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asslA Split-second Laterassl
Why love? Why not?
How can one tell if they’re in-love? Just how much can one give up? What then? When push comes to shove?
Is it possible for it to materialize out of nowhere? Is it possible for it to vanish a split-second later? Is it material? Is it concealed? Is it visible? Is it real?
If it can be true, can it also be false? If it is true, how can we tell? Can we? Once those butterflies arrive? Is it really as sweet as the honey in the beehive?
How do we really know for sure? What i
by ~deviantjolo
ttcoohrThe Tragic Case of One Hopeless Romanticttcoohr
Frustrated, spent and with all regards uncertain I despise that lost thought of almost reaching heaven The unfairness of this case that is at hand Makes me wonder how it all began
At first, it all seemed purely austere, uncomplicated In a wonderful sense, clean and sorted But in a lightning-fast flash All seemed to be nothing Wasted
Irritated, I put my fist through the wall I felt my world crashing,
And with all its weight it started to fall With only her in my mind, I lit my fourth cigarette in a row &n
by ~deviantjolo
dev_domld_chapter1CHAPTER ONE: Of Flowers and Filthy Facesdev_domld_chapter1
Standing in a dark corner near The House, a stranger walks by, his feet staying in his direction but his eyes on mine. He gave me this dirty, mocking frown. I recognized his filthy eyes. He was the Laundryman. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor man. He lives a life of repetition and routine, and fills his days with the same old things. He wakes up, goes to his shitty job, gets shouted at, eats his lunch alone, goes on washing clothes of strangers, and entertains himself by running his filthy hands all over them while daydreaming about the parts of their bodies that these pieces of
by ~deviantjolo
dev_domld_prologueDiary of My Last Days Sharp, stabbing spasms suddenly attack me from inside. A split-second later, I was back in the realm of the waking, staring at the barren black ceiling of my old and saddened room. I was awake and a thousand dimensions away from the nightmares that infest my sleep. Away, but not as far out as I wanted to be. My mind still clutches on its hands the dark and vicious memories of my sick dreams. Still and without any other thought in my head, I fought every urge not to close my tired eyes. But the fight in me was not enough. It was never enough. In the end, I always give in to them, no matdev_domld_prologue
by ~deviantjolo
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Devious Info
- Interests: music, nicotine, sunsets, secret places
- Favourite genre of music: metal, progressive rock, classical
- Favourite poet or writer: jack higgins, willy russell
- Tools of the Trade: pen, paper, guitar
- Yahoo: tragictuesday
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