You, reading this, yes, you. I have something to tell you, will you take a minute to listen?

We don't know each other personally, hell, I don't even know your name, but I want you to know something.

I'm here for you.

Always.

Feel sad? I'll be your shoulder to cry on.
Feel angry? I'll be your punching bag.
Feel happy? I'll laugh alongside you.
Feel depressed? I'll hold your hand.
Feel isolated? I'll sit beside you.

We've been taught that having emotions is weak and that we must hide behind them, for then the world will perceive us as unstoppable, strong, like nothing can harm us. And that's just not true. Emotions, the very things that make us human, can make us monsters.

There are too many people in the world right now that just need someone. Anyone. And I am that person for you, if you ever need it.

Whatever you're feeling right now, I'm telling you, its okay and it will get better. Take that from someone who's felt it all.

I love you.

And now this is the honest truth. I'd go to work, stop off at the liquor store before work. Drink myself into an oblivion until 2AM. If I was in my day clothes if change into my work clothes. Lay on top of the bed. And when I heard the alarm all if have to do was but my shoes on.

"Bing Bing" goes my alarm.
It's 6am, time for my day to start. I let out a groan as I stretch my arms up into the air. I've gotten used to my early mornings. Realisitically, I could get up at 7:30 and still be there on time, but I appreciate the morning hours I have to myself, it's usually the only time I have to myself.

I pull myself up and sit at the end of the bed and run my right hand through my hair while I listen to the sound of semi- occasional cars and buses tour by. The buses probably contained early risers like myself, either trying to get to work or tourists making it back home, wherever their home was. We get a lot of tourists around this time, when the maximium heat goes on it's own vacation and replaced with fleecy clouds and the occasional dance of rain. This then leads me to believe that the tourists must come from colder countries if they opted out of the Summer weather we have to offer.

Then again, I can't exactly say I blame them, I've lived here most of my life and even I have the tendancy to go into a complete vampire-like state and pull over the curtains and stay in the shade and safety of my own home until the sun starts to set.

Cars are usually driven, at this hour anyway, by people that have lengthy jobs, the kind of jobs that if you call in sick more than three times a year your head was soon to be on the chopping block, heaven forbid you should ever have to ask to leave as your signficant other is in labour, you'd be shot there and then.

These people had the kind of jobs that involved working for an average pay, under a boss you'd rather kick between the legs with a pair of steel, cone- shapped studded shoes. The kind of job that meant sacrificing any sort of social life, or family, or relationship because you need the money to pay off the loan on that grotesque little apartment you have in an area where being robbed or being within a five mile radius of drugs or drug users themselves is all but very common.

I feel sorry for these people, I really do. Hence why I know I'm lucky with what I have.

Light ****** through the tall windows and the light breeze sends the satin curtain fluttering. I make the short journey from my bedroom to the bathroom with a light thud with each step, stepping on yesterday's clothes as I do. One day swore to myself that I'd end up being my own death sentence if I didn't start picking the clothes up of the floor. That I'd get my toes caught in the neck of a shirt and down I go, crack my head on the floor and who'd be there to call an ambulance? I literally bring the term 'a trainwreck waiting to happen' to an entire new meaning. I'm not sure if I should be proud, scared, or writing my own will, you know, just in case.

Flicking on the light in the bathroom seemed like a good idea at the time, again, the whole 'trainwreck' attribute didn't need to be made even more apparent by me slipping on something and killing myself. Could you imagine if, morbid, I know, I did in fact slip and die right here. The tax collector would come find me once he realised I hadn't paid my bills in three months, only to then call the police who then find me in a sorry state on the floor in my underwear with a cracked head and a big pool of blood radiating from it. Oh how very attractive.

They'd then call my family and friends and somehow come to the conclusion that I was an early bird and that I was getting ready to start my day when I had the imponderable misfortune of killing myself. Investigators would come in and look futher into the situation, see if there were any signs of 'foul play' or was it really just an 'accident' and then they'd (for whatever reason, I don't know, just go along with it) look up and see that the lights were never turned on. Then they'd take this minuscule but yet all so relevant piece of evidence and merge it with the fact that I was an early bird. Their conclusion would be something along the lines of this:

"It started off like any other Monday morning. This woman was going to the bathroom, perhaps to take a shower, when she slipped and fell, hitting her head off the marble floor which hence caused the fatal concussion on her head. Upon futher investigation we learned that the bathroom lights had, in fact, never been turned on so her vision was not prompted and this was the main factor in this death."

"Upon intensive investigative work, ( 'intensive investigative work' my hole, you were only here five minutes and you now think you're Sherlock ****** Holmes) we have concluded that this woman's death was nothing more than an accident of human error and that she was, in fact, a *****."

Imagine having that written in the paper about you? My mother would be so proud.

