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A science girl who loves art. |
Particularly interested in crafting among all medias and is obsessed when it comes to miniature food.
With this passion, this is a place where she takes a break from her busy studies to share, reflect and be inspired.
My Blog: nassae.blogspot.com/
My Etsy: www.etsy.com/shop/NassaeMiniat…
My Pinterest: pinterest.com/nassae/
The Truth Hurts, Baby I wish I could
love you like you
love your alcohol,
but my heart is
and my spine
refuses to bend.
Can I Ask Your Secrets?Secrets... Will you trust them? Can you? I can answer that... Don't turn around.
Can I stare at you? Of course... I smirk and you know why I'm smirking.
Can I look into your eyes? Why not... I see what's behind them.
Can I touch your arm? Why... I know why you're so warm.
Can I ask why you're so nervous every time I touch your skin? No... Your goose bumps amuse me, they make me smirk. They tell me I'm closer.
You see, you know I know everything... Everything about you, inside and out.
I know what you hide, I know why you hide. I see why you cringe when they speak; I hear what you say when you sleep, when you swallow; when you moan. Do you not know who I am to you, what I am to you? You know I can tell them everything about you, everything about your past, your present and your future. I can see all, I can tell all; I know all.
I can see you shudder. You're a shell of a man, and you know that I know that. This is why you hide here, inside your min
From The AshesAnd there she stood,
among the broken bits of friendship
and the charred memories
Bending, she stooped to
pick up a necklace,
painted and made of clay
Half a heart, hung on
a melted silver chain
she tucked her chin down
The pain of disappointment,
accompanied by the sting
of the knife in her back
She had no more tears
to share and shed from her
once fragile eyes
Walking, she stepped around the
fallen remains of love and
To the backyard, beyond the
rubble, where the slightly green grass
was red with flames
Behind her downcast form,
the remnants and fragments of what
Her back arched, a perfect
crescent moon and from
the battered skin came wings
Steel strong and cotton soft,
feathers streaked with lively orange
She stretched them far, before
beating the air below her
Without a backwards glance, she
rose from the ashes of
what once was and flew towards
what was soon to be
The Prince,The Lady andYou seek a story, and of those I have many. For some call me Lore Mistress, and some simply call me eccentric. Both are true I suppose. But back to the task at hand, something dreamy, with a touch of something wicked you say? Perhaps I shall take you literally in your request.
Let me tell you a tale of a prince, a lady and an apple. Simple items really. You have heard this tale before? Perhaps, for there are many versions, and history repeats itself, although we should really learn from it. Will you humor me anyway and then take from it what you will?
Our tale begins with a prince. He was a wanderer and a dreamer. His cares for the state of his kingdom were not many, for he was the youngest of four, and it was not likely that he would inherit the throne. So, he spent his days roaming the land in search of adventure and stories.
One morning, he awoke early and decided to let his horse decide which path they would take that day. He let his horse wander until he no longer recognized the t
Maedhros: Son of FireHe was the fire
Wine until bottom
And pain of fame
He was my father
His anger like flood
We sealed our Oath
In fire and blood
The flame extinguished
By Oath we're still bound
Through tears and pain
No rest to be found
The blood on my hands
And my hand in chains
What was it for
When nothing remains?
The Light we sought, burns
So close, yet so far
We are not worthy
To touch a star
Burning flame, take me
And clean the stain
Take the cursed Jewel
And end my pain!
In fire it started
In fire it ends
Just like my father
The fire in my veins
SparkAll light had failed.
There was only darkness. Darkness, and him, and the pain. The pain was the only thing that was not dark. When Maedhros closed his eyes, the pain even blocked out the darkness, drowning it, mostly red, sometimes white.
There were no stars; even they had failed. Maybe they were still there somewhere, above the reeking fumes and smokes of the furnaces of Angband. Maybe they were already gone. Maybe the world was already gone. He had no way of knowing. Sometimes, it would rain, but the rain was black and oily, and it stank. There was no clean thing left in the world. It burned in his eyes and in the many wounds upon his body.
There were no voices, no sounds except the wind. The Orcs did not come up here. He thought that, ultimately, that was why they had chained him here. Down in the dungeons, even when they'd tortured him, there had still been something in him that had fought. Just seeing their faces had filled him with a burning fire of hatred, and the hatred had fu
heavy stormsthey were running out onto the fields in a morbidly fast pace, their pale bodies carried by their bare feet, following lines in the grass others had run along before. it were three or four of them, and I never really knew more than I was told. one of them was called Timothy. a strong young boy with a lot of glory ahead of him, always the first to talk, the first to act, a character of some kind. he had worked his way up in school and the other fellows admired him for the honest weigh of his words that pleased and touched them deep down their heart. but he was not sane. his luster had devastated his mind, his soul, and his being had become like the machines at the enormous steel factory at the edge of the sprawl that once was called a town; he was working, but living he failed to. the second's name was Elizabeth. never too loud, never too eccentric, never too much. her big eyes and her light heart had made men using her the way no woman should be used, but she let it happen. she never c
soulswe've lost the touch to reality. we fall in love with strangers, picturing their stories and minds as we please. we start dancing in the streets as at the times we felt no one was watching. we attach to things so easily; to that pen we use everyday to put down our thoughts into words, to that bracelet we got on that trip where we felt everlasting, to that person we met just yesterday and who we can't get our mind off. we're dying and coming alive again with the characters in the books we read, we hold them to our breasts and say "this is me black on white". our mood changes within a second when the first line of this specific song comes on. we lie in the high grass watching the clouds, but they are not clouds. this is a lion and that over there is a kissing couple. we put a life and a mind in every little thing we see; these sparks rising towards the sky long to be part of the stars, this branch got mad at our ignorance and wanted to hit us in the knee, our cat is hurt by our absence f
.and i stopped killing spiders
when i realized that we are both just trying
to make our way in the world
and he hasn't got a clue
how he ended up on my bathroom floor
and i can turn out the lights to
stop the moths from killing themselves
but i can't turn off my brain and
stop myself from doing the same