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Literature
Self Awareness, iv
This is spoken from where I am now. How I related and relate to you and maybe how we all do.
I write this because I have not communicated with you properly and have strained our relation in some way or at some point.
I want you to know, it wasn't completely on purpose. It is who I am.
This is not to correct or make right, I can't undo the past. It's to let you know, that I know I fucked up with you, sometimes severely.
I project my weaknesses on to you. So when I'm angry or on a short fuse with you, it's me and how I relate to that particular part of myself that I imagine I see in you. For that and plenty of other reasons I think I'm a shitty person, but I can take it because I earn it.
Only when we accept words from others that we value more than our own do we begin to break.
At some point or another you've held a great deal of respect for me and I've used it to hurt you by making you doubt yourself. We get fear, hurt and doubt from ourselves enough already.
I hate myself for adding t
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Literature
I am me
Hahaha
I went back home that day.
And for two years I couldn't leave it I was scared of everything, everyone.
I went back to me
All of sudden I was 5 again and getting picked on and hiding behind the light pole because no one could reach my little ass there
I watched anime because someone once told me naruto was cool
For those two years I just watched anime to forget everything
I can't remember how I got out but I did I ran at night like 4am to get back in shape and joined the army and stayed away from everyone I started over again
Just like you want
It helped a little
Then I met you
And you told me not to love you
but I did
You told me your story and I listened
I told you mine
Out of love
And you didn't want to listen
So then I knew
Nothing would close this gap
And I just knew
Everyone is still picking on this weird ass boy and he is fed the fuck up because no one accepts him for who he is so fuck the world if they can't adjust
I'm me and I don't want to be anyone else because I'm alw
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Literature
Black Box
He was different once.
He trusted.
Everything was easy.
He was eighteen when his eyes opened for the second time.
Everything was pressed into one dream
That same year he learned to die.
His heart wasn't broken
His spirit was
Everything else followed
He had never wanted to die
Too bad.
He woke twice that year
He wouldn't sleep again for another six
The darkest dream he had awoken
Numb to pain
Numb to life
Numb to death
When others cried he became angry
So numb that sadness couldn't reach
There was no catalyst for change
Desperately numb to thought
Childishly stuck.
The leaves fell twice before his balls did.
A forced choice
To the end he could find neither high nor low
So he mimicked others
Stealing emotion
A smile for the moment
Sex
Numb to loneliness
Anger a faded outlet
Work
Money
Spent
Work
Sex
Numb to happy
Numb in love
Fucked for the moments
Work
Money
Spent
Work
Fuck
Numbed to numbing
There was change.
Everytime his eyes had opened a new voice had entered
Quietly controlling
One
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Literature
No easy living
Borne of an eager winter
In notches of horror
We lived
Inhales of decay
Bruised saplings refreshed in rain
We withered before autumn's rust
Color dyed
You were born without haste
Nor worry
Sweetly hurt of common fears
No tragedy
Only distant edgy living
Not Forced
Only eased off the board
Despite the simplicity
We took the steps. 
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Literature
Just one more time
Turn and burn.
Turn and burn. He would aggressively whisper.
Come on, you son of a bitch. Exasperated. 
Just turn around and leave. Desperate.
It was a quarter to four and the light in the horizon was turning into a milky shade of blue.
The nearly vacant harbor filled with a throaty roar as a black muscle car pitched forward before it circled back.
The moment he'd returned to see. This night might've been the reason, could it be traced here. This or some unknowable would solve it.
Once the vehicle had turned all the way, it rolled to a stop.
No, there was no way. He couldn't have been spotted. It was illogical, but still it was not at all impossible.
Just as the vehicle started another turn a dim yellow light flashed two faces. And with a deep pop shattered the driver side window.
It was flowing back to him now, not all but just enough to change. The great will power.
The drivers door opened, had it changed?
His heart sunk. The driver fell out dead.
He got out of the passenge
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Literature
Iron Hands
Faulty lighting, a shitty strobe effect in the distance, I cut through the park as I inch closer. Eleven at night he's getting off work, surely for the usual clandestine meeting with the others.
I move through the pitch darkness across the parking lot.