Anyway, just to clarify, I did turn on the bathroom lights, I'd be a bit upset if the story ended here, wouldn't you? You'd close the book, throw it on something around you within a relatively close proximity (at least that's what I'd hope) and let out an angry sigh along with the words, "well, what a waist of five minutes that was."

After the feeling of acid being slowly dripped into my eyes faded, I was able to see. The white marble floor stared back at me, I wonder if this is what it feels like to stare are a dead person, you know? With a white face staring at you and everything. Anyway, I remeber getting this marble put down and how much I hated it even before I bought it. You see, it wasn't my idea, it's was someone else's flirtation of an idea that soon turned into someone else's definitive decision and here we are today.

I can't say I hate it now, I mean having to see something every day for more than one occassion somewhat forces you to get used to something.

Shame is that the same thing can't be said for some of the people in my life.

I took of the clothes I wore to bed, which was nothing more than a old red shirt with an aging beer logo on it and my underwear.
When I come home I'm usually physically, emotionally and spiritually drained, clothing means little to nothing to me.

Finding the will to drag each limb into the shower took some effort, but I got there eventually. The rush of water from my head all the way to my toes feels heavnily, absolutely brilliant. This, this is probably one the best moments of my mornings when I'm alone. It's more than just a place to clean, shave and get out, oh no, it's much more than that for me. It's the cylindrical scope at which I conjugate my best plans and ideas, where fantasize about the idea of being famous and also where I think I can reach the same vocal cords as Christina Aguilera and still sound good, unfortunately, that last part is really all in my head.

I sing some song I've had stuck in my head for the past four days that I heard while I was at a bar with friends and reach for the shampoo. Only problem is, I can't find it. Well, that's not all true, I know its there, but I just don't know where the geographical location of 'there' is. There's bottles of everything under the sun on this shower rack alongside soaps, a lilac luffa glove and a blue hairbrush that isn't even mine. See, these are the trials you face when you share a living space with someone. Nothing belongs to you anymore, absolutely nothing.

I finally find the right shampoo and conditioner, clean myself with a bodywash that smells like vanilla and leave the shower. Wrapping a towel around myself I go to the sink to brush my teath, there's no point in putting my hair up in a towel, it's to short for that.
Once all the obstacles in the bathroom have been defeated it's time to get dressed.

Standing, and looking aimlessly into my closet for my underwear, I decide what todays attire is going to consist of. I flick back and forth through the rack like a woman in a store thats actually got time to spend looking through the same item of clothing just in fourty different shades of the same colour. I have to admit, my closet doesn't differ all that drastically, it's all just black, white, navy and the occasional pop of burgundy. I don't do colour, it's just not my thing.

Oh, by the way , I'm Prideux.

Je suis très heureux de faire votre connaissance.

(If there's spelling mistakes I'm sorry , I don't read over things )

Its 8:00 pm. The streets are speckled with cars and airport buses bringing people to and frow, but whether that be to the airport or a nearby hotel is beyond my knowledge, only a flirtation of an idea that's briefly allowed to waltz around my head.

There's only a handful of people on this bus, most people usually drive cars around here. Or is it perhaps a bus doesn't come at a convenient time for them? Or is it that they live in a remote part of the city where buses simply don't venture? Or can it be that theses people are perhaps not old enough to drive and those that are seemingly can't, or wont.  

The bright lights in the bus sting your eyes in comparison to the dark December night, days get shorter and nights so much longer, and colder. Surely the eyes of the drivers passing by must sting from the lights of the bus? Almost like you check your phone in the middle of the night and remember that you never turned the brightness settings down and as a result when you go to check your phone it feels like someones dowsed your delicate eyes with acid and you put your hand over your eyed and reenact a scene from an old 'Dracula' movie as you cry, "The light! It burns!" Ah, I'm morbid.

I remember getting onto the bus. The greeting wasn't something I'd choose to remember. I was met by a round, middle aged man in his fourtys accompanied by a face that could only be described like he was constantly ******* on a lemon. He was bald and had deep, sunken in eyes that were turning a beetroot shade around the bottom. Alcohol? maybe. The own self knowledge that this day would never end ? possible.  The knowledge that this job was, sooner or later, going go lead him to a deep state of depression and eventually he'll get fired for telling an elderly lady in not-so-nice terms to get off "his bus"? Could happen.  The addition of all of the above? Most likely, no offence to any other of you bus drivers.

Oh, his fake gold company name tag told me that 'Gerald' had been the name his parents had written on his birth certificate all those year ago.
The noise of persistent and agonising coughing bleeds through the sound of my headphones and I look up to see the cause of my disruption. The sound seems go be coming from an elderly woman sitting across row from me. At first, as the natural thing for you to presume would be that she has a cold, or perhaps a dry throat, to which you'd be the good citizen and ask if she was alright and offer her your water, but upon further inspection of the situation, I've come to the wrong conclusion.

