Our Battle FieldIt is more than just a game. It is life.Our Battle Field
Bloody knuckles and broken bones are our sacrifice. Bruises are medals. We wear them with pride. Mud stains our clothes, soaking in until it becomes one with our skin. There is a deathly silence. We wait in anticipation.
It is one against many.
The lone soldier steps up, her only weapon a long metal rod. A helmet protects her head, of course (no one goes into battle without some sort of protection). Her hands are encased in worn gloves. Her knees are protected by thin socks. Mud coats her shoes. Black marker stains her cheeks. There is determination in her eyes,
EarsPoison of the SoulThe cigarette rests between your teeth, cradled by cracked lips.Poison of the Soul
You inhale, breathing in those poisonous toxins. Don't you know it's bad for you? Don't you know that you'll die? Of course you do. But you don't care.
You never did.
But I can see, in those brittle bones and hollow eyes, a soul trying to escape. You can't, though. You're drawn in. Your exterior remains a shell, pretending to be void of emotion. A walking skeleton. There is nothing there. No voice.
You're pathetic.
You say it relaxes your nerves. What nerves? You never had any. Yo
paper heartthe monitor represented your last connection with this world. the dull and constant beep was my only companion (even though you were there, you weren't really there). the clock wound down.paper heart
tick. tick. tick.
time, what a strange thing. too much, yet not enough. it was a moment like that that I wish I could freeze time. give us (give you) more time. but no matter how long or hard I stared at the clock, it never stopped. futile, I know. but who said I couldn't try?
desperate people do desperate things.
if only they worked.
watching you fade away, that was the hardest part. i did
I see that we're both determined to not do homework now, huh?
btw, i love that poem, i can't stop reading it
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~Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad~
Thanks so much! My mother didn't get it; she was like, "It doesn't rhyme...?"
moms...aren't they awesome?
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~Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad~
Because anything else is OBVIOUSLY a suicidal cry for help.
My mom read my book, and her feedback was: "Lots of characters get angry. Can't you make them not angry?"
Oh, mothers.
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"To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner." - Lestat
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dmack
"The future and the past don't exist, there is only one moment in time...........now."
My Gallery [link]
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www. s n b - f o t o .hu
when I don't take photos: ~borart
I didn't know you had a DA, though I think you told me a long time ago...I feel like a stalker now, haha.
Nice photography.
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~Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad~
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