ArsenicVoices

All my life, you've been calling me a quitter. You've been telling me that no matter what I do, I will alway quit, in a voice so bitter. When I decided soccer wasn't my thing. Quitter. When I decided (after seven years) that ballet wasn't my thing "You're such a quitter, that how you've always been." And when my test scores were under your high expectation, "You quit, that's why your very existence is sin." Yet When I gave you my writing, I told you it made me feel alive. "That's only gonna lead to failure, I bet." "Writing is not something to do." "It's only for fun. There's no way you're good at it." "Writing is why the teacher

Ye thought ye could trick me, Ye bastard of a beast. Ye thought ye could turn my head, And then feast on my lungs? I admit, ye won. But when ye went for my heart, Ye discovered I had none.

She left, like the exhalation of a breath. Her hands, waved goodbye to death. Shaking off, the years of grief, of pain. Fingers playing, gently touching a golden chain. Goosebumps dancing, a fierce cha-cha, on skin ever so pale Oh, dear lover, Do not go behind this veil, I beg, Do not even dare, or think, These actions, I will not bear, I will only shrink... She left, like the exhalation of a breath. My    lungs            could                     not                            stop                                   her.

The sunglasses were clutched in his hand. His trademark, his identity, all a small piece of plastic that could be crushed as easily as the heart of a naive boy, watching the one piece of life he cared about be stabbed with a weapon that was supposed to be defending him. Everyone and everything betrays. He looked up at himself in the mirror, his vermillion eyes mocking him. “DAMMIT!” he screamed, taking a half-hearted swing at the mirror. Yet another thing that was fragile, protected by nothing but the fact that it was a bearer of truth. The shades were set down with utmost care. Dave was making them a promise. The moment tha

There was nothing to be said that night. Emotions were there, but words were not. You were alone, on a night that you were supposed to be surrounded by love. Not that this surprised you. Having a god for a boyfriend wasn't an easy thing. Especially when he was a gorgeous god of Mischief. Pardon me, The God of Mischief. The dishes lay silent in the dishwasher. You paced around the kitchen, not caring for the sound of the dishwasher to lull you into sleep as it always did.  Nine-twenty five and there still was no sign of that bastard. It was your birthday. He had promised a surprise. You would be the first to testify to the fact that he

London is a scary place when you visit for your first time alone.  You were wandering aimlessly, wondering about the aim of your life when you find a cute coffee shop, ordering yourself a cappuccino. This happened with great difficulty, as your native tongue was Russian. The waitress gave you a small smile as you blundered through the right words,  essentially butchering every pronunciation that could be butchered. After a painful couple minutes, the waitress finally got the message of your lust for a cappuccino. Hmm, you had thought that your english skills were way better than that. In the airport, the phrases had been elementary and easy

I opened a door to hell the other day,  The burning pits were as vivd as described,  My face was burned,  My arms were scarred, This hell can only be called,  The Ouside.