Her skins crying out for the oxygen its been deprived of for years. All thats left of it now is not something left to be envied, I've seem white towels with brown tea stains on it with less discolouration on that of the skin hang upon her old face.  

The burgundy lipstick she decided to support today was no use in trying to conceal the lines that had taken shape on her  lips, sadly.
Behind those lips I can only imagine what horrific delights might rear their ugly head. I imagine a once pearly, perfect set of teeth now nothing but yellowed decay married with the horrible mix of sugar free gum to try and remove the smell. I wouldn't say it works very well either.

Lastly, her eyes. Something we all have a dreamy tendency to stare at. Hers were grey, almost like that of an artist's 2H pencil. Around her eyes, yellow rimmed the grey scene. The contrast of this and the streak of a one shade purple colour on her eyelids was all to much to bear and I broke my gaze from hers. She was beautiful once.

Beside me was a young mother of 9 and 20 years holding her child. Perhaps he found the rhythmic journey of the bus's adventure soothing and for that I was grateful. Its late and irritated children are the last thing anyone needs on their Tuesday night. She looks tired, but that's to be expected. Whoever said raising children was easy and involved sleep? But what would I know, I don't have children of my own. She didn't wear a wedding ring. Perhaps its of more convenience for her not to wear it. Or maybe she isn't  married. Or maybe she isn't romantically involved with someone. Was she once?

The bus stops outside a middle class looking estate and an impatient looking business man with a a bag carrying his laptop and a very expensive pair of shoes walks out and just before he steps off the bus he turns to the driver and thanks him for his service.
He didn't mean it.

All is quiet and I start to feel tired. My head bounces off the pole standing costumers use when the buses are packed and it doesn't appear that seats even exist. My headphones are in and I look out the window to see the sea, peaceful and graceful on this cold December night, greeting me, almost with open arms.

The lights of the cars rush by like multicoloured fireworks, so close you could almost hold one in the palm of your hand.

And as the night gets longer and the journey seems that ever bit more endlessly scenic I find myself questioning.

Questioning what I'd just been witness to.
Questioning this December.
Questioning this bus.
Questioning this night.

Then the main question swam afloat.

In years to come, when I might once step onto this very same bus again, who will I be?

And then it was my turn to depart.

The building's exterior colour reflecting my mood - dreary. A silly brown, dishwater dreary.

I've been here since 11 o'clock this morning, and the time passes at the same speed as the clouds, so slow it would be better of me to name it nonexistent. I hate heights, so just my luck that I should be on the highest floor possible. So high I'm able to look down on the roof of the prison. So close that I'm a stone's throw away from it.

I can see the other exterior parts of this hospital. It's funny how, on the inside, I can recognise it so much it's like my second home. The nurses and doctors know me by name as I know them by theirs. I know that if I need the bathroom. I have to turn right before I get to reception. I know that if I want food I have to go down the long corridor beside the cardiac ward and make the second left. The outside can only be described as foreign. A big metal box shaped generator stands on the top on the roof of another ward in the hospital. Attached to it are tubes and pipes of which their use to me is still uncertain. A long, metal stairs snakes it's way up the wall of the building, a door halfway up it, probably an escape door. Or easy access for the repair men if the generator gives in.

Toshiba fans, three, sit on top of  the building. They spin at the speed of a hamster in it's wheel and then slowly plummet back down to a mediocre tumble. This much describes how I feel, the excitement of when a doctor comes in with a file (is it finally me?) and my despair when he finally calls out a name (spoiler: it's not mine).

They have the news on, one one of those tiny TVs suspended high on the wall. There's a woman on, a politician. I suppose I should know her name, but I don't. I won't give her the satisfaction of recognition. She's talking about money (what is any country talking about nowadays, really?). I don't listen but I hear her say "Upon mature reflection..." Ha, if only she could her me. I'd tell her to shove it up backside sideways, upon mature reflection.

New parents with their young children, not knowing how they should tell their children to shut up, unfortunately children of that age don't quite understand that term. I'd have said it 20 times by know if I'd think they'd have understood.

I look back over to the prison. I suppose I can't complain about my position, given theirs. And then my mind starts to wonder about the people in there.
Are they innocent ?
Are they guilty?
Does "innocent till proven guilty really apply anymore ?
And if so, what did they do?
******?
Theft ?
The options are endless. Much like the people waiting here alongside me.

My thoughts don't pass the time much. Nothing does.

And then I see birds. Dozens of birds landing on the chimney of the prison. I can't tell what kind, my eyesight isn't that good, all I can make out is that they are white and grey. And then I think about how high up the prison chimney is and how much I hate heights. And then I realise that the prison is a long.. way.. down.