I'm late, he might've left already.
I can't believe he drives a car, and I just saw it, still parked.
A sad excuse, a lone island and its coconut a flickering cone of light and he parks as far away as he can from it...
He wants to be tried for his life, he wants to hurt.
I'll put it to an end, here and now.
I move car to car keeping low, in the absence of light.
The back door opens and out he walks.
I think he can see me.
This rapscallion turned do-gooder, might have spotted me.
Bullshit.
He's almost frozen in place, the light flickers and draws his attention.
If he spotted me this'll be a lot more troublesome.
He knows, he can almost feel it. My eyes. He's straining to catch anything out there—
The light fades into a deep orange h
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Literature
Frank Sense
They say he knows what happens before it actually does. They also said I died once, that I left something in that other place, but truth be told I've brought more back. He's been hiding before Bamboo was strung up in the lower part of the city.
Few have seen him before. I am not counted among them.
Iron Hands is the first to move undoubtedly contacted by Sense.
No one else, just what was Sense playing at.
Bamboo was simple he trusted way to easily, even thanked me for taking his life. I sincerely doubt Iron Hands will be so noble.
This is for the best how much longer before they understand.
We're chaos brought to life.
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Literature
Bamboo Harmony
There was always a reason not to, I never liked any of them. Shouting contests against whiny little cocks. There was something between us from the very beginning, they wandered the city looking for someone to help. Madness that still works its way into my hands. They knew. Everybody knows.
Lower downtown that's where all the wretched cower, waiting for the opportunity to strike another lower than themselves.
They don't think I can see it, the genuine disgust in their eyes, for these men. They've always saved a modicum of hate, for me. I've seen the brutality of their banality in their action, no amount of pain is corrective action, yet they take it to criminals, destroying something, old and within, person by person, body and mind. They're trying to find something of closure in their past. They beat these men to a fine bloody mess, for justice.
They can't wrap their heads around want and need.
All the trouble they've cost me. The humans pass laws of explicit salvation. Me, I take anybo
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Literature
Gourd
Gourd
March 15-18(19)
Got a call about a week ago.
Normally, I don't put much stock into things that are texted about as vaguely as that had been put.
Thing was both my phones incessantly vibrated, without ever being redirected to the messaging system.
Stranger things have not happened but I wanted to see where it would lead.
From a plane to Cairo
To hopping off an overnight train near Asyut.
I'd hunkered down a few clicks from bum fucked nowhere. The arid temperature made the trek difficult to say the least. And I did, though… Mobbing through the border in that jeep had been quite exhausting.
After the black market tour guide dropped me off and rudely threw my shit into the sand, he said something I would never forget or understand, because I wasn't entirely sure it was English.
Goodbye. I accepted after some deliberation.
I walked several clicks in the direction the coyote pointed-- for three hours.
The heat of the sun was lost on the loose fitting shemag
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Literature
Escape, Escape
  I had a dream the other day, I woke in a cold sweat, a little scared.
  I—I, turned the light on my phone and looked around. I do that sometimes because I'm scared.
But this time I turned it on by accident I was checking the time. 2:22am. And 22 seconds.
  I checked the clock at 2:22:22 I must have woken earlier.
  As I'm laying there trying to count the seconds it takes to sit up, find my phone and check the time after accidentally turning the light on. I remembered my dream.
I wake in a cold sweat realizing I'm late but I don't know why. And that's fine.
—Dream logic—
  Riiight, that's what its called.
  So I must have slept dressed because I head straight out—
Of a third story window and keep running along the roof. All I know at this moment is I need to get going, faster still."
  Family? Children? I'm telling you I have the Devils fear in me. I know then, I just want to survive.
—I'm not dying—
  I'm run
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Mature content
Not the ones :icondyingmisguidedfool:DyingMisguidedFool 0 0
Literature
Living Memory Uploaded
To my waking self
 Searching for a hand beneath the surface
of the individual who has sent you further beyond than the heartless could endure.
Lies beside you
 blissfully captivating 
In the absolute 
Even 
The softest glimmer can bind
 that soft luminance caresses
Paralyzing coalescence 
 
