She told me that if she was anything
She was a desperate attempt
Of a human life form
She told me that she never felt sanity
Never felt normal
But she told me that her desperation
Was just because she wanted to fit in
It wasn't her fault
She was the daughter of the guardian
'I just want my story to be told,
She said to me, as I sipped my tea
'Truthful, I can try,
But honey, story telling is based on lies,'
I smiled as I finished my brew
And walked out planning the death of you.
I have a name for this shapeshifter now. Her name is Ruby. If you have any thoughts on what I can do to make Ruby a proper shapeshifter, and a good character, please contact me via this website. Please read the rest of my descriptions
He has dark hair
Almost like the night
Dark enough to seem as though it was black
Even though it was blue shining bright
He is completely different in the day
Saying things he would never say
His mouth is a cruel curve
Because everything he says is absurd
His eyes a gleaming blue
To match his night-like hair
He isn't you
I wish you were here
Writing descriptions for a book that I am writing! There will be many more to come!
Sometimes it be like that
Dark waves crash against a nearby rock,
as I sit and watch the salt litter every inch.
Small droplets find their way to my skin,
and soon paint patterns across my canvas.
One that has not been blank for so long --
this is not the first time.
My miles of skin crave for your touch,
but you are gone.
I cannot bring myself to forget
how your eyes used to trail my body.
We’d sit by that little waterfall and wait
for the mist to carry its way to us,
leaving us wanting more.
As we sat in our little patch of green,
we would count the stars.
The faint feeling of your finger,
finding its way to my hand --
and a face that never leaves my head.
A nose strong and slightly crooked,
like the tree branches creating a canopy
of leaves above --
hiding us from the moon’s light
and the shadows of the night.
moulding perfectly with mine --
like two lone puzzle pieces,
finally finding their home,
amongst the jagged ones
A time so perfect,
that flowed so nicely --
that I long for again someday,
like the waves in autumn,
striking this rock beside
Because a thing may seem cliche won't mean it isn't right.
Warm sunbeams, drumbeat thunder, and the clash of dark and light.
Or just because it's overused, don't say it can't be true.
Old words and phrases well describe my burning love for you.
An old lion sits on the balcony writing a letter to his lover describing the moment he first saw her; he uses the moon as his lamplight as he murmurs the next line.
"I thought: you are the best drawing I've ever seen..
The most captivating painting,
Most sensual of all the sculptures."
In my mind you'd see frosted windows
Deep thoughts on chilly nights
overcast skies in midday
Mauve grey black and white
Puddles that fill potholes
and stars a mile above your crown
Forests of enchanting pine trees
Vivid cities and abandoned towns
Winter and blinding snowstorms
Mountains jagged yet soft and pink
Rivers and lakes and oceans
Lyrics that force you to think
It's soberness and possibility
A serene drive in silent streets
Independence and stability
Fallen leaves that parade the streets
Thoughts that wander as you do
Buses filled with empty seats
Open fields and morning dew
The first ray of light at as you awake
Simplicity warmth and elegance
And the rhythm of the breaths you take
The essential components are the spaces
The emptiness and silence
It is not a lack or void to fill
Simply memories with traces
The space and vacancy inside
Leaves room for inspiration
Gives new thoughts their proper places
Lost in thought
Lost in my mind
Lost in the stars dew and fields
but not blind
Lost in the analogy
But I've never lost my way
Accustomed to each reality
One foot in each doorway
It is the shape that your life forms
When you're chasing him and he's chasing you,
But you never get anywhere.
A beautiful thing that was never meant to be.
It is the ring on your finger when you
Don't listen to yourself,
When you think with your heart,
When you assume that
Tomorrow will be kinder.
It is the hole in the wall you want
Your fist to make when you argue again.
It is the tears that stream down your face instead.
It is the way you turn as you look at the stars
And beg for answers, and none ever come.
Prompt: Describe a thing without actually saying the thing. I chose to describe a circle.
His hair was like gold silk gently whipping around in the soft breeze
like straw fields of golden harvest
like the fields of so many yesterdays,
so many years in the past,
like a history that lasts
His eyes were blue like pools of a river
black pupils like where it's too deep to see to the bottom,
warm and inviting, do things live there?
his ears so round like the mushroom coming out of the tree
was it medicine or something to eat?
his skin so smooth like silk
glittered in the sunset with golden hue
as the air moved across it like sandpaper
His inner beauty was that of a warrior, and a lover
his courage was strong like a strong man
with torso chiseled and stable frame
his bravery was like the arm of a warrior
bulging and strong and swinging forth
with lightening speed and precision seldom matched
his head was pure with innocence
as he had learned you can do no wrong
thoughts pulsate from his mind like soft white light
heart beating with excellent, soft precision
like a fairy flapping his wings,
his blood was happy
and finally, he moved