How do I unlove you? How do I unlove my sweetest downfall? How do I unlove the first person who taught me how to love? These questions kept me wondering.How? Can I? Will I?
I always wanted to know,how will I unlove you? I know that you don’t love me but that didn’t stop me from loving you. I don’t even think that any dense reason could stop me from doing so. Yet,I came to this realization, that no matter how much I love you, you could never reciprocate the feeling that I have for you.
I even came to this point where I asked myself,until when? Until when will I love you? Until when will I endure this pain? Until when will I drown myself in the sea of tears that I created just because of the agony that you put me into? That’s when I realized that I was holding onto something that didn’t exist anymore. At that moment, all I wanted to do was to cease my love for you.
But I don’t think I could do that. Well I can,but I won’t. Maybe some can,but if you love someone, that love you have for them just won’t go away. Yeah,you may meet someone better,but once you let someone into your heart,there will always be a piece of them in there. Every person that we love leaves a mark in our hearts. And you left a big mark in my heart. Scratch that. You left a massive scar in my life.

I think the best way to learn something is to put yourself in a situation where you can't escape until you learn it. Learning things out of fear, I find, is the best way to learn things.

Now don't get me wrong. It's different. You don't tell a 3 year old that they have to know the multiples of 2 in an hour or you're putting them up for adoption, that's just cruel.

I mean you have to put yourself in that situation. And I know a lot of you are going to think 'why is she telling us that in order to learn something you have to bput yourself in a situation where you're gonna be scared, how much narcotics is she on?". My answer to that ? None. I'm telling you this out of first hand experience.

I learnt all the languages I know today from only bringing myself and a change of clothes to that country and I worked there for however long was needed until I learnt that language. I had no form of communication, no Internet, no phone, no friends or family with me. Just me and a small suitcase and determination.

I think this is also the same for things you're scared of. Now this won't apply to everyone cause I know a friend of mine refuses to get in a car after something that happened to him when he was younger, I can completely respect that and I know how that feels so I'm not going to tell him to get in a car as he would never tell me that. Some things that you're scared of just never to away.

But my fear of spiders is probably something I could deal with and fix. I mean a spider never did anything to me, I honestly have no reason to be scared of them , but I am for some reason. I think if you have no reason to be scared of something then it can easily be fixed. Like the spider , I could probably pick it up and let it crawl on my hand and get used to it. I mean of course that is easier said than done because obviously I'm going to be scared even looking at it, not to mention picking it up. But I think I'd gain some courage in the knowledge that I overcame something I've been afraid of for years.

And this just isn't physically either, it can be emotionally, morally, and spiritually. I learnt that if you want something you have to be willing to fight for it and be prepared for some heartbreak along the way. How? Some people know of this, and when I tell people about it some people think that what my nan did was the wrong thing to do and others think it was the right thing to do. I've really only told 2 people what happened, and if you'd like to know then feel free to inbox me, I have no problem telling you, I would say it here but I think this post is long enough as it is,

~ Stay Beautiful ~

We live in a beautifully harsh world where we often blame society for its faults, disregarding the fact that we are society.  Even so,  this is a world where love lies, where compassion is present and hope never dies. I am not talking about the world as a whole, but rather the world of us people.  No matter how hard it is to live in a world with threats like wars, murders and such, we still try. Because we know that happiness can be grasped, that dreams do come true, that there is someone out there for us, that you love us despite our never ending flaws.  If you are reading this, I want to thank you, for still existing.  At times we always think we need to be doing something,  to make sure we are leaving a mark. Sometimes though, I think it's okay to just be. You'll be remembered in the hearts of the people who's lives you've changed. Because presence in its self is comfort. Most of you don't know me personally and you might never actually get the chance to meet me as I may never get the chance to meet you. But I want you to know, that I am here. I am thankful for your existence. Ah, you're amazing. Thank you.

Generousity is such a rare thing nowadays, but it's not the presents, the gifts which make me dislike those people but the more important gifts such as love, acceptance and care. Some people **** out these less tangible gifts from others but don't give it back. Shame on them.

There are so many ways in which I could address this, but it's late and I feel sick, so imma keep this as simple as possible.

People that take but never give anything back remind me of leeches. Take , and take, and take. Selfish idiots ~
These people make me think ..
Do they realise how lucky they are? Cause trust me , they'll know what they had when it's gone. Like, do they realise that they've got it good? Or is ignorance really bliss ? One day ,when you're in trouble ,that friend that would do absolutely anything for you won't be there. And if they are, god help them.

To those who give but never receive. I'm proud of you. You're parents must have raised you well if you care that much about someone. But , as a good friend told me, if you care to much, you'll get hurt. I'm not saying not to care about someone, just know when you're being played for a fool. Don't worry about them , karma is a *****. It'll come around and bite those people in the ***. It's a dish best served cold, and also with a smack on the face, or a kick in the *****, whichever method you prefer.

Haven't made a heart to heart blog post in a while..

