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In a Corner of DarknessIn a Corner of Darkness
As a hollow wall in the corner of Darkness
I stand here, not knowing about my secret feeling
My heart pushes it away with a hard dealing
Feeling my love is unending
Though wherever I go, it's just ment for me to get my
heart wrecked into thousand of pieces.
It's like it was ment for me to hear voices that the Darkness
to me where sending.
A thick Shadow inside my chest begun to grow an a painful way
Piercing and cold metal felt deep inside my back
You are betraied, to me in secret they say
As thin glass my heart was on its' way to crack
As a hollow wall in the corner of Darkness
I truly stand alone
Invisible from those I desire
And I will always be alone
In a corner of Darkness
Fuin Nightblade part 2Memories
"What are these?" asked Fuin with some worries in her voice.
She had her finger pointed at a picture in a very old book, while she where looking at her father.
"Those are fellhounds, some of the very first seen in Kalimdor I belive", replied Thoron.
Fuin smirked a bit when she looked at the picture once again. The doglike creatures with the long tentacles really freaked her out.
"Are they... demons?" she asked him in the same way.
Thoron noded at her.
"Indeed. Those feeds upon magickal energies and..." he interrupted himself, and took a look at the book she where reading. "This is the first war... did you know about that?" he continued.
Fuin noded slightly at him.
"You have always told me that the greatest power is wisdom, and I really do want to know more about the past", she said to him with a small smile.
It had really bothered Thoron to have her reading about the stories and histories of the ancient wars. But he had promised her someday that she could, and now w
Fuin Nightblade part 1A Deep Scar
The forest looked so different while seeing it from this angle. It didn't look so beautiful as it always had. Maybe it was the pain that disturbed the feeling? Normally the woods of Ashenvale brought laughs inside of her, but not now.
For a while ago, she heard some voices speaking in a strange tounge she'd never heard before, behind some trees. She got lost in the curiosity, and while she had been watching those people, she didn't notice that someone where watching her aswell. She couldn't see very mutch of the figure, but she saw some green flames waving around the area. Then, when she finally got a sight of 'em, she panted. Was that a demon? She had never seen one before, but the looks of the creature could reflect to them. She had been told often in her youth about the burning
legion and the wars. But not so mutch as she hoped for, sense her teatcher thought she still where to young to know about those bloodbaths.
She begun slightly to move backwards, to get
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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