Kaiarichan

 She's a diamond, while I am coal. I am the coal, black and boring. Set me on fire while I am alive. Watch me burn, Watch me die. She is the diamond, shiny and attention-grabbing. Lay your greedy hands on the whore. She's there for the looks and money, No real work, She receives the perks. We both wanted him, But I bit my tongue. What a fool I would be to ask for his heart. He sees me as a footrest, Only here for support and only when he needs it, The demand for me is limited. He lusts for her seductive nature, Her glare blinding his eyes, She's tearing him apart with her sharp edges, It kills me to witne

You Have No Right To Live: Hey, what are you doing? That's mine, now give it back. You're stupid, you should just go die! Okay, I'm sorry... What, you failed again? Just how much money do you think we're spending on this, Do you think it just falls from the sky? I can't believe you; and don't give me that look! You better straighten up now you hear me And if you keep looking like a dead fish, I'm going to make you wish you were one. I'm sorry... Hey, being around you is driving me nuts, You never want to do anything, you don't even care, Why bother even breathing if you're going to act like you're dead! I'm sorry! You're Pat

I Am A Writer: Gentlemen, today I speak to you To convey an issue that has plagued the core of our community. For so long have we been considered second-class; To this day there are those who still believe that we are not artists. But today is not about freedom, today is about honour, Because there are many writers that still seek to shame us all... I speak of those individuals, who take art from others. Covers, photos, paintings, digital art, anime and manga. It matters not where you draw your source from, But every action impacts upon us as a community. Why? BECAUSE I AM A WRITER! When I craft my works, when I write each and ev

"Tell me what you think." "Of the poem?" "No, of my face. Yes, the poem." "I was going to say, because your face is just stupid." "Very funny. Read." "..." "What did you think?" "Why did you write this?" "I wrote it for you." "For me?" "Yes." "You make me self conscious when you say things like that." "I know." "I'm not worth this you know." "What does that mean?" "I am half a girl, and I deserve half a poem." "That is not true, and you still haven't told me what you really thought about it." "It's as broken and complex and half hearted as a sad song about the way you feel ink trail between your fingers like it's blood. There

i.                                Tonight is different.  Genevieve pauses, watching layers of fog ascend forward from the darkness.  The ominous mist slinks onward as it settles against her taunt muscles.  Vapor coils along her skin like venom; tangible and prickling. She allows herself timid inhales of February.  Every breath sparks arctic shockwaves through her nervous system.  Glacial streaks echo between her tissues; ever-so-silent, sickening h

 'what are you scared of?' she was too pale to be held against the sun: so she leans against it until you can't see her face. her eyes were chalk-smudges on blackboards, blurred against a backdrop of white-washed walls. her outline was all fade-out and lace, as white as winter could be. her words were quiet like stains are, clinging to a curtain in the window. just trying to blend into the pattern, or at least not become part of it. and when she breathes her chest swells with see-through lungs--hoping that if you focus, you'll see right through her glass skin. after all, she's just a smudge of the wrong varnish in your eyes. she shudders