So recently a friend of mine messaged me on kik. We kinda drifted apart, but all the same we drifted back again .. You know that feeling?

She's asked me about how I was and what new things we going on in my life and then out of know where she asked me how I got into what I do, that , for those of you that don't know, is makeup.

It a happy, funny, weird story all at the one time.

As some of you already know, when I was 5 my parents died and I moved to Paris with my nan (<3) and she always wears red lipstick, even to this day. Lipstick , red lipstick to be more exact, was only worn by the higher class women and was generally quite expensive. Us Dean family have a ... Tradition I suppose. When a mother gives her child her very first red lipstick it means that she, in the eyes of the family, has matured and such not blah blah blah. Anyway. I didn't have my mom to do that ,so my nan took that role instead.

At the ages of in and around 14 I started wearing makeup, but never in public, my nan wouldn't allow such things. I always tried to copy her make up , because she was the only female figure I had as a child , and the only person I ever respected. Even to this day my makeup is still like hers , she notices that ever time I visit haha ~

I started posting picture of my makeup ideas on my old facebook about 3 years ago and one day a represtentive from Lancôme called me and asked me to work for them , I said yes. I told my nan that day and she gave me my first red lipstick and I still have it to this day

je t'aime Nana <3

I hate things that creep, crawl, slither, and sting. But of all these, I hate spiders the most. Why? Because they’re just all … they’re all YUCK! That’s why.

Spiders are one of the worst kinds of insects (arachnids but whatever) because they are the only kind that purposely tries to **** with you. See, unlike ants, or caterpillars, or even nasty-old silverfish, spiders don’t care whether or not you know they’re there. These monsters don’t bother to hide from you. Nah, they’re all like, “I know you see me motha’ *****, and I know you ain’t gonna do nothin’ ‘bout it ‘cause you know I’ma just go **** and end up in yo shirt!”

One of the most common things that people who aren’t afraid of spiders say is this: “Kevin, you shouldn’t **** spiders.”

Me: “Why not?”

Them: “Because they eat other bugs.”

I think what people don’t realize is that … I don’t care! So what if spiders eat other bugs? I’d rather have the other bugs than have those god-awful things creeping around my house. Whenever someone reminds me that spiders eat other bugs, I honestly wish I had the power to communicate with insects, because as far as I’m concerned we have a common enemy. I would join forces with the flies and ants or whatever to **** every single spider in my house. Then I would betray my new friends and **** them too. Case solved.

But, as I think about it, it’s not just spiders that people tell me not to **** because they “eat other bugs.” Now that I think about it, every single thing that “eats other bugs” is also ten times more ******* scary than the things they’re supposed to be killing.

Have you guys ever seen a “house spider” sometimes called a “house centipede"? If not, google it right now. That’s the kinda’ thing people tell you not to **** because it eats the other bugs. But just looking at its picture I’m like “holy ****! I’ll take a few mosquitoes over that **** any day!”

See, what people don’t realize is that I don’t hate spiders just for the sake of hating them. I hate them because when I see one I want to burn my house down and have it rebuilt from scratch. If I fail to **** a spider and the thing runs off, I will not sleep until my target has been apprehended and killed. I will literally sit near the spot it disappeared to with a flashlight and a can of windex until it returns to face its crime of entering my room.

O.o yep.

You are not a name,
Or a height, or a weight,
Or a gender,
You are not an age,
And you are not where you are from.

You are your favourite books,
And the songs stuck in your head,
You are your thoughts,
And what you eat for breakfast,
On Saturday mornings.

You are a thousand things,
But everyone chooses,
To see the million things,
You are not.

You are not,
Where you are from ,
You are ,
Where you're going,
And I'd like,
To go there too.

Lies cling to your lips,
Like tar to a heavy smokers' lungs.

Your words have the same effect as nicotine,
You can't stop, can you?

What's that sound?
Oh there you go,
Coughing, spluttering, choking.

What? Cat got your throat?
Or is it that web of lies you call an alibi that you're trying to feed me ?

Your neck bleeds with the self inflicted scratches from your fingernails,
Your eyes begin to bulge, like they're going to pop from their sockets.

Is it hard to breath with the fire you've created?
Do those smoke plumes heave as you exhale through those lungs?

You're on your knees know,
What do you see?

Do you see the pain you've caused?
Or shall I push you down a little further?

I hope you choke on that alibi,
Goodbye,

Rest in piece,
I know I will,
Liar Liar

Black shadow of the past,

Clings onto you,

Claws around your wrist,

Like handcuffs,

Past filled,

With bittersweet memories,

The pleasant memories sometimes,

Cause pain,

A reminder of what's lost,

Those memories  are enlightening,

Or too painful,

All thats left to do,

Is start anew,

With more memories,

To add onto your lap,

Keep stepping forward,

Embracing the future,

Which hold much more,

The bewildering puzzle of life,

Clears up at the right moment,

Presenting your purpose,

And your worth to this world.

