OxygenPlant

Yeah, I have seen a bird take a bath. Interesting perception. Adds a whole new element to it. The narrotors lines are not as strong because the idea was less clear, more confusing.

Love it. I can totally relate. Nicely done.

Hey wyvern, that was really effective feedback. Thank you. Im suprised that I understand and agree. Although the references are essential to what was behind the poem, in a sense. I'm not sure how to better explain that one. Thank you for reading! It's much appreciated, and I'm glad you enjoyed it on the whole.

It's not that someone clipped your wings. More alike to lathering them in mud. A voluntary act. Agendas to make one curious. Now with wings so heavy, you lay before me limp. I stand the saddest witness, no one likes to see an eagle fall. I turn with your trend, and claim a heavy heart. Though not mud covered, something less clear, not transparent. I am before you throwing water in looks and thoughts of mine. I wish to cleanse you, to have you back, and watch you fly. I have seen you in your glory, You wings spread and shining. The amazement that you bring me, you tuck inside your wing. Why do you fold it so, and hide everything. The eagle with the pigs. Although rumours insist, no, they do not fly.

A room that is cluttered, empty and my own. The days have faded, and my conscience grown. I think of you and always sullen I seem When all I have is wonder without the bliss of dream. You find yourself without me, in a house that often creaks. She has a wilted manner, and words she inwardly speaks. You still continue to rattle, shake and recede. Without her as your leaning post, you can only plead. "Take me and behold, the things I have for you. Mirrors and falsities, things seldom true." I have but one direction, today you may see. The thing I truely want from you, is for you to set me free.

This was so enchanting to read.

The basis of this just a moment through time I stand small in this mass of gray Chalky it feels against my mood Unaware of the colour that passes Loud it is, but sterile In a cube of my imagination, this seems euphoric. though the lack lustre effects have drained me. Draining. The ink runs from my face leaves me colourless Dry. I am a tin that echoes. Falling down concrete stairs. end over end. Meaningless in action Metaphor rises to win. Moving through past sunshine The stone in my shoe rattles. Dull ache faces me. I don't mind. This is but passing. I am passing but still, I stand.

I really enjoyed this. It made me feel peacefully sombre. In a way that was... soothing. Thanks!

I hadn't disregarded your advice. Although I'm not following it for this piece, I'll keep it in mind for future ones. I like to be able to look back and make comparisons on uncensored mistakes. I appreciate that you took the time to point it out. thank you.

Yeah, I considered that as I was typing it into the forum thing, but I prefer to keep my writing raw. I write it as I'm thinking it or feeling it, and I don't go back and edit. I agree with you, but pass.

Awww shucks! I wasn't expecting anyone to like this. thank yoou:)

Agh. The amount of times I went to write crowning fock face was so infuriating! Slander away.

Bringing forth serenity Peace from within The frowning clock face batters me Outside and in Trading bone for bone My perceptual black market begins Fading in and out Bleak clarity Though clarity through and through The concept not beyond me Through choice out of reach By sight I deny that I see Sweet little untruth You fool only yourself To feign before becoming feigned I have beaten you I have beaten myself Joined by defeat we praise The battle that has seen weaker days Silly little frowning clock face. I am immortal. Can't you see? Beaten I will never be.

Haha, cool! This is very well done. I enjoyed.

Wow, thank you so much Regel. Sounds silly, but I really appreciate when people appreciate.

