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Literature Text
Twas a night of screams aimed for the heavens to send a savior that would bring them through. Whilst this occurrence came, laughter erupted like the volcano of blood that now washed across the carpet. In this happening, the corner of the chamber held a little girl whose smile was so innocently merry. One would have guessed she shut her mind down in denial, but the right mind would see her glee as she drug her hand across such drenched carpet. Inside thoughts so young was the happiness that her little bedroom now held the rich color of red she had already dreamed and asked for.
In celebration that evening, the little girl of five sat at her tea table of a dry brown. With her, were her comrades she called "friends". Mommy and daddy could never see her friends - they saw them as well as they understood their daughter's love for the shades of red. But now, they had fulfilled her a dream. And so they dined, the children did, with teacups in hand as they drank the blood of their victims.
In celebration that evening, the little girl of five sat at her tea table of a dry brown. With her, were her comrades she called "friends". Mommy and daddy could never see her friends - they saw them as well as they understood their daughter's love for the shades of red. But now, they had fulfilled her a dream. And so they dined, the children did, with teacups in hand as they drank the blood of their victims.
Literature
La caja (algun dia)
Tirada en el patio esta la caja, sin etiquetas ni marcas, una simple caja. Todos pasan, pero nadie mueve a la caja, estática e inerte percibe los pasos, esos pequeños murmullos que la hacen recordar que no está sola y aun así el abismo continua.
En todos sus años de caja esta ha estado cerrada, pues ningún hombre ha decidido hacerse cargo de la solitaria caja, la cual carga con su contenido en el exterior; una caja inversa quizás será.
No tendremos remedio que contar que esa caja olvidada por todos más presente no podría estar, es el ombligo del mundo. Tras de ella se esconde la línea qu
Literature
The Muse
Down in the dumps
Beyond what I have been before
Depression: what a great Muse.
Literature
Escrtito #2 que te dedico.
Ya mi mente envenenada con tu persona ni siquiera puede recordar la razón del por qué estos sentimientos tan destructivos que siento por ti. Ni siquiera sé si tienen sentido mis palabras, cuando hablo de ti me siento como una loca enjaula. Mi locura es el amor que me provocas y mi jaula el deseo que no sacio. Me siento como una estúpida porque me tienes a tus pies y lo sabes, lo sabes porque mi actitud incontrolable te lo demostró. Hay algo que si recuerdo, aquel primer día de clases, aquel sol de 8am que encendía tu pelo color caramelo, aquella mirada profunda atrapada en el vidrio de tus lentes, las vuelta
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I made up the last line as a quote, and decided to write something to match along with it. It was inspired by a picture of a cup of blood I found (I lost the link to it, though).
Comments3
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Very eerie. I like it