I've been on the ground

Waiting for someone to take me in

And set me free

But I know now no one will

The emptiness in my heart

Only I can fill

So I'm standing up

Never going to give in

Not going to let them take me over

Not going to let them take me down and win

It hurts to climb

Gripping on the sides

Of my deepest fears

Brushing away

My most painful tears

The hardest is over

And I'll never give up again

Things are different now

Than they were then

Getting so much stronger

Not letting them in my mind

Not another second longer

Its a miracle

I'm finally going to rise

Nothing can take me

In more surprise

I'm catching fire

Flying faster now

Why didn't I see how

To stop the pain?

Now I'm becoming

Unbelieveable

Impossible

Forever

Unstoppable.

I will do anything for you,

I would walk the earth,
I would try and kiss the stars,
I would try and give you the galaxy,
If I knew it would make you smile again.

I would turn your tears into gold,
I would be your shoulder to cry on,
I would be your light,
Because I know you're scared of dark,
If I knew it would make you smile again.

I would give up everything I stood for,
I would sacrifice my life for yours,
I would give my soul to the Devil himself,
And burn in hell for all enterinty.
If I knew if would make you smile again.

Because they say that the Saddest people are the Kindest,
Because they don't wish to see anyone else suffer the way they did.

With hearts sublime, they do take flight.

Into the darkest depths of night.

Their weapons readied, set to fire,

Their footsteps silent through the mire



The trap is sprung, the enemy caught.

And through the dismal night they fought.

Blood spattered the starry skies.

And with it poured countless lies.



The blood-red sun rose across the plains,

There were too many losses, and too little gains.

And with their hands bloodied, and their uniforms singed,

A Battle has been won--and a War now begins.



And as they left the battlefield,

The wind seemed to whisper to the remaining some;

Injustices left alone and undone--let them end you,

One. By. One.



But these words did not stir them, and not too late,

Those fearless soldiers finally met their fate.

And with their chins held high, they marched into war.

It was ****, or be killed, and nothing more.



And they were, one by one, struck down with cruel blows.

Slaughtered mercilessly, while mocked by their foes.

And as their lives ebbed away into the soil below,

They knew there was one last code left to follow.



Then the night was filled with the thrums of song,

As they hummed their last words, smiling all along.

Their words slowly faded, heartbeats gradually died,

As their spirits soared into the Heavens On High.



"I've served my faith well, and that is my relief,

I've filled the hearts of each child with belief.

And as my soul finally fades away into the skies,

I know blessed are those who believe, for indeed they shall thrive."



And the old general sat, as he'd often do.

And pondered in thought, over who had served who.

Then his eyes swelled with tears as he realized the truth.

"They died not just for their country, but for us too."



His sad red eyes closed as tears fell to the floor,

"They lost the battle, but their peace was restored."

With army cap in his lap, and a quill pen he bore,

He wrote the first tales of those brave men before:

When I was young my parents told me I could be anything I want and to do what I love, but as I got older I realized what they meant was that I can be whatever is financially stable and acceptable in society. But I can’t help think…what’s the point in that? Spending my entire life working up until I become old and frail, and only then can I do what I love? By then the motivation that I feel now to go out and enjoy my life will be gone. And even if I do feel any motivation to go out and do it, my options will still be limited due to my age. I don’t see the point in waiting around to enjoy my life because isn’t that just the point? To be happy, to fulfill your dreams and goals? I don’t understand it. Am I just a fool to believe what my parents told me? What everyone told me? I don’t want to have a paycheck dictate my life, is that too much to ask?

I am the flame,
I am the fire.

Sparked from chaos,
Fed off hate,
I can either illuminate your path,
And guide you through the darkness,
Or destroy your life,
Engulfing everything you hold dear in my fiery glow.

I am the flame,
I am the fire.

Admire me at a distance,
Just don't touch me,
I leave scars,
But time heals everything.

I am the flame,
I am the fire,

When the time comes,
I will flicker and dim,
Nothing left but,
Glowing hot coals,
But I will not be forgotten,
For the dark, musky smoke that rises ,
Up from my remains,
Bathes everything in,
The unforgettable scent,
Of fire.

Everyday I ask,
How could it be,
That someone like you,
Could fall for someone like me.

Holding your hand,
Looking in your eyes,
First time I notice,
They're as blue as the skies.

Not one for love.
Before I met you,
But you stole my heart,
So I'll steal yours too.

I come to you,
With my heart on my sleeve,
Isn't it amazing,
What love can achieve.

I love you,
And that's all I know,
You say you feel the same,
So lets take it slow.

Standing there,
With your lips on mine,
Loving the moment,
Feeling tingles up my spine.

Without you,
I'm broken in half,
My world is shattered,
Without your laugh.

