pretty boys break hearts.sometimes I think Im just a mess of badly drawn lines. Im just scrawled veins beneath paper rough skin, I wear poorly sketched scars on my thighs [skin deep red pen lines] and even my smile is lop-sided- but he never seemed to notice.pretty boys break hearts. by ~Pretty-As-A-Picture
my skin [spread like thick icing over my skeleton] is a monotonous pattern of pores, a stretch of the world the sun never kissed. I cant see the beauty in multitudes of freckles and chipped fingernails- but he does.
why do you love me?
you make me happy.
I never could figure out just how. was it my illegible love notes, or the tiny hearts I drew into his bare back with my fingertips? was it the filth on my knees or the way I named every bowing flower in my garden? maybe it was the way I sewed the stars to the navy sky and told him in a little, little voice-that I loved him.
either way he made my heart skip beats and bumps and bangs and he made me feel beautiful, a little
C.O.D. The tattoos, they caught on incredibly fast. I mean, it only took about half a year after the Death-caster came out. That's what the press called it, the Death-caster. Anyway, about 6 months after the first televised prediction, these tattoos starting showing up everywhere. It went from fad to craze to routine. Everybody did it. You would get some blood drawn. The machine would quiver a bit and hum. You'd get your paper and you'd go straight to the tattoo shop. Pretty much everyone has their cause of death, their C.O.D., tattooed these days. The accepted place to get it became the top of your left arm. Every time you go to check your watch, there it is in simple letters with a line underneath: Fire, Gunshot, Car Accident, Suicide.C.O.D. by ~guiltywhiteboy
Walking down the street you can see it all. Plane Crash and Brain Tumor are holding hands, window shopping. Prison Riot pauses to let his dog urinate on the curbsi
To be a Werewolf...To be a Werewolf... by ~AnarchicWolf
Imagine for just a moment. Imagine what it would be, to be a Werewolf...
Imagine yourself standing in a field. It's dark, wind is blowing lightly, and moonlight is spilling out over the grass. A silvery light that steals most color. Clouds hide the moon for now.
In the distance, a howl. The howl is much larger and louder than a dog's, or even a wolf's. This howl sends a shiver down your spine. You stomach tingles with excitement, and fear.
You'd like to believe that you're not afraid. Deep down you are. You're frightened at this horrible sound.You quickly try and force it out of your mind.
You try to think of something else. Anything else... but you can't.
Again you hear it, closer now. The fear returns. The excitement returns.
This time it's lodged in your mind, replaying the horrible disturbance of the quiet, again and again. Your breathing starts to pick up, without your consent. The grass around you is rather tall, but still below waist level. You'd see something if it would approa