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He gazed down at his hands, wondering what he could have done...what he should have done. He wished it could have been him, he wished it upon himself in her place...he wished life onto her, wished her smile could brighten his day once more...even for just a moment. He had hoped, at first, that he may have the strength to will it away, to will the sorrow, the guilt, the agony all away but, after so long waiting, his hope and strength deteriorated and faded away as did his smile, his love, his will. It had been six months since she had died and five months since he begun to see and hear her in the house, in the car, in his head. She was everywhere; she roamed the ill-lit hallways in the night, she stood by his bed and wept by his side, she would try and hold his warm hand with her cold hand of ivory and crimson, she whispered to him while he slept and while he worked, and she sat in the back seat of his car, smiling at him with cold, pale blue lips despite the tears always falling down her bloodless, colorless cheeks. She always cried...no matter what she was doing when he saw her, tears poured from her eyes. But, it was the day those tears turned crimson and cries to screams that he lost it.
He could no longer withstand the sight of her bruised and battered ghost, of the blood that dripped from her and disappeared once it fell, of the black, hollow holes that had only recently overtook her beautiful eyes of sapphire. He no longer had the strength to live without her light or with the sight of what she had become...the sight of his sweet, mangled Annabell.
He stood in the basement where all of Annabell's belongings stayed. He clutched the knife in one hand and her necklace in the other. Annabell stood behind him, screaming as blood began to puddle beneath them. But, it was not her's. He carved her name into his arm before plunging the knife into his chest, collapsing upon the floor as his heart beat no more.
He could no longer withstand the sight of her bruised and battered ghost, of the blood that dripped from her and disappeared once it fell, of the black, hollow holes that had only recently overtook her beautiful eyes of sapphire. He no longer had the strength to live without her light or with the sight of what she had become...the sight of his sweet, mangled Annabell.
He stood in the basement where all of Annabell's belongings stayed. He clutched the knife in one hand and her necklace in the other. Annabell stood behind him, screaming as blood began to puddle beneath them. But, it was not her's. He carved her name into his arm before plunging the knife into his chest, collapsing upon the floor as his heart beat no more.
Color in a Monochrome World of Steel -Ren
Yellow rays of heat glared down,
The men in denim high above the ground
With their work boots thumping atop
The skeleton of steel beams.
Oh, but there, lying at my feet
Not so far away,
A splatter of crimson,
A lump of white and denim
Against the monochrome world of steel.
The wind floated passed me,
Like a lonely, wandering ghost
Whispering into my ear,
Carrying the scent of copper
That the puddle of Ruby liquid
Spread through the air.
Wheels skidded to a stop,
The souls dressed in suits and dresses stared.
The sirens screamed,
As did the delicate flowers
Whose dresses floated in the breeze.
Why the surprise?
It happened so often,
The men i
Beauty in Dull -Ren
It poured down,
Like pieces of the sky
Were flaking off and crashing to the ground,
Leaving varying shaped mirrors
Where the strong yet fragile concrete
Dipped and cracked.
The clear droplets fell down endlessly,
Relentlessly,
As though the sky were consumed with sorrow,
With agony and heartbreak,
That its tears would fall forever.
Like glass, it fell and shattered to the ground,
Beautiful
Yet so dull.
It was such a common event,
Yet it was so beautiful
And powerful
Every time it happened.
The delicate flowers in their
Dresses and skirts,
Their heels and boots,
Or in their suits and t-shirts,
Their dress shoes and sneakers,
Duck for cover for
A Beast of What Once Was (poem)
With eyes of hazel, she gazed into the eyes of a beast she knew all too well.
She stared into the eyes of a beast, the eyes of something she had once held onto dearly,
A beast that wasn't always a beast,
A beast that was once a happy, curious child that she kept protected,
A happy, curious child that loved the world and the people in it.
She stared into the eyes of an ugly, dark beast as it decayed slowly each day,
An ugly, dark beast with blood stained teeth of silver,
Like the blade of a knife,
Your reflection staring back at you through the Crimson stains you made.
She stared into the eyes of a beast of what once was,
Remembering
27
This is a bad idea, he thought as he followed the adventurous girl and her nervous younger brother, the group of three venturing through the forest, the evening, warm glow of the evening sun illuminating their path. The girl, Emily Thomas, was seventeen and courageous, if not dangerously so. Her brother, Jonathan Thomas, was fifteen and a bit of a nervous wreck, very bashful and not-so-courageous. Then, there was the third, a boy of twenty, Zeke Watson. It was fall, the evening sun making the leaves of yellows and oranges and reds glow. The three's foot steps crunched the leaves upon the ground, wondering down the narrow, old path. The faint
© 2014 - 2024 Mizuki-ShiBara
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