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7 Deadly Sins: EnvyShe glared at everyone that came close,
Wrapping her arms around herself.
There was another person, and another;
All of them passing by without a second glance.
But she stared at them,
Studying everyone that walked by.
Something caught her eye
A gorgeous blood red gown.
'Why can't I have that?'
She thought with a growl.
A man passed by
A beautiful watch adorning his wrist.
She growled low in her throat,
Turning away from the sight.
She kept going,
Ignoring the green eyed monster.
'Why can't I have nice things?'
'You can't because it's just who you are.'
Her thoughts answered.
'What am I then?'
She saw another person with something nice.
you are envy.
7 Deadly Sins: LustWith low cut dresses,
And sensual smiles,
She makes it known
That she is 'available'
She wears only revealing clothes,
Her one intention to tease.
Every man wants her.
Every girl wants to be her.
But while she is 'available'
She lets no man touch her.
She stings them along
Making false promises.
Giving out fake phone numbers,
And false names.
She is never seen in the same place twice,
Yet every man seems to have seen her.
The story is always the same though
For every man she visits
She leaves them
In a fit of lust.
7 Deadly Sins: WrathHe clenched his fists
And took deep breaths to calm himself.
Today was not this man's day.
Everything that could have gone wrong, did.
An idiot cut him off,
His boss fired him.
He got kicked out of his apartment,
And to top it all off, his girlfriend dumped him.
The man could feel his chest boil
All these other people
Were idiots to him.
He wanted to rid the world of them,
And leave only himself.
He tried to relax,
Only to feel more anger rise up.
He was mad at the world,
The idiotic world.
He had filled himself
7 Deadly Sins: SlothMaybe just five more minutes.
Everything will still be there in five minutes.
I just want to rest
And not do anything.
All this work and worry
Is so tiresome
Why should I worry?
When I can relax and sleep.
Responsibilities mean nothing
All I do is rest.
Everything is bothersome
I think I will wait five more minutes
What's the worst that could happen?
I'll ignore the tiresome things,
And become a sloth.
7 Deadly Sins: PrideShe walks down the street with grace,
Knowing all eyes are on her.
Cat calls and wolf whistles,
Followed her everywhere she went.
Confidence radiated from her
All the other girls jealous
She smirks at their jealousy,
Not sparing them a second glance.
'These people aren't worth my time',
'I know I'm better than them.'
Her smirk grew.
Suddenly she stopped,
It didn't take long for a man to walk over.
'What's a beautiful girl like you doing out here?'
He said. She basked in his attention.
The man smiled
'You got a name beautiful?'
She felt herself grow stronger with all the attention.
She answered, a feral grin gracing her face.
7 Deadly Sins: GluttonyIt all tastes delicious
Each and every thing.
More of this, more of that,
Oh I definitely want a piece of that.
Food, delicious food,
Nothing ever tastes bad.
A dollop of jam, a slice of cake,
Nothing is ever enough.
It's all so good,
I need more.
The empty hole.
The never ending hunger.
I need more
More, more, more,
FreedomUnder crystal light
she tears at the purple cloth,
trying to make the perfect shape.
Her design is messy,
but it's better than nothing,
as strings of fabric are everywhere.
Her hand holds the shard
while at her neck the chain bites
always keeping her attached,
to the cold hard ground.
Her beautiful butterfly design
flutters away from her,
yet her hand remains stretched before her
in a constant wish to have it return.
Her violet eyes never leave
the freedom that her butterfly possesses,
but only one thought
constantly goes through her head:
I cannot be free
but if one of us could,
I would wish for it to be you.
To give you,
the freedom that I can only dream of.
PrisonerI go through the motions every day
With a smile on my face
I try to avoid
Those wearisome things
I'm supposed to be happy
Because I have a great life
I want nothing more though
To go in my room and cry till I can't breathe
Somebody help me
Someone save me from myself.
Everything weighs me down
Someone help with this burden
I'm a prisoner
In my own life
I'll tell you the truth
If you would only ask
Even if you don't care
Stay with me
Stay by my side
And don't leave me alone
When I'm alone
Things just get worse
I'm just a prisoner
A prisoner in my own life.
If tears left scarsSalt flavored tears fall
staining a delicate face.
She weeps and she doesn't know why
it's just what she needs to do.
Her tears do more than stain
her delicate face though.
They mar her skin
leaving its permanent mark.
You can cry all you want
and the next second,
just brush them away
as if nothing happened
Tears leave more
than just stains on skin
they leave scars.
leaving its dark crack
on your heart.
If tears left scars
would your face be?
is your heart?
Writers"Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me"
How many times have we heard that?
What a fool that person was indeed for creating such a lie as that
Sticks and stones do break bones and words cut much deeper than a knife
Words go where no weapon can ever dream of reaching, our very soul
Words move us, inspire us, bring us down, create hate, create love.
Words can destroy just as easily as they build
Bring life as easily as it could death
Give hope and in the same second despair
Words can change the world for good or evil.
It is the job of writers to wield these weapons with care and maturity
We speak loudest with just a whisper
And quietest with just a shout
We create and nourish worlds for those who still believe in good
We open eyes and minds and hearts to the world around them
We become a beacon, and sometimes that beacon goes out
We forget what it is we do for this world and forget that we must tend to our gardens
We forget we're human and make mistakes
My Requiemlike reaching into dark waters
Is the risk in loving you
I am blind as to what i might pull out
This is my Requiem
It is my masterpeice
my symphony & my
Let it be mine,
Sing for me, as they bury me
in the flag that i fell for
And let it coarse through the veins
of my enemies, so red-handed
in their ways
My name will be carried in your hearts
As a light to be shined in the dark
And as something to fill the cracks
in your bones, when you fall
I do not fear whats comes my way
I will walk to the Afterlife with my head high
Come Hell or High Heaven
I did not die before my time
because there is always a time to die
DeathI have been dead for fifteen years yet he asks me to kill again.
