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violet brownlee Nov 2017
Sitting on a wire

Swaying softly in the wind

I gaze towards the birds flying by

Oh, how I wish to be free
i put this in a story i wrote
violet brownlee Nov 2017
Here in the Valley of Shadow stands the Angel of Death, who hath grown accustomed to its utter dark and dismal atmosphere.

But the Angel of Death wears a melancholy expression, for before him stands a young, beautiful angel, whose light and purity often give reason to shun the dark being that towers over her, but not her.

She, this perfect and delicate angel, offers a hand in unity to the Angel of Death.

Why does he not take her hand?

What holds him back, fear, perhaps guilt that he knows what evil lies beneath his bones?

Is he afraid that if he touches her, he will taint her pure being with the blackness he radiates?

Whatever the reason may be, he stands, deciding whether or not to embrace the angel offer of friendship and compassion, or to deny her and sink back into the darkness that consumes him.
i like to live in darkness
violet brownlee Nov 2017
With a sugar cry

A liquorice noose

And a candy cane knife

I will surely die



And I know

That you will mourn

My candy death

By the first tomorrow



With a chocolate heart

A caramel blood flow

And a toffee laugh

I will surely eat my art
metaphors!
violet brownlee Nov 2017
She’s not here for revenge

She’s here to apologize

It didn’t occur to her that you were hurting too

                                      

All she wanted was a day of freedom

And you gave her years

She thanks you as she places her hand on your stone

What an interesting person you were



Tears start to fall

She wishes she was the one who had to swallow glass

All she wanted was for you to hold your fire



The poison you gave was deadly but not toxic

It corrupted her but did not **** her

You had restrained yourself and she is grateful

She hopes you were just as beautiful in death



As you always were to her

Goodbyes have always been hard for her

And yet, here is your goodbye:

A grave and fresh dirt
I don't even remember writing this, but it was probably late and I was probably high, so meh.
violet brownlee Nov 2017
A necklace of rope hangs from your neck

As your bruises bleed all lost hope

So let’s talk about your death

It was, in fact, unfortunate, but well deserved



What you did was no human right

As magic is not among humans

And yet you wished and you were granted death

So let’s talk about your end, shall we?



Dark eyes and dark hair has always been in and out

Yet you were as bright as a dove

A mark of beauty, which got you into trouble



Sit down, and let me tell you a tale

“A girl used magic and she was hanged; the end.”

So tragic and so predictable



“Lord Death,” you say, “I want to live, sir.”

And of course you do, you died after all!



That necklace of rope suits you well

Since now you are not beautiful anymore

In death, nobody is ever beautiful

But death is the most beautiful thing



My poor soul, how you screamed when the dark came

Beaten, dragged stabbed, and then hanged

What a show you put on

It’s such a pity it had to end at your end
violet brownlee Nov 2017
I hear you’ve died

But really you only

Live with me now

And now that you’re here

You can clean up the mess you’ve made



Now listen to me

I own you

Like a bird in a cage

You can’t fly away

But I can hurt you



You think that you have

Lived through Hell

But sweetie

You’ve never lived

With somebody like me



I’m like a snake

Waiting to strike

With my deadly poison

It keeps you alive

By letting you die



You drown in my poison

And my ****** ink

Falling through your pain

Only keeps you alive

As long as you hate to live



My darling,

Can’t you see I

Only do this

Because you can’t live

With the mind you have?



Why can’t you

Let the crowd

Roar like lions

When they see you

Standing there in your inky pain?



Stop standing there

And waiting for them

To **** you

Like a wolf

Kills a stag



Let it swallow you whole

And let it become you

Making you more like my ink

That spills on the pages of death

That keeps you alive



Nothing can stop me

From keeping you here

Like a hoarder

Keeping garbage at its side

Even if you can’t stand the smell
I don't even remember writing this
violet brownlee Nov 2017
Smoke surrounds only the dying people

But they cannot see their fates

They burn their lungs

And poison their blood



Nobody knows they are dead

Nobody cares if they stop

All they can say is “It’s not our fault”



They are addicted to Death

They will perish like green leaves in autumn

It will be the downfall of all humans

And nobody will feel sorry for them



Because it is their fault
This is very personal to me.
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