prussiancrimsonheart

Warning!! Slight Blood/Gore! I'm lying here, Pain evident in my features, Will you help me? Groaning in pain, Convulsing on the floor, Can you help me? Bloodied hands reach out, Willing you to help, Will you help me stand? In a pool of my own blood, It is soaking into my clothes, Are you too disgusted to come closer? I hear you walk away, Slowly but surely, Are you going for help? You never returned, You left me for dead, But would you have returned if you knew my secret?

Sadness is dark blue. It smells like the rain as it hits your face and you finally realize where you are. It tastes like the blood that comes from your lip after you bite it while weeping. It sounds like the sobs that escape your parted lips without you noticing. It feels like getting hit by a runaway train that you couldn't have known was coming. It looks like fear in the sense that you never see it coming. Sadness is being ripped in two.

I feel like falling apart, Am I going to lose this friend, The one I cherish? We have been slowly pulled apart, Arguing and yelling has become too common, How can I keep us together? She has been there for me always, We helped each other through so much, How long will it last? When will she leave me for good?

Mary walked gleefully down the street. She always loved going to the town library.  It was her favorite place to go to as a child, and now as a 32 year-old she still loved it.    Many people thought it was silly.  Mary was smart enough without her books, but to Mary, she could never get enough of them.  Mr. Linden was one of the few people that agreed with Mary, he had loved books almost as much as she did and believed that no one could ever read too many books in their lifetime, for this reason they were friends.      As Mary opened the door she heard the familiar sound of the tinkling chime and smiled.  She walked into the small buildin

Love the feeling of the wind on me Love the way it whistles in the trees Close my eyes so I can only hear The wind keeping me from moving from there Open my eyes to see the majestic trees Of brown, silver and green The ravens speaking around me See their black in the green leaves Oh, how I love it here In the whistling forest where the ravens call

I see the raindrops run down the window They match the tears rolling down my face Hot salty tears fall into my lap As I dream of my lost loved one I wish I could have back

I look at the calendar hanging of the wall. Today is the day that too many people is unlucky, But to me it is the best day that I could ever hope for, Friday the thirteenth. The best day for my type of work. As I walk into the dark chambers under my house, I notice my long black cloak billowing out behind me. After the long spiraling staircase I see my caldron, Already bubbling with the power from the unholy day. As I walk over to the boiling pot, I grab the necessary ingredients for my spell. Today is the day, For today is Friday the thirteenth.