Can he not see that he is all I have left?
Can he not see that he is the only true father I have ever had?
Why does he ask me to do this to him?
Why can he not leave me to my misery?
Why do I have to have more blood on my hand?
I have already killed one love, why do I have to do it again?
My soul is already torn into a thousand tiny strands, why add another blood red strand?
I know I am saveing a young man's soul but why me?
Have I not done every thing he has already asked?
Have I not already thrown myself into the lions den for him?
Why does he do this to me?
I do deserve this for being the single cause of her death,
I will do this but please forgive me Lily I have no choice.
I have killed the one man who has shown me any true kindness,
I now patiently wait for my only release
Screaming my name out loud
can you hear me now?
Pounding on the air above
Trying to get my name out
I am who I am today
And I want to let it out
Show it to the world
Scream it into the ground
Hoping to reach out there
To a land foreign to me
Where no one can get me
It's time to scream and shout
I'm proud to say this now
No one can take me down
Hand in hand forever
Screaming, who am I now?
Breaking into a new me
With a heart and a soul
Breathed into what I write
Showing off, till I scream
Laughing at what I was
So dead inside of you
I know I love who I am
A loud mouth with a name
A name you won't forget
I'll be the queen bee
Of the world out there
Showing off who I really am
A chick with a heart
And a soul just for you
I'll scream it out loud
I am who I say I am
A Writer Like GodI could understand how hard it would be to be God.
Hard, what do you mean? Power supreme, the ability to do anything. What could be hard about that?
You're thinking about it all wrong. Rather than think about what you can do, think about what you have to do. God has to start from scratch, make every little detail. The infinity of things he has at his disposal are really just an infinite number of decisions he has to make. In a lot of ways writers are like God...
Oh, you're just saying that to be clever.
No, hear me out. Imagine this moment was just a scene in a book. For us this coffee table exists, but for the reader it doesn't until it's mentioned by the writer. He has the responsibility for every scratch of furniture in my apartment, to address it for everything it's worth. You and I just take it for granted, and so will the reader unless the writer upholds his end of the bargain.
I don't like it. Comparing a writer to God is a little
Why?It's like a game to you.
You hurl those stinging words at me;
Did you know they burn like hell within?
Why must you make this place a living hell for me?
Everyday I have to come,
I have no other choice.
You're always there waiting for me,
To try and push me off the tight rope that I'm walking.
I hide my fear by singing.
I feel so alive and feel like I can do anything.
And that's the only time you respect me,
When I show my talent inside.
You spread rumors about me,
Yet you know me not.
Why do you hiss at me so,
Like a snake about to devour its prey?
You hide just out of sight,
You're afraid to face me.
Why are you afraid?
What can I do to possibly harm you?
All I do is pray for all my enemies.
I pray for their conversion,
And try to love them all the same.
So take your best shot,
Try and knock me down.
But with the Lord on my side,
Nothing will slow me down.
My pen and ICareful thoughts and many words
my pen and I do weave,
from the shadows, from the depths,
the darkness told to me.
Darkness growing ever closer,
as the time goes by...
I stay awake to keep away
the darkened dreams that rise.
ChurchShe has never orgasmed because every man who has touched her never meant a thing. And she has panic attacks because she never wants anyone to be inside her again or try to love her again because something is broken, impossible to mend.
The holy water is never in her reach when she needs it.
She fills her lungs with smoke as if to suffocate, to smother her brain so she doesn't have to exist. She confesses her sins to paper because she's afraid of priests and judgment and reconciliation.
Since everything ended the sign of the cross is more intimidating than swallowing the pills. She hasn't been on a proper diet, hasn't had the bread or the blood since the holidays. The hymn book is neglected, her Bible unopened. Remember to breathe, remember to breathe, though she has a phobia of vomiting, throwing up everything about her that she hates.
She needs to breathe.
"The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."
The words contain no magic.
Her prayers are merely thoughts, the recounting of everyth
7 Deadly Sins: GreedMore, more, more,
That's all he wanted
It was never enough
He needed more.
He did whatever it took,
Bargained, begged, and stole.
He had to get more though,
Everything should be his.
He was entitled to it anyway,
Those things were his.
He took everything he could,
Not thinking twice about it
He had to get everything
To fill the hole in himself.
The hole just grew though
And nothing was ever enough.
As he walked down the street,
Pocketing another possession.
He thought to himself,
'I'm just one greedy man.'
Leaving Southampton She was in the kitchen when he stumbled in noisily, tripping as he went past the shelves and catching the edge of the table to keep himself from falling.
Pretending not to hear the stream of curses that followed, she kept her eyes fixed on the dishes, letting her hand trail in the soapy water. There was a loud scraping of wood against grimy concrete as he drew a chair and collapsed into it. At this she looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, she said, unnecessarily, "You've been drinking."
He clutched his head and said nothing. He hadn't shaved in weeks and stank of sweat and alcohol; he looked much older than his eighteen years.
They sat in silence for a while. Then he announced, loudly, "Fuck."
She didn't bother to tell him off. She just waited. And jumped when he suddenly brought his fist down, hard, onto the table.
"Our lives here are s
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