livvlush

if the wind is cutting you so cruelly and if the snow is tickling your ears i think it might be fair game to let the tears go and just let the wind blow them away.

when i wake up, i want a thrill. i want to have spiders crawling on my bed lamp, my roof to be gone and the sun in it's place, to wake up with a sweet boy, whose name i've forgotten already. after i die, i want someone to figure out all the passwords to my accounts, and post a lovely statement covering my death. so my online friends won't worry, or say that i've abandoned them. when i'm older, i want someone to know me. i want someone to find my sites, eat my words up with their eyes, i want someone to take so many photos of me, that i feel pretty, i want someone to remember what i say, and repeat it back to me when i'm sad

smudges on the mirror old mascara meant to impress somehow i look past them to the fingerprints you left on me the ones only i can see

we spent the night wandering through the evergreens of wonderland somehow, you never let go of my hand succumbing to animal instinct with one wanton glance i spent the night flying intoxication bending the laws of physics the world won't wake 'til six we're parallel to the horizon with our wicked little dance you spent the night lying so dependent on hidden looms i'm reduced to last night's perfume a mess of triumph and regret lost my head in this game of chance now i am spent the sun burns holes where you touched fine in the moonlight, now it's too much in bed at home, i wake up alone the aftermath always lacks romance

    A thousand chattering voices envelop her as she takes her first steps into the cavernous hall. Though the acoustics of the venue permit no reverberation, breathless exhilaration echoes, and waves of excitement wash over her. The floor is sticky with history - years of sweat, tears, blood and alcohol that constitute the earth and atmosphere of this heavenly place. She pushes her way through the crowd, trying to get as close to the front as possible. She watches black-clad workers hauling equipment onto the stage, the effort engraved into their faces, tension captured for a few moments on perspiring foreheads.    As she stands, static in

In all honesty, you're on my mind And I don't know what to do; For if I tell, you'll want to stay, And I'm no good for you.

     There comes a time in your life when you have to be strong and my time has come.     You listen to me spill my heart out & it never changes with you.     You say sorry than you act the same but , this time you went to far.     I am not perfect neither are you but , I don't you to be perfect.     I want you to call me beautiful when my hair is in a messy bunn and I have no makeup on.     I want you to stay on the phone with me and argue with me when I say Im fat and you give me the silent treatment.     I want you to stay on the phone and listen to me sing and even though I know I suck , you say it's amazing.     I want you

When your logic forcibly speaks no, yet your heart is screaming yes, and their energies collide within your head in such a fashion that it feels like your skull is about to not-so-spontaneously combust, What do you do?

I find myself staring into long gone eyes, only to all at once realize: It's me with no life to fuel me forward. Eyes drawn tight and dry constantly trying not to cry. The light to give me the glow of life is long gone. Now the mirror reflects a pale face with apathetic eyes. An empty shell, what more? To be a puppet pulled by stings attached to the hands of enemies, that is life now.

In a certain region of Japan there is a tiny forest shrine, up a winding dirt path and nearly hidden in the trees. This shrine is the dwelling place of a much-revered kami, or local deity, and this is its story. A village once stood at the edge of the forest. In this village lived a man who farmed a small plot of vegetables and flowers to sell for his livelihood. He tended to his plants with the concentration of an ascetic monk, and so few of the other villagers suspected that he was in fact very lonely. His only real company was the sunlight, the rain, and the great numbers of butterflies who came in the springtime to settle on his flower p