Wonderful Everyone! Wonderful!

this is one of my latest songs, i wrote this Basically a few seconds ago.
So forgive me if it seems utter chaos, I usually review them and change things over a few days, but I’m going to post it now so I don’t just save it and forget to post it here later on.

everything's alright when i'm with you (yeah i'm really creative with names!)

What the hell am I really waiting for?
Used to shut them out now open up the door.
Am I becoming all I used to laugh at?
Why can’t I keep up the tough girl act?

Do I really know what I’m doing now?
My minds something I still can’t get around
As hard as I try to think like I used to
Have I really thought about what I’m going to do?

So don’t shut me out, come bring me in
I’m drenched in confusion to my skin
It doesn’t make sense when I’m alone
But everything’s alright when I’m with you

Don’t keep me out in my own grief
Don’t let me fade to what I used to be
Too long I’ve forced my self to be alone
But everything’s alright when I’m with you

So what the hell is a few years?
You know with me it makes no difference
You’ve broken me down, reduced to tears
But I can’t survive with out you here

I realise this could all go horribly wrong
But I’ve been a good girl way too long
They can train me for all I’ll ever need
But some mistakes have to be found out by me

So don’t shut me out, come bring me in
I’m drenched in confusion to my skin
It doesn’t make sense when I’m alone
But everything’s alright when I’m with you

Don’t keep me out in my own grief
Don’t let me fade to what I used to be
Too long I’ve forced my self to be alone
But everything’s alright when I’m with you

And I can see it won’t be easy
And I can see what I’ll have to give up

But before was I ever really happy
I really don’t want to make this stop

So don’t shut me out, come bring me in
I’m drenched in confusion to my skin
It doesn’t make sense when I’m alone
But everything’s alright when I’m with you

Don’t keep me out in my own grief
Don’t let me fade to what I used to be
Too long I’ve forced my self to be alone
But everything’s alright when I’m with you

I reminisce of times long gone
When the calls for prayer began before dawn

And from their homes the faithful would walk
And about our achievements Humanity would talk

I would reminisce of times long dead
Where a Muslim can hold high his head

From Spain to China and beyond
Many discoveries we have found

I would reminisce of times long forgotten
When our leaders were not so rotten

When they stood to defend and protect
And with their laws the Earth, they’d never neglect

I would reminisce of times long ago
When our people, to evil, always said no

Against the Darkness they fought
And the love of the Light they taught

I would reminisce many times a day
When I would see people, with their blood, pay

Yet they pay for crimes not of their own
And yet they are called infidels and blown

I would reminisce of the days of Islam
Where people greet each other with a hearty “Salaam”

But now you see fighting and killing
You see hating and blood spilling

These are not Arabs or Muslims
Nor Humans for that fact as well

They are demons and devils disguised
Bent on dragging us to Hell

i think we all wish the hate and pain would end, wether arabs or not.
great job Black_Barook!

Great job Black_Barrok! I feel the same way about the pain and suffer.
Ok I remember a thread that used to be on here but got deleted during the forum revamp but it was about poems but it was for school for somebody sorry I can't remember at the moment but I made up a poem I was bored and wanted something to do I just added more to it just now lol.

Oh my life is weird but not interesting just yet,
But I laugh when you gamble then lose the bet,

All those times I've tried dreaming and couldn't seem to make it true,
When I was a child my favourite color was pink and now it's blue,

Why did I just make this up so I could laugh and mabye you would too,
But please don't think I'm Sanjaya so don't boo,

I like it when I hear police siren sounds,
Just to know that somebody's butt got caught and is on the ground,

Listen to the birds in the morning,
Sometimes when they wake up to early they can be annoying,

The Russian language is awsome want to say something?
"Вы только што назвали себя идиотом по-русски.",
("Vee Tolko shto nazvalee sebya idiotom po rooskee.")

Oh my did I just hear you say somethin'?
"You just called yourself an idiot in Russian.",

Yup! You said it I did not,
Don't go to slow or to deaf tone or you'll sound like a robot,

What else can I do to make this longer,
hmmmm....Keep eating raw eggs it'll make you stronger,

Ok I ran out of things to say,
So go leave and throw rocks at me at the bay,

Oh don't reply to something from Nigeria wanting money,
Even if they sound as sweet as honey,

So listen up people of the world,
I am just one crazy girl.

I hope you'll get a kick out of that.

