"All the times the buildings have been painted yellow.
All the times I've been painted red.
All the times I screamed for freedom.
All the times he's screamed for me to finally submit.
I will not change.
I will not fall.
He will not succeed.
He will fall someday."
Another poem, fairly shorter than the rest. Elle put the scrap of paper away and looked around the honeysuckle and beige room, dark and lonely. It was silent, as usual, though there were still sounds ringing in her ears... Mostly that of a whip being cracked across her bare back, slicing the skin open once more. How much longer would this go on? This, she knew not.
Scars ran up and down her arms, legs, chest, back, and even right on her face, a stitched up gash right under her left eye. These were trophies to her, displayed for all to see. She cared not if anyone stared, if they grimaced in fear or shook their heads in pity. No, she took these actions as acknowledgement. And even when she went to face the one who brought these scars in the first place, the ones on her arms were in full view.
And no one dared to say a word, for the lone protester knew all and saw all, just as the snake himself did. Almost equals, yet pride spoke a different story. The puppeteer will always refuse to see eye to eye with a puppet who has cut her strings. Nothing will sway his vision, nor will anything sway hers. Thus, the endless cycle continues.
All the times I've been painted red.
All the times I screamed for freedom.
All the times he's screamed for me to finally submit.
I will not change.
I will not fall.
He will not succeed.
He will fall someday."
Another poem, fairly shorter than the rest. Elle put the scrap of paper away and looked around the honeysuckle and beige room, dark and lonely. It was silent, as usual, though there were still sounds ringing in her ears... Mostly that of a whip being cracked across her bare back, slicing the skin open once more. How much longer would this go on? This, she knew not.
Scars ran up and down her arms, legs, chest, back, and even right on her face, a stitched up gash right under her left eye. These were trophies to her, displayed for all to see. She cared not if anyone stared, if they grimaced in fear or shook their heads in pity. No, she took these actions as acknowledgement. And even when she went to face the one who brought these scars in the first place, the ones on her arms were in full view.
And no one dared to say a word, for the lone protester knew all and saw all, just as the snake himself did. Almost equals, yet pride spoke a different story. The puppeteer will always refuse to see eye to eye with a puppet who has cut her strings. Nothing will sway his vision, nor will anything sway hers. Thus, the endless cycle continues.
September 17th 2013, 10:12 pm by Our Immortal Lives
» Mishi the Dumb-butt
September 10th 2013, 11:25 pm by Our Immortal Lives
» ZerAe Ships~ uvu
September 10th 2013, 7:28 pm by Kaitlyn the Boss-chan
» Song Poem and Interpretation
September 9th 2013, 11:20 pm by Our Immortal Lives
» 100th Post Confessions
September 9th 2013, 11:05 pm by Kaitlyn the Boss-chan
» Character Interview: Zavier [Revised]
September 8th 2013, 11:25 pm by Our Immortal Lives
» Character Interview: Aezr
September 7th 2013, 5:47 pm by Kaitlyn the Boss-chan
» Character Interview: Dorian
September 7th 2013, 12:34 am by Kaitlyn the Boss-chan
» Best Blackheart Prince Boy
September 7th 2013, 12:18 am by Kaitlyn the Boss-chan