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Literature Text
Too young for suicide
But too broken to soldier on
Too world-weary to claim innocence
When all hope is gone
I cannot face reality
Prefer delusions in my mind
Cannot stitch myself together
When I’ve done so a thousand times
I will not look within myself
I will not look away
I will not wear these masks any longer
I do not fear today
But too broken to soldier on
Too world-weary to claim innocence
When all hope is gone
I cannot face reality
Prefer delusions in my mind
Cannot stitch myself together
When I’ve done so a thousand times
I will not look within myself
I will not look away
I will not wear these masks any longer
I do not fear today
Literature
Elf King Chapter 01
Storm clouds gathered within the sky. The sun shone through the single mouth of the darkness, shining on the coronation chamber. On occasion, the spires of the sages would be struck by a wayward lightning bolt, but no power came of it, it wasn't yet time for the event.
Sebastian sat in the chamber, waiting for the coronation. The last king was unjustly slain. On that day, Sebastian and his wife, Ilena, had been invited to feast with the king. This feast also served to unite the greater knights, Sir Nameless among them, to strategize. A threat from the people of a nearby land sang bitterly for their people and rumors said the heathens comman
Literature
Pieklo Niesmiertelnych 1.1
"...Z księgi Malonitów..."
Miejsce do którego nie dociera czas
"Posłuchajcie, Sunari, bóstwa, duchy i mieszkańcy Wód Zaświatów. Sprawca nieszczęść, śmierci, zniszczenia, okrucieństwa i przyczyna zmartwień naszej bogini dobra, został wreszcie zwyciężony. Jego zwycięstwa w walce ze słabymi osłabiły jego samego, dały mu poczucie siły i złudę bycia niepokonanym, a także sprawiły, że stał się nieostrożny. Tak, jak wielu przed, nie zdołał przewyższyć sił dobra i zo
Literature
Depression Diaries: 1/4/13
I am trapped within these four walls with company I do not wish to keep, for now. I have no control over what I say or do. That's what people don't seem to understand. They say that they'll always be there, that they love me for who I am and that they'll never leave. Who am I kidding? They will always leave. You get stuffed up by the world and you're the only one who can dig yourself out. Psychiatrists? Counsellors? They don't care, not really. They only stuff you around and mess with your head because they'll still get a pay check at the end of the day. What's the point of getting help?
It doesn't matter. It never does. It's always when you
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kinda sounds like me...great poem anyway! 