There are some really dark poems and short stories here! I love it! :D

Here are a few of the poems I wrote when I was an angst filled teenager!!

The pain of your heart
As it moves through my mind
When the darkness descends
And your name makes me blind

The blood of your kiss
As it enters my soul
When the darkness creeps close
And you move for your goal

The heat of your gaze
As it covers my skin
When the darkness is all
And I finally give in

----

Melancholy is my master;
No other have I now.
And all alone with my own voice,
My heart still beats somehow.
To love again? I cannot know,
Nor yet to understand.
How fickle fate could treat me so,
No love to take my hand.
And all alone is me I fear
forever, and tomorrow –
Is all the same, an endless game,
For all I have is sorrow.

(Yeah...I'd just been dumped!!)

-----

You come to me in total darkness
I bow my head and call you Lord
You hold my blackened heart immobile
And tear my soul upon your sword

The depths of death rise up to meet me
Cut off my hair and give me wings
The claws of demons keep me earthbound
My thoughts are dead and lifeless things

The ticking clock where time is nothing
My total silence full of screams
The endless years of hopeless wantings
The shattered cries of broken dreams

You come to me in times of blackness
And close my eyes against the light
You drag me closer to my ending
So come to me and take your right

Inside this dark I’ll live forever
I’m shackled now – completely yours
My core is evil, tortured, twisted
I love you now but you’re the cause

I feel the ground come up to meet me
And taste the earth upon my tongue
You take my hand we go together
Back to the dark where we belong

...wow I was depressed back then! (And very into vampires) I always wrote my best poetry when I was unhappy though!

Like I told you, you caught his personality perfectly, SSChan. I absolutely adore your style of writing. :o

Wrote this when I was in a bad mood...


Fuck you, fuck me
Fuck the birds and fuck the bees
Fuck all right, fuck all wrong
Fuck the point of 'going on'

Fuck the trees and fuck the grass
Fuck the first one, fuck the last
Fuck the earth and fuck the sky
Fuck the 'who' and 'where' and 'why'

Fuck the black and fuck the white
Fuck the daylight, fuck the night
Fuck the broken, fuck the whole
Fuck George Bush and fuck Bob Dole

Fuck the early, fuck the late
Fuck all love and fuck all hate
Fuck the reason, fuck the sane
Fuck the pleasure, fuck the pain

Fuck the seeing, fuck the blind
Fuck the voices in my mind
Fuck the ones who don't belong
Fuck the one who wrote this song

I'm sorry, but I just could not stop laughing at this. I'm saving this.

Oh my god! I love it. I can't stop laughing. It's amazing. :D

Oh wow Linn, that's pretty neat :'D

Everyone here is AMAZING. Funny I've never seen this thread before :/

Anywho, I'll post some of my mediocre poems once my Creative Writing teacher finally gives us back our journals. ._.

After seeing a lot on the news about domestic abuse, I was inspired to write this. Hope you enjoy .

I Deserve This

You hate it when he comes home.

When he’s gone, it’s not so bad. The shame lessens. The guilt fades. The pain dulls. When he’s gone, you can convince yourself that you’re something you’re not. You can convince yourself that you’re something you can never be. When he’s gone, you can live with yourself, if only for a little while.

The coming home is the worst part. It’s not the drinking, it’s not the constant demeaning, it’s not the beatings. No, the worst part is watching the monster you can’t help but love come through your front door drunk and angry, stinking of sex, vodka, and a woman who isn’t you.

And when he shouts your name as he always does, you can do nothing but wrap your bathrobe a little tighter around your battered and bruised frame in search of the comfort no one can provide. You can do nothing but hide from him and hope that maybe the beating will be a little less severe tonight even though you know you deserve it.

Because you do deserve it.

You know you do.

The rational part of you, the part that so very rarely comes to light, tells you that you’ve done nothing to warrant such punishment. But deep in your subconscious, buried in the core of your very being, you know you deserve it. The painful beatings, the incessant drinking, the knowledge that he’ll never love you like you love him… you deserve all of it. You deserve all of it twice over because you’ve failed.

You’ve failed to provide the love and support he needs. You’ve failed to be there for him. You’ve lied to him, you’ve dreamed about someone other than him, but most of all, you’ve hated him. You’ve hated him and for it, you hate yourself.

You deserve it more than anyone else ever could.

It’s how you console yourself every time his fists come down. You repeat it over and over again in your head like some cryptic mantra, the words only serving to remind you of your numerous mistakes and all that could have been if not for you.

