i swore
i would never number the poems
i wrote about myself because that
would be like ticking off the days
until my breakdown;
i was a moth, unapologetically throwing myself
at any gleam of hope; wasting my wings
on industrial promises
colors always felt much more
appropriate for the purple boiling
beneath my heart and the pallid
purposelessness of my head,
but i was born into a colorless world--
no one sees me behind the metallic scars
of my skin and iron grating of my voice against
the grain; no one sees me as more than
gray regret or monochrome mistakes,
no one sees me but
all i ever wanted was for a
fallen god with feathered he
Death's acrid stench clung to the air around Varan. The sickly rot of infection bubbled up, oozing from his shoulder. There was nothing he could do chained to the stone wall with a guard at the door. Arrow splinters trapped in his flesh were killing him slowly.
His death should have been swift on the battlefield, but instead he was ambushed while he bathed. He'd cut down seven men before the poisoned arrow made him too weak to lift his ax. The poison wasn't lethal, unfortunately. Its purpose was to render him unconscious for interrogation.
His sire, the famous Conqueror of Brundan, must be laughing from the afterlife. Even shame failed to g
Pain is almost sexy by xTintedlullabyx, literature
Literature
Pain is almost sexy
There is a beautiful kind of pain.
The electrifying kind that jolts you awake
like a dose from a defibrillator or one too many shots of caffeine;
the soothing kind you clutch to your chest like a child would his teddy;
the kind that mutters soothing words into your hair and holds you as a mother might.
(a pain like flushing your mind through a blender,
turning it into chicken feed,
And bleeding the world though your soul)
I'm addicted to it -
to chewing the world apart like scrap paper through a shredder -
I want to live it, hold it, marry it, taste it, be it;
Come home each night to find it waiting for me in the bathtub,
soaki