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TeaTime PestilenceGossiper, Gossiper
Do you ever stop talking?
Spreading your useless lies...
Do you ever stop stalking?
Your friends are dropping like flies
Ruining the lives of others...
I don't care what you have to say...
Just stop talking, you little bother
And go your den to stay...
Please STOP talking-
I've asked you once before...
You've done your stalking
Now NO ONE cares anymore.
look what you've done-
A death you have recently caused
You've had your fun
Your mouth is on permanent pause.
I had always been scared of myself. Not that I had low self esteem, but I just wasn't comfortable in my own body. I never understood why it mattered so much- why people would need to like you and whatnot. I was a frail boy really, small and lanky- and soft little cheeks. I had obtained the nickname 'Mouse' shortly after arriving at Highschool as a freshmen. My height was no bigger then 5 ft 2, and a straight 110 lbs. My hair was a cruel mixture of a soggy brown and red- and I DESPISED it. My eyes were a absent-minded greyish-green- but I heavily resembled a mouse nonetheless.
Lunch was always a problem for me. You see- I wasn't popular. (Shocking- I know.) I loved reading, writing and most of all- drawing. I would sketch day in and day out. There was a small table, fit for two, in the back of the library. People called it my 'nest'. When I wasn't in class or at home, I was reading the newest manga or novel that had come out. My family wasn't like me really. A sugary-sweet
Doctor, DoctorI won't be the surgeon for your broken heart
My gloves don't need to be wasted by touching your blood
There's never enough disinfectant to wash it all away
You gave me this disease,
One I can't find a cure for
And I swear you're laughing at me
I don't want to be your doctor
I don't want to be in your life.
There isn't a cure for what you have,
you and your damned excuses
There will never be enough time
To forget those memories
So thank you, my patient,
For giving me an uncureable disease
Heart of a daughter of ColdharbourHe couldn't sleep, thought that was to be expected. For Vlad was of the Dawnguard, and order dedicated to defending the land of Skyrim from the threat of vampires. And with vampires being creatures of the night, they knew that it was no time for rest and relaxation, but of vigilance. So Vlad spent many nights simply staring at his ceiling. Sighing at this, he chose to get up and make his way around the keep. Perhaps a good walk in the halls would tire him out enough.
The fortress of Fort Dawnguard was massive, far more so than any military structure he'd seen. But having spent many days here already, he knew his way around. So it didn't take him long to get to where he needed to be. He approached an old wooden door that led to one of the balconies on one of the fort's many towers. Once outside, he briefly shivered over being exposed to the night-time's cold air, but that was diminished by the awe he felt over looking up at the sky and seeing the auroras.
It brought a smile to his face
Skyrim Valentines Day PoemBlood Dragons are green
Some orcs are too
I'd lockpick every lock
and gives the items to you.
I'd slay every dragon,
Id give you my gold,
I'd kill every foresworn,
I'll always be yours to hold.
I'd forge all your armor,
I would sharpen your blad
I'd tighten your bow,
I'd save you from every bandit raid.
FUS RO DA baby!
Have a superb Valentines Day!
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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