I deserve this.

But every time he comes home, every time you see the disappointment and the rage in those vivid blue eyes that remind you so much of your disappointment in yourself, you can’t help but wonder. And, as much as you hate yourself for it, you can’t help but hope.

How many times is he going to do this to you?

How many times are you going to let him?

And every time you dare to hope, every time you dare to think for yourself, you beat it back down. You’re not going to tell anyone, you’re not going to so much as think about leaving him- you deserve this.

I deserve this.

So when the door slams against the wall and he stumbles drunkenly into the house, bellowing your name and throwing furniture until he finds you, you refuse to hope. And when he finally finds you and begins to shout at you for your innumerable flaws, you refuse to protest.

I deserve this.

And when his fists begin to rain blows upon your body in the same places they did the night before and the night before that and the night before that, you refuse to think about what could have been different. You push the hope down and you refuse to protest.

After all, you deserve this.

Wow, Rabid, that was deep. Real deep. So to post right afterwards, comical shrot sotry.
-------------------------A Fairy Tale
Once upon a time in a far away land, Westminster to be precise, there lived a girl named Boberta. Boberta was very unhappy so she decided to run away from home. Or at least run away until lunchtime when her mother was making hot dogs and she simply had to be back for those. So she set off in the woods in her back yard with only a rifle and some potato chips, just in case she got hungry.

She strode off into the woods and walked briskly for a few hours, until she realized that she had no idea where she was. She considered lighting the woods on fire, and then she would be able to see her house, but she decided not to, because she had just put on a spray on tan before she left and she suspected that excess heat might make it run. Deciding that she was stuck in actually having an adventure, Boberta loaded her rifle and set off looking for a trail, a goat track, an interstate or anything along those lines. She walked for another few hours and was growing sick at heart at the idea of missing the hot dogs when she found a path paved in yellow brick.

Grinning she strode down this road and thought to herself, “I will follow this yellow brick road! Hey that sounds like a good lyric for a song.” Unbeknownst to her it had already been done.

So Boberta continued down the path until she came to a pair of ears floating along the path. Intrigued she poked the ears with her rifle, and was startled to find that the ears turned into a really ugly guy with big feet and a desperate look. Unsure of what to do, Boberta said to the man, “Hello.”

The man looked at her like she was an idiot, and answered, “Do you know who I am you brat! No you don’t do you? I am the person they should have cast to play the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland, but they didn’t! They wanted a cat, that could leave all at once or just a grin! Well I can leave and at once and I leave my ears! So there! Ohh, so much injustice.”

Boberta looked at this poor bitter actor and then ran away because the man had scared the bejeezus out of her. She checked once more to make sure her rifle was loaded. If the people around here were anything like the Cheshire man, she would want a gun. She continued down the road and decided to keep on this road until she got somewhere even if it was just a shepard’s hut, because then she could use the sheep herder’s cell phone.

Finally she came to a huge tower sitting square across the road and blocking her path. Boberta wandered around the circumference of the tower and finally discovered the only way in, a long braid of yellow hair. Since the tower’s curtain wall blocked her progress she had no choice but to climb the rope of hair. However Boberta was not in the best of shape and she got tired ten feet up and had to rest in a tree. But after what felt like several hours of climbing Boberta came onto a great shelf and very nearly threw up.

For Boberta had not been climbing someone’s hair, she had been climbing up someone’s braided mustache. A very, very large someone who she woke up when she said, with her voice rising to a shriek, “Oh spit! I was climbing up someone’s filthy mustache!!”

It turned out that “someone” was none other than the king of the giants, Billy Bob Sam Bob Jones Redneck Name Stealer, more often known as ‘Sir.’ It also turns out that the king of the giants has objections to teenage girls with smelly nail polish and spray on tans crawling all over their faces. So Boberta had a choice, she could sit quietly and be eaten, or she could run and hide. She ran.

Sir boomed out, “Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum, I smell the blood of an Englishmun!” Boberta breathed a sigh of relief, she was descended from the Russians, so it couldn’t have been her he smelled. Sadly for her, Russian blood and English blood smell the same to giants and when she went out of her hiding place to steal some of the giant’s food, he tried to kill her. Terrified, Boberta ran for the window and swore with amazing eloquence as she realized without the mustache braid she had no way down the tower.

