CellDwellingSparrows

Nightmares are simple. Nightmares are shelter for our fears. Nightmares are the fuel to everything that makes us carry on toward the new day. Nightmares are the things that twist us in tight knots and make our friends wonder if we are okay. Dreams are like silk and satin. Dreams shelter us from nightmares and highlight our inner most fantasies. Dreams are filled with celebrity crushes and high school sweethearts. Dreams are filled with imagination which holds the key too many forms of success. What are the continual dreams of amazement and perfection? What are the harsh tones of nightmares? Dreams are the very shelter of everything

You are swept up in this moment as she pulls you in, closer and closer until you can almost taste the pearl powder on her skin. You could take the ruby lips into your teeth and suck on them as if they were pomegranate but you do not because you respect such a beautiful creature. She has taken you into a different world where the cherry blossoms are always in bloom and silk is all you lay in; she has stolen your heart with one glance of those wondrous eyes and a smile that tugs at her lip's edge. Her kimono merely adds to all the beauty that this goddess has let you peek upon. A Geisha has been said to hold all the beauty in the world and fro

Name: Ridya Simmons Gender: Male Species: Human Age: 26 Sexual Orientation: Pansexual Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Black Hair Style: A mix of dreads and long hair with a mix of golden beads Scars/Birthmarks/Tattoos: A tattoo that wraps around his neck, it looks like a welting rose. Ridya also has tattoos going up his arms to about inner elbow to cover scars, the tattoos look as of his skin is ripped open to show gold mechanical parts instead of bones and muscles. Background: Ridya was born an only child in Norway. His parents were both hard workers so a lot of time they were never home but they did this so they could provide for Ridya

It's been a year after the game and John finally decided to make a memorial for Dad. He hadn't the guts to do it until now. John stands at Dad's casket with a letter to his dear guardian, slightly worked up already from even looking at the casket. ~.~.~.~ Dad, Heh, I wasn't always the best son but I guess I wasn't the worst. // I miss your cakes and your voice. I really miss your stupid clowns and the smoke from your pipe. I really miss when you tucked me in sometimes and when you sang that song when I was really little. I miss the stories you told to me during Christmas. I really miss that. I also miss the stories you told about Nanna and

The substance takes hold of your veins but doesn't send you into a frenzy of any sort; it actually sends you into a form of relaxation. The hospital was your home as of late but right now you didn't mind, this place didn't scare you like it did some people because to you it was a way of living. Without the hospital you are pretty sure you are a dead man walking on this Earth and you don't like that thought in any way, shape, or form. You are coughing right now; blond locks cling to your forehead and cheeks because of the light sheen of sweat that is settling on your skin from the illness creeping into your body. "Pastel you're only going to

You oddly have hit dead grass, the brown blades slide against your legs as you race forward, looking for a way out already but that doesn't happen so easily. The smog clouds your eyes and burns your throat as you hit pavement. This isn't good already as things start to tug at your head; visions start to dance around the edges of your eyes. Buildings raise into the smudged sky, rusted red is coupled with the gray fluff that now makes you sick then something stands next to you; someone who you haven't seen in a while takes you into one of the many buildings that arch into the sky. This time there are more of the people you love, wrapped up in t

There wasn't ever a lot to explain to this tale, wasn't ever enough to say. All I knew at that time was that I was spiraling down, down to the pits of hell, down to what everyone calls rock bottom. Matthias was just able to (legally) consume alcohol when he died; lord knows he was already drinking the throat burning substance by the time he was sixteen, thought he was grown up at that age. Who could blame him either? Papa always told him that the boy should be a grown man, take care of us. Our family name held respect, honor, all that bullshit that fathers expect from their sons but Matthias didn't want to live up to that. Better yet, he coul