Everyday I ask,
How could it be,
That someone like you,
Could fall for someone like me.

You know, I’ve lied to myself. I’ve said every day, someday, someday your wish will be fulfilled and you’ll retrieve everything you’ve ever wanted. But here’s the reality, and oh, how much I loathe it. I’m not anywhere near where I want to be. I’m so far away, it is agenizing to sit here and just know that my heart may have this gaping hole for all eternity. It is just crazy to want something so intensely, that you start to believe you’ve gone completely insane, and I do so feel it! What does this mean? Does it mean that I am in fact insane? Or am I just falling in love with my fantasies?

There are days when I wake up, and I’m so confident! This is your day, this is your time, nobody not anybody can ruin it. BOOM! The curtain closes, end credits, it’s done, over, you’re immediately brought back down where you originally came from. I try, too. No, I don’t give up. I guess hope is what I’m gambling with. Hope can bring so much excitement, yet so much disappointment. When I see right in front of me something that makes me want to combust inside, I don’t want to lose that hope, because I rely on it.

It takes nearly all of me to get through something this complicated. Take love for example-hell I don’t know what the **** that is. Ask me about love and I’ll just respond, “Hearts and cuddles, kisses and snuggles.” I have no idea what love really means or even feels like. But lust, oh yeah I know exactly what that is. Love and lust battle one another. Oh, you love me? No, you lust me. Love I’m guessing has no real meaning, but a feeling. You probably can’t describe it, and maybe that’s why nobody really knows what it is until they experience it.

Lust, I’d say is 99% of what we feel towards another person. It is a fog, it’s there for a little while, then it is all gone. It’s a lie, it’s not love. It manipulates you, it is ecstasy, but it is also hell. When you say to me that you love me, I by no means can believe it. You lust me. You like me. You have interests, but it won’t last. And when that fog of lust surpasses, all of it is consumed and forever nonexistent. So if I was to allow lustful feelings to blindfold me, I’d only be leading myself into a heartbreak. I’d be lying to myself like I have been lately.

I say to myself, self, you are not in love, you are in lust. You don’t know what you’re doing. It is possible you are right, but you cannot ignore the possibility that you may be wrong. Don’t stop dreaming, but don’t allow the fog to trap you. Life is a maze, and you have no map. You’ll never know what’s lurking in the shadows, but what you do know is that you provide your own light, and with your luminescence, you will get to your destination safe and sound.

So stop lying to yourselves. Don’t give up hoping, but do try to see through your lustful ways. Dreams are not just for sleeping, you have all the power within you to make them real. Of course it’s difficult, life is a puzzle. So what are you doing just sitting here? Go and search for those pieces, and work hard to fit them together. No amount of hope is going to make your dreams come true alone, you have to partake in some effort or it’s just lusting all over again.

Gone**

A word I can't comprehend,
A word I can't bear to hear,
Because it singnals the end.

Why did you have to leave me?
Why did you go?
I feel empty of love,
And full of sorrow.

How can this world continue,
Without you here?
When I see your face,
It tears me apart.

Crying doesn't help,
It doesn't drown the memories.
Shutting out the world,
Doesn't help the agony.

I miss you so much,
That it hurts inside.
I just can't forget you,
Even though I've tried.

I want you back, to hold me,
People tell me to move on,
But how can I,
When you're gone?

You will never know,
The pain you left me in,
I thought I was over you...
But I'm not.
It still eats away at me,
From the inside out.
It's like I'm rotting away,
And it's getting worse and worse.

One million me memories and,
One million tears.
Cause by you,
And you alone.
Make no mistake,
You did what I thought impossible.

You broke my heart.

I always wonder why it still hurts.
Even after all these years,
You still manage to make,
One million memories,
And one million tears.

I wish you could know,
How much you hurt me.
How you ruined me,
How you stifled my trust...

I'm beginning to think,
The wound you left,
Will never heal,
And the pain is unbearable.

But don't worry,
I don't resent you,
Nor do I regret our friendship,
Because they are part of my one million memories.

All I hate,
Is that they come,
With one million tears.

The Fear
Of you leaving,
Is too much for me.

The Fear
Of one day,
Losing all our memories.

The Fear
Of being separated,
In two different worlds.

The Fear
Of not reaching you,
Or being left unheard.

The Fear
That you'll forget me,
And swiftly move on.

The Fear
Of realising that,
This battle cannot be won.

The Fear
Of admitting that,
You're the one that makes me smile.

The Fear
Of saying 'for you,
I'd walk a thousand miles'.

The Fear
Of being called stupid,
And you thinking it too.

The Fear
Of confessing that,
I really love you.

But all these **Fears
Have come around,
As if all truth,
Has been found.
You hold her hand,
Instead of mine.
You kiss her lips,
Like its all fine.
You look through me,
Like I'm a ghost.
The memories have vanished,
That I treasured the most.
All I've lost,
Was it ever even found.
Now my heart lies shattered,
All over the ground  
You look at me,
All love is gone.
That's when I realise,
That The Fear has won.