But Boberta, not being very bright, decided she would rather fall than be eaten. (It wasn’t very bright because in a poorly researched story like this one she would survive in the giant’s stomach. But she didn’t know that.) So she leapt from the window and spun around and around and finally landed on a wild moose, which she ended up squishing. Her fall broken, Boberta looked up and was annoyed to discover that the giant had followed her lead and leapt from the tower. She was even more annoyed that another moose had appeared to break his fall. So she did the only easy and effective thing, she chopped the tower in half so that it fell and squished both the giant and his moose.

The tower had torn a hole in the wall on the road and Boberta kept walking. Finally she came to a house in the middle of the road with a sign in front that read, “Wicked Witch of the Plagiarized Names-Keep Out.” Joyfully Boberta approached the house and found no one there, just a plate of apples with a sticky note on it that said, “Poison Apples for Snow White- Do Not Eat or sister will laugh head off again in an annoying way”

Boberta was starving and she didn’t have a sister so she fearlessly bit an apple. (Spoiler alert*** Shocking thing coming up in three words) She promptly passed out.

She awoke a little later to find a chubby older woman in blue poking her with a wand. Seeing that she was awake the women sat down next to her on the floor. Boberta scrambled onto her feet and picked up her rifle, if this woman was poisoning apples, she might be dangerous.
Boberta cautiously said, “Hello.”

The woman looked at her long and hard and then replied, “I think you know who I am.”

Boberta looked at her and the answered honestly, “Nope haven’t the faintest idea.”

The woman gave Boberta a look that seemed to say, what a flipping idiot, but she only muttered that under her breath for which Boberta was duly grateful. Once she was done mumbling she said, “I am Cinderella’s fairy godmother, and she absolutely hates Prince Charming. So I need a dummy to take her place while she runs away.” Boberta had a nasty suspicion of where this was going so she pulled out her rifle and shot the fairy godmother and then ran down the yellow brick road as fast as her feet would take her. Unfortunately, as I said before, she was not in the best of shape and she got exhausted after 400 yards. Even more unfortunately you can’t just kill the fairy godmother, otherwise women’s rights activists would have done it ages ago. Honestly what are those people thinking? Cinderella is not a brainwashing device! Sorry I’m getting off topic.

So now Boberta had a very angry magic wielding creature pick her up, and throw her into the back of a pick up truck to take her to marry prince charming. She was unceremoniously forced into a white dress that she could barely breathe in and then given so much choclate that she was so sugar high that she had no choice but to marry Prince Charming, who she could not help thinking was kind of good looking.

But Boberta decided to take a page out of Cinderella’s book (or is it a negative out of Disney’s Cinderella?) and run away whenever she could. Well included with the uncomfortable dress were a pair of uncomfortable glass shoes. Boberta proceeded to crack the glass shoes over the prince’s head when the fairy godmother had to go to Washington to respond to allegations that she supported the war in Iraq. She then stole the godmother’s pick up truck and went down the yellow brick road.

Then after several hours the pick up truck broke down and Boberta could be heard miles away swearing at the unpleasant stench left when one tries to substitute a skunk for gasoline. Grimly she set off down the road contemplating shooting the next person she encountered to prevent another unpleasant or smelly adventure.

She decided not to though when she came upon a sign “Village of Bulletproof Vest Manufacturers, Pop-1200.” Maybe someone in the village knows where Westminster is she thought, and she strode into the village and came upon a pair of stockinged feet with red slippers. Boberta having noticed how everything turned out like in a movie, pried off the slippers put them on and clicked her heels together three times. Nothing happened. Then she recalled how in the wizard of Oz Dorothy had to say what she had learned in Oz. So she spoke loudly the precise words of what she had learned, “Burn the stupid woods, Burn the stupid woods,” and clicked her heels together three times, and she was back home.

Perhaps the saddest part of this story though, is that Boberta did end up missing her mother’s hot dogs, and had to have fish-sticks for lunch instead.

ha ha
Everyone your poems are amazing. I will post some of my poems and short stories on here soon.

This is a story I had to write for English this year. Sorry if it's too long.



