How can happiness feel so melancholic?
I’m processing it, but it’s not electronic,
Takes time, energy, and a sudden understanding,
I’ve lost the mask, but parts of me can’t get rid of the past,
It’s a weird combination of love and it’s sin,
I’m only human, and I keep contemplating my win,
I’m happy, but confused,
It’s just something crazy over the life that I choose,
Looking in the mirror, I don’t feel blue,
However, I do see you, the one who is myself,
Been through many battles, but somehow managed hell,
Scars are lifting, bringing smiles and feeling gifted,
Remember the times w
The Centaur and The Lion by BringerOfChaos-Seth, literature
Literature
The Centaur and The Lion
I used to hate this day Oh this day!
It's a curse for the loveless!
Like thorns cutting skin bleeding out want
I counted this day as a sin , until
remembrance walked in
The days of my guiding Centaur before she
dispersed into the stars told me the story
of her and her Lion her beloved ,handsome ,
genius Lion
Oh How she loved this Lion!
They meet in the land of life not far from the
wild jungle
My guiding Centaur perched on top of her home hidden in the
forest of mysteries saw her Lion
and my oh my how she admired him
His golden fur, His mighty lion mane blowing in the wind as he
hunted
Oh how she admired him!
Every day she watched his way
Love is a rose fragile from the heart
not easily grown
Precious like a jewel how you handle her
is up to you
Will you hold her gently watch her grow?
Will you bury her in forgotten sands or
in the sorrow of snow?
Will you tend to her binding stem will you give her
a smell?
That sweet sent the sent of life that keeps
all from a depressing lonely emotional
hell?
This is life its all how you choose
but just remember always remember
Love is a rose and it's easy to loose
it’s Christmas, so you sleep with him.
it’s Christmas and your family is thousands of miles away
and you’re lonely and it’s snowing ad he drove you home and
he let you pick the first movie and he picks the second one,
a comedy you’ve never heard of before and when he laughs,
he looks at you to make sure you’re laughing too,
so you sleep with him.
and maybe you always thought you would be in love with the first person
to bruise your body in places only you and the mirror ever see,
maybe you thought he’d be younger; maybe you thought you’d be. maybe
you thought the lights would be on or your unde
What's Yours is Mine by Sean-M-Hollows, literature
Literature
What's Yours is Mine
A jet black Mustang scorched down the 225. This road is mine.
Donahue retched cold from another gin shot. But no. Even if tomorrow was going to be a cottonmouth haze, it was his haze to have.
His arm extended out the window to an exhuming summer night; sunset like a brushstroke of passing storm clouds. Its lashing breeze hissed, knocked him back to the road. He was numbed to all but the last two hours of his life, it seemed. He retracted from her fangs.
Like hell. He takes his venom by the lip; every time a new scar.
Donohue barely remembered the next exit. His eyes were now a canvas beaten damp by a flushed, mediocre brush.
I wreathed a garland of my words
I penned a dragon’s sibilant voice
And it winked an obsidian eye at me
I scrawled a sagely snowy owl
And it lifted my vision to the skies
For a poet’s words are living things
I transcribed runes from a stone
And was transported to bygone times
I scribbled down a blood-red rose
And was graced with secret beauty
Words are truth-shadows dancing
I inked a resplendent phoenix
And I was warmed by wisdom’s fire
I wrote the rumbling of waves crashing
And they swallowed all my tears
Meshed syllables weave a secret net
I composed a great black wolf
And it brought me wild freedom
I scribed a som
Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader || Cold by KAGEYAMASHlGEO, literature
Literature
Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader || Cold
“‘S not my fault that we’re stuck he—ah, hold on,” You paused a moment to let out a few breaths onto your freezing hands. “Okay, as I was saying. ‘S not my fault we’re stuck here.” Another puff of heated air was huffed as you rubbed your cold palms together.
”I know, I know.” The outlaw that came to ‘rescue’ you groaned in obvious frustration. “Was just thinkin’ that if you hadn’t ran off then we’d be up in the cabins, by a good campfire, under a couple o’blankets… not some rottin’ barn with a lamp as our only warmth.”
Is hoping for change
naive?
I've been thinking...
hoping feels an awful lot
running in place.
sure, your moving
and burning calories
but has the scenery changed?
No, not really.
if happiness is an empire
rising from bones
and a beating heart,
I haven't budged an inch
neither has hope,
dangling like a gem
out of reach.
let's just call it a stalemate
and move on...
death visits under the guise
of hope to make the transition
more smooth
because without hope,
there is only death.