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Thank You for Being HereThanks for being here,Thank You for Being Here by ~angelgirlartist
standing next to me as my best fellow musketeers.
I’m not easy to be with,
my insecurities and flaws,
making the idea that I’m perfect a myth,
the thought that I have any solid personal laws
false.
Together, we dance our own waltz,
craving out our place in life.
You guys aren’t perfect either,
your sanity changing with every movement of a knife.
I’m your breather,
your sanity.
Our versions of insanity
collides and molds us,
bringing us closer together,
leaving us in pure bless
and not in the cold weather.
Our ghosts and monsters are trying to lock us inside.
I would have died,
if I was the sa
Love verse InfatuationLove is friendship,Love verse Infatuation by ~angelgirlartist
whose bond has grown
to being able to know that you aren’t ever alone.
Love is trust,
built over time to last
even when the god of time’s reign finally pasts.
Love is slow,
safe in a pocket of time,
all its own.
Love is meaningful,
the little things that are truly peaceful.
Love is deep,
faithful whispers to one another,
hearts forever bound to each other.
But love is often mislabeled,
passed off as something that is quite disabled.
The hot pain that leads some to temptation,
which is now called infatuation.
Infatuation is desire,
whose bond is missing,
lost in fantasy wishing.
Infatuation is suspicion,
No OneYou laugh,No One by ~angelgirlartist
you cry,
and no one knows you’re dead inside.
You smile,
you frown,
and no one knows what happens when they turn around.
You joke,
you obey,
and no one knows that this is a game that you are forced to play.
You groan,
you moan,
and no one knows the secrets that you hold.
You kick,
you scream,
and no one knows that you bleed.
Under ConstructionI know I'm not perfect;Under Construction by ~angelgirlartist
there's no need to point that out.
I know my flaws and mistakes,
my shortcomings and downfalls.
But I'm not done yet.
I working on myself,
trying to make myself better than I was yesterday or last week or last year.
Hammering out the dents,
buffing out the scratches,
replacing broken or outdated parts,
adding new pieces.
I'm a work in progress,
barely a rough draft.
Someday,
somewhere in the far future,
I will be done.
All the lines cleaned,
the inking neat,
the colors working together.
Someday I will be complete.
Or maybe I will never stopped being worked on,
even when I'm lying in coffin,
my han
The Real WritersThe Real Writers:The Real Writers by *WordOfChen
There are those who sit with their laptops and tablets,
Clothed in a scarf and an artistic hat of some sort.
They ponder; leaving a stack of books beside them,
Sipping their decaf as though they are literature personified.
Posers...
What works do they prepare, other than blatant copies,
Perhaps a half-baked romance designed to woo a lady.
So convinced are they, of their own aptitude;
They are blinded by the beams of their burgeoning ego.
For the writer is not the man who is tapping away at keys,
He is not the man fervently reading with lensless glasses.
He is not the hipster debating ancient literature.
For he is a monst
Into The Mental AbyssInto The Mental Abyss:Into The Mental Abyss by *WordOfChen
To the edge of the very abyss I have travelled.
With worn feet, gone bloodied and bare;
Dragged upon stones that stretch like sharpened spines,
Leaving tattered spoils of flesh in my wake...
Even so, I am incapable of halting;
Like a zombie, I remain numb and hypnotised.
Shambling ever onward, toward the glimmer of light.
Eager to be behold the 'she' that awaits me:
A wonderous wellspring of inspiration and knowledge;
Perfect, yet fragile, in both shape and form...
It is her majesty, her radiance,
That leaves me drained...
Alone in the depths, I am humbled and awed.
Yet the admiration that I feel soon turns corrupt
Sta.sh