Day 1

I looked around me, taking in the sight of the burning plane parts for the first time. The noise of the crying children sent shivers down my spine. What had happened? I asked myself. I looked to the nearest couple who were just as shocked as I was. It then hit me. I remembered the pilot’s shaking voice as he announced we were going to crash. I ran to the young couple and helped the woman up. She was pregnant.
“What happened?” She asked me in a whisper.
“I don’t know, but we have to find as many people as we can and get them to safety. Especially the young children and pregnant women,” I answered.
The man came with me to help round up the children.
“Where are your parents?” I asked them.
The eldest looking boy answered.
“We don’t know. We were separated from them when we crashed,” he replied.
“Follow me then,” I commanded to the group.
They all followed me. People say that children are supposed to be happy and loud, but they were the complete opposite that day. The silence was unnerving. I guess that death has that effect on people. There were so many bodies lying around even I was beginning to feel queasy.
Whilst we were walking I got to know the man with me and he seemed familiar.
“Have I met you before? What is your name?” I asked him.
“No, I don’t think so. I can’t remember your face from anywhere. I was christened Oliver but now I’m known as Michael,” he replied.
“I’m sure I know you from somewhere Michael,” I urged.
“Well, I don’t remember you so just drop it ok?” He snapped back at me.
“Fine,” I said turning away from him, moving to speak to one of the children.

I caught up with the oldest who seemed to be about 16.
“Hello, who were you here with?” I asked him.
“My father,” he replied, not looking at me.
“I’m sure he’ll be ok,” I said to him.
He looked up at me with teary eyes.
“Yeah, he will. He’s a fighter,” he said, turning back to the rest of the group.

I lead the group through the thick underbrush, pulling back the branches as I went.
A young girl about 6 years old came over to me and hugged me. I’m not used to affection. When I was 4, my mother abandoned my older brother and I, leaving us in the cold to fend for ourselves. We were put in separate foster homes and I was told that my brother killed himself only 3 years later when he was 14. Now 23 years later, I’m 30 and he would’ve turned 37 this year. He was my idol, the one I always looked up to. Then when he committed suicide, I had no one. My foster family didn’t care about me. I ran away when I was 16 and fended for myself in a homeless shelter, scabbing food out of bins when I could. I considered doing the same thing that my brother did, and take my life. The only thing that stopped me from doing it was the fact that I met my best friend Shayla at the shelter, and she talked me out of it.

”Tia, where are we taking these children?” Michael asked.
I turned around and scowled at him.
“You want to know me now, do you?” I replied.
“Yes. I’m sorry for the way I acted before but I assure you, we’ve never met before.” He said.
“Well, I’ve decided to take them inland. There might be a chance that the others took off into the bush before the rest of us came round.” I said.
“Oh, ok. That’s a good idea,” he said, agreeing with me.
“I know,” I said, flouncing off.

We rejoined the children and kept walking. About 2 kilometres from the coast we stumbled upon a hut, which seemed to have been abandoned for many years. Michael and I went inside for a closer look. It smelled musty, like something really old, yet put away into a safe place and never taken out.
There was a bed in the corner. I went over to investigate and I pulled back the sheet. There looking up at me was the skull of a human.
“Argh!” I yelled, jumping back from the bed.
“What is it?” Michael asked, coming over to me.
“A-a s-skull.” I stammered.
We walked outside, taking the children as far away from the hut as we could.
We made camp that night under the dense trees near the beach. The children slept in the middle with all of the remaining adults on the outside.


Day 2

We woke up to the sound of screaming. Michael’s wife was going into labour.
“Tia! Come and help me!” Michael yelled from beside his wife.
“But I don’t know what to do!” I exclaimed.
“It doesn’t matter! Just help me!” He pleaded.
“Ok, ok,” I said.
I rushed over to her, ripping my jacket off as I went.
“When did your contractions start?” I asked her.
“I don’t know, but it was a while ago,” she wheezed.
“Ok, we need to keep you comfortable and then when you feel it start to come out we need you to push real hard for us,” I said.
“O-ok,” she choked out through tears.
She started to push.
“Arrggghh!” She moaned.
“I didn’t ask you but what is her name?” I asked Michael.
“Arnaya,” He replied.
“Arnaya? You are going to have to be brave now and push really, really hard.”
“I can’t push any harder!” She yelled.
A screeching sound came from the end of Arnaya. Her baby girl had just entered the world. I wrapped the baby in my jacket and handed her to Arnaya.
“She’s beautiful,” I said to her.
“Thank you so much Tia, we couldn’t have done it without you,” Michael said to me.
“I’m glad to help. I can’t wait until I can settle down and have children,” I said.
“Well this can be the second best thing. Say hello to your niece,” Michael said.
“I can’t be her ‘aunty’, I don’t even know you guys properly,” I said to him.
“But you are. I am your brother, Ollie,” he said, “remember when I told you I was christened Oliver? I thought you would’ve clicked after you said you knew me.”
“B-but they t-told me you c-committed s-suicide,” I stammered.
“Is that what they told you? I wondered why you never came to visit me anymore.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when I thought I remembered you?” I asked.
“Because I didn’t know whether I wanted it to be true or not. We’d been separated for so many years; I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”
Oh my God I thought to myself. I’ve wanted my real brother to be alive for so long and now? He’s different to what I remember.
“Are you ok?” Michael asked me.
“Y-yes, I’m fine,” I said. ”What are you going to call her?”
“Mia, the ‘ia’ after you, and the ‘M’ after my darling husband,” Arnaya said, finally getting back into the conversation.
“Aww! That’s such a privilege! Thank you so much!” I said.
“It’s the least I could do after you not knowing Michael for so long,” she said. “I hope that when we get off this Island we can still keep in touch.”
“Yes, I’d really like that. Where abouts do you live?” I asked them.
“We live in Geelong,” Michael said.
“I live in Melbourne with my boyfriend. Maybe you could come down every second weekend so that Mia gets to know her real aunty,” I said.
“Yeah, that would be great,” Michael said.
“Little Mia,” I said tickling her cheek.


