complete silence. She put the smaller knife, which she still had, against her chest and pressed; she felt a slight prick not unl

For Valentine's Day, among other things, she gave me bookmark that she had sewn together from a few pieces of cloth. I really liked it. I never used it, though. It was really cutesy, with a little fluffy tassel right at one end, that I loved; I would always play with it. I preferred playing with it rather than actually using it. I really should throw it away. I can't, though, and I don't know why. I wonder if she threw away what I got her. I think I almost sort of hope she didn't.

Dance puppet, dance, move to the will of your master. Jump marionette, jump, jump until you inevitably drop. Despair slave, despair, because this existence is all you'll ever know. Hide from the whip, flinch from the cane, all this suffering; enough to drive you insane. Bend to the whims of your aggressor, as there's nothing else you can do. Because with the Devil riding on your back, Heaven's out of reach, for you.

Mother, Father, please stop shouting. Mother, no matter how hard you try, you can't hide that thinly veiled rage beneath your voice. Father, I hate how you don't even try to hide the hate tampering with your tone. Mother, I can barely understand Chinese anymore, but I can still hear the spite behind your words. Father, don't you know your torrents of anger can't be held back by our paper-thin walls? Mother, I can hear you cracking up. Father, I can tell your patience has gone. Mother, Father, can't you see? You're slowly, surely, killing me.