I believe that you are lovely, I believe that you are wonderful, I believe that you are a kind and caring person even if no one sees you in that way. And I believe that you are beautiful/handsome. I don’t need to know who you are, see who you are or talk to you for me to know these things.
A lot of people don’t see it that way though, a lot of people believe that they have the right to judge others based on their appearance, on what they wear, how they talk and what they do. But that is wrong. Very wrong. They have no right to judge you if they don’t know you, no one does.
Don’t ever let someone make you feel bad for who you are today. Because you happen to be someone wonderful. Forget about the haters. Forget about the people who give you ****. Forget about all the people who have doubted you and live your life.


I want you to stop worrying about what other people think about you. I want you to stop caring about the people in your life who don’t truly matter. I want you to do what you love. I want you to stop worrying about all these opinions on yourself, on what you do because they don’t even matter. I want you to forget about; all the and things from the past and cherish the good things. I need you to love yourself for who you are. Don’t do anything you don’t feel comfortable with doing. Be a ***** only when you have to be. Smile, even when you’re hurting, show people how strong you can be, how strong you really are. **** happens, forget about it everything that has caused you pain. If it stays with you, it will only cause you more pain. Life is too short to be living with regrets. Throw them all away, don’t think about it. Mistakes are made for a reason. There is no point dwelling on the past, because all that matters is. NOW. Don’t let the past break you, make it define you. Don’t go searching for someone, chances are they won’t even be the right one,. Let them come to you, because they’re making an effort to be yours. Then you’ll know that it was worth the wait.

Stay Beautiful ,
-A

I don’t need to know you personally to know that you are actually worth something. You are worth more than you think. Why do you feel the need to believe your own lies? You need to believe that you are worth it and you need to believe that you will get through this, the more you tell yourself that you aren’t worth it, you will start to feel like you’re not worth anything when the truth is you are worth everything. I understand that sometimes, the ones who surround you can make you feel like a worthless *******, they can make you feel like nothing. Simply because it always seems like no one cares about you, but I care about you, your family care about you, your followers care about you, your friends care about you. Sure, sometimes their actions seem to prove otherwise, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t care. Why would you let someone down grade you to something that you are not? Why would you let yourself fall for other peoples lies? You see all those people trying to make you feel like crap? Well you are above them and you should know that by now, simply because you do not feel the need to put someone down in order to make yourself feel better. Don’t you ever let an ex of yours, feel like you aren’t worth anything. Why give someone the power to control your life? To control what you do and how you feel? This is your life and you need to live it how you want to. This is your life and you need to realise that you are here for a reason. You don’t need someone to come along, to make you feel like you are worth something. You don’t need someone telling that you are worth it. Because you have always been worth it, whether you choose to believe it or not, is entirely up to you. Don’t let someone shape the way that you live and think. Don’t live in fear of never being good enough. The people around you see something special about you and now, it’s time for you. To see it within yourself. You’re worth it, see it. Believe it. Because its the truth and one day you are going to have to accept that fact.

Im so sick of it.
I want to remember what we were like 5 months ago, when we met. Everything was so perfect then. We used to be so in sync with each other. I called you my brother and you called me your sister, because our friendship was that close.

I miss not missing a day talking to each other. We could talk about anything ,me and you. I could tell you everything and not feel like I was a sour *******. You'd listen everytime and make me feel better about the situation. We used to screenshot all of our funny conversations and keep them in our phones as memories.

But not now. Now I don't even recognise the face staring back at me.  What happened to us? We used to be so close and now I barely even remember you. It's sad. Now I'm scared to even talk to you. We don't talk anymore , there's no more screenshot conversations and there's no more happiness.  

I want you back. The friend I once knew. I want to feel happy in your company , not scared. I want to have to stop fighting for your attention because this silencing void between us is killing me. And excuse me if I sound selfish , but the truth never came easy.

Please, come back to me.

There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence. The first day the boy had driven 87 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered in daily gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive nails into the fence. Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone. The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and pull it out but it won’t matter how many times you say “I’m sorry”, the wound is still there. A verbal wound is just as bad as a physical one”.

Yeah, that's me,
Take a good look, why don't you?
Yeah, that's me,
Sitting on the back of the shelf,
Yeah, that's me,
The girl with the decaying skin and the half - finished lipline,
Yeah, that's me,
With the ***** hair and the shredded clothes,
Yeah, that's me,
With the hollow eyes and the cracked nose,
Yeah, that's me,
Your so called masterpiece,
Yeah, that's me,
Your 'beauty' that you only half tried,
Yeah, that's me,
With tears in my eyes and sorrow in my heart,
Yeah, that's me,
Look at what you've done to me.