Day 3

There was a buzzing, like that of a helicopter. Bright lights flooded the beach.
“We’re going to be saved!” I heard someone yell.
There were cries of joy as people ran around trying to gather up their possessions.
But then I realised that it was not a friendly sort of buzzing. It was coming nearer and faster as if stopping was never an intention. I think I saw it first. The Iraqi flag on the side of it. I saw the bullets being fired thick and fast. This time it was cries of pain and terror. Then the finale fell, the bomb that would wipe us all out. I was clinging to Mia as hard as I could, Michael and Arnaya had already been hit. I kissed the top of her bald head.
“I love you Mia,” I said.
The darkness was instantaneous.


Please tell me what you think.

Anybody Russian speaker here:S? I would pay for a cool poem in Russian

Don't know where that come from...

This is a random piece of writing I played around with. It'll never make it into my novel, but I thought it was interesting enough to post here :D

"Goddamn Rain..." Briar muttered as she pulled her hood up and pushed her thick black fringe from her eyes as she walked down the deserted street.

It was weird, seeing Macbeth so empty. In a town of ten thousand or so to see nobody on the street, it was eerie.

But Briar was used to eerie. It seemed to follow her around. She turned the corner, shoving her cold hands into her pockets and letting her eyes sweep from one side to the other. The traffic lights blinked to herald the change from stop to go. But there were no cars. The shops were all shuttered and locked.

The curfew. The police chief, O'Toole, had just about banned everything from going on after the sun went down. To keep people safe.

Their families safe.

From the monsters.

Monsters like the ones who killed and maimed three people not two days before. Their last victim was in hospital, in a coma.
Briar found the girl, unconscious, her legs pulled apart, panties and jeans in shreds. The creature had raped her, before braining her with a brick and leaving her for dead.
The local news station said it was a suspected serial killer, in their little town. Briar knew differently. She knew the signs, ones she had seen hundreds of times before.
Telltale bites to the neck, the paleness.

It wasn't a serial killer. It was a vampire. And Briar already had his scent in her nostrils. Like burnt leaves and wet earth, it floated before her like an invisible river which caught her in it's flow.

She took another deep breath, and shut her eyes.


He'd been here only ten minutes ago. Briar send tendrils out, trying to hook his mind. She caught a flash of copper hair and the feeling of giving flesh beneath strong fingers, but he shut her out as soon as he realized he was being probed.

The mental slap, which once would have made her cry out and fall to the ground, merely tickled. She grinned, the fading surprise of her mystery foe amusing her.

"I'll get you," she whispered, knowing he could pick it up. "I'll get you and enjoy beating the shit out of you..."


I didn't realise it was that short!! :O

you guys all rock :D. It's not that easy to write poetry.

here´s my uhh, well I think it´s bad (I posted it on my deserted blog...where all my poetry is labelled BAD :P)

Reflecting rainbows
The blinding white from which you were born
The shades of green as you grew
The warmth of red as you loved
The happiness of yellow when you laughed
The hardness of blue as you lost
The paleness of pink as hope returned
The dept of purple as you aged
The sad grey which became your hair
The absensce of colour in your eyes as you died
The white to which you returned