Is how
But you fight back
The Intersecting specters of thought 
Our alien Intruders 
Recoil
Speak so they don't get another chance
Speak so that you have no other choice 
 
     our rusted coil
The depreciated history of the over appreciated 
An abundance of what was 
Collected by four
A proof of existence 
Would you
Commit to memory
To You that shakes my slumbering heart
 Is hope that love does not find its way 
That when it does, it does not situate 
 I hope when the sky falls it dares not tell of what has befallen us
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Mature content
Family Tradition :icondyingmisguidedfool:DyingMisguidedFool 0 0
Mature content
losing my balance :icondyingmisguidedfool:DyingMisguidedFool 0 0
Literature
Committed to Memory
Effortless and sure-footed, reverberation traversing the hallway. Surer their purpose. Admist the glowering white light entered civilized agents of sanctioned barbarism. They've not expected this, what I've awoken to. Trepidation. A contest fit of fists and a lampshade.
Entreating my final desire, I know it will carry. They honor resistance and I am nothing if not.
 "I don't care how, find yours in the vacuum of naught. If you're dim see it lit by the light of your kin, get the fuck out!"
You don't understand the capacity of memory your minds can withstand. Wasted. We've complied a fraction of our sovereign's life into bits of what we've harvested. Can't you understand they are very much still  you, why not accept them, these slightly impaired yet functioning humans. What you would call their sacrifice becomes the only proof of our sovereign's remembered existence.
"Your misguided form of remembrance sought salvation wrought from the minds of many. Strike the thought of which
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Literature
Deconstruct, i
I live life in the past tense. My life could be seen as a gray canvas on which various attempts to subdue me ended in a kaleidoscope of colorful splotches. It was there within the boundless and blurred impressions that I found myself, among friends.
Before then I had always been exact in my display and sought to live balanced between the way I ought to have been and what was expected, but that I may have actually believed neither far from the truth was absurd.
I was often found doing nothing
Could it have been an imagined plight
Because it was never seen.
I lived for the day I would die, my reality slept fantasy.
Entertainment was a distraction from real and I always found myself in one incomplete form or another.
I was overly sensitive but numb to the outside 
I was open minded 
Judgmental
Everyone could be better.
Applause hampered my progress 
I'd never be any better. But.
No one can change
aside from splitting an atom 
We try.
I'm not in constant conflict I'm ju
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DyingMisguidedFool
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"We live and breathe words. .... It was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. They could be honest with me, and I with them. Reading your words, what you wrote, how you were lonely sometimes and afraid, but always brave; the way you saw the world, its colors and textures and sounds, I felt--I felt the way you thought, hoped, felt, dreamt. I felt I was dreaming and thinking and feeling with you. I dreamed what you dreamed, wanted what you wanted--and then I realized that truly I just wanted you."
-Cassandra Clare

Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish.
-Hermann Hesse

"I write differently from what I speak, I speak differently from what I think, I think differently from the way I ought to think, and so it all proceeds into deepest darkness."
-Franz Kafka

The reason that fiction is more interesting than any other form of literature, to those who really like to study people, is that in fiction the author can really tell the truth without humiliating himself.
-Eleanor Roosevelt

You always get more respect when you don't have a happy ending.
-Julia Quinn

Read it with sorrow and you will feel hate.
Read it with anger and you will feel vengeful.
Read it with paranoia and you will feel confusion.
Read it with empathy and you will feel compassion.
Read it with love and you will feel flattery.
Read it with hope and you will feel positive.
Read it with humor and you will feel joy.
Read it with God and you will feel the truth.
Read it without bias and you will feel peace.
Don't read it at all and you will not feel a thing.
-Shannon L. Alder

What is a quote? A quote (cognate with quota) is a cut, a section, a slice of someone else’s orange. You suck the slice, toss the rind, skate away. Part of what you enjoy in a documentary technique is the sense of banditry. To loot someone else’s life or sentences and make off with a point of view, which is called “objective” because you can make anything into an object by treating it this way, is exciting and dangerous.
-Anne Carson

I Try to captivate the feelings and emotions and what I am saying and try to put it into words. The written language is an amazing and almost magical thing. It allows us to transfer what is in our minds onto a more permanent document. Each and every written work of art should be treated like a holy document, because it comes from a place that human get glimpses of.
-Sam Mercaldo aka drakonteios.deviantart.com
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SilverInkblot Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the devWatch :)
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TheKerwinator Featured By Owner Aug 24, 2015  Professional Writer
Thank you for the watch!! :)
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:icondyingmisguidedfool:
DyingMisguidedFool Featured By Owner Aug 25, 2015
Thanks for posting
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gusavancini Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015  Professional Photographer
Thanks for the watch :)
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da-hazard Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the Watch! Really appreciate it ^^
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