I've only just noticed these replies. I appreciate both immensely. Thank you

Warning of content: Uhh... not for everyone? Okay. That'll do. The scent of damp musk envelopes me. As consciousness reunites me with this darkness I have been pulled to, I identify this smell. Cigarettes, a person of unclean nature and a room with curtains rarely peeled. The breathing that is close to me is not only my own. Stale down my neck, my spine shivers. Trying to pull away from this, my body is too limp. Through unfocused, half open eyes my vision is penetrated with eyes that can only glare. Empty and holow as they bore through me. The only movement I can feel in my body is that of his in disharmony of my racing heart. Beating quickly as latent adrenaline forges into my mind but leaves my body a living corpse. His rhythm against me. Frantic but methodical: he has time. I further try to piece my surroundings. Placing only a gothic theme, laden with swords, skulls, empty cigarette packets and abandoned beer bottles. Echoing from beneath a dim red light in the far corner of the room, a battered stereo emits Riders of the Storm. Soothed by the voice of Jim Morisson, I resign to unconsciousness. Sweet unconsciousness. As it takes me back to oblivion a hold myself with the thought of, if I can't feel this, it's not happening, I am not experiencing this. Minutes pass, maybe hours or days. An enternity of black sleep as I'm reluctant to wake to breathe this hell. I dare to resurface. Across from me he sits. His eyes still penetrate me. For now, only his eyes. Rolling a cigarette in his filthy hands, he watches me still. Our contact has resigned but still I feel him, oozing through me. His sweat drying on my skin. Numbly I distract myself with items decorating this sespit. I pause at a dagger mounted above me. Noting this, he claims, "It'd be unfortunate if that were to for some reason fall and get you." The silence at the end of his sentence rings in my ears. His eyes return to his durrie as he lights. The flame illuminates his face and vividly etches the image into my skull. I watch. My sight gaining, I outline him. He is tall, tattooed and scarred. My eyes pass by his ribs and the gaunt eveident in his face, class A's have succesfully ravished him, although he is built strong. He returns to me. Act II begins. He spreads himself upon me like a parasitic disease. Submit, I must. What has put me in this state has begun to wear. Thought it has been the basis of my demise, I resent it for doing so. Horrificially aware now of the game he has played and is winning I struggle, though weak. My eyes again catch the sword above me. This time with detail it shines. The steel dragon wrapped around the handle engages my instinct of fear. He watches me watching and speaks again. "That dragon tells me you'll be back tomorrow. Will you tell me he lies?" He has stripped my body and my soul. Turned my consciousness and unconsciousness to harm. Inflicted himself, his vile, hateful self upon me, but still I give him the only answer I'm allowed. "No." I reply. I loathe the praise that follows. "Good girl," he tells me.

You try to convince me that I'm a person who is like you, and I'm starting to believe. My actions and reactions to your accusations have shown the worst in me. Defensive as my default setting, I am blind to you and the world outside of you. I've begun to forget that there are evident opposites of contamination. My brain spins as overcome I am with revelations I have above you. Through the cracks in my shield I am suprised to be burnt by conscious light. In this light, You are not everything. You are not my everything.

Oh lame. I made a mistake. It's not supposed to be 'As I knew before this'. It's as I kneal before this. Lol, moment lost. Sigh.

Let me inhale once more. I gasp as I choke down this monster I have swallowed. I want to breathe again, this scent of life. -Crisp pure mourning. -The rotting flesh within us. My surrogate formula for hope. A decay wrapped in tempt. I lust for this fix. To draw from the silenced well of black ink. Residing, hiding, within myself. Splashing aginst my unconscious feud that dictates my conscious. The purity, fighting the impurity. Let me inhale this once more. Let me nurse at this life force It is not darkness, but lack of light. No additional sin to tweak this confined centrefold, as I knew before this fight and bow my head to this demise. I ask, dearly Let me inhale once more.

Thank you! =)

Awww, thanks guys! I appreciate that. I agree that the today is the tomorrow we created for ourselves yesterday was very general etc. It's a quote from my favourite book. A book that's helped me in any ways, and grounded me through a lot of things. Using the quote is a sort of testiment to that book and the things it's made me realise about myself. So through that way it's personal to me, but not my own writing. Man I'm such a sap! Haha.

Through each day I hang my head Though itt's not without trying for the expression, to appear That I am holding something worthwhile I am a liar and a thief For taking smiles that are not mine and saying it is beacuse I am happy There is an anchor sinking within me Day in through day out, it drags me further I am eye deep in the horrizon of the hallucination that is my own This treading is monotonous, I am no longer interested I am disgraced to beg for my release from this hazardous chain This chain that has claimed me 'To death to us part,' it whispers to me and it has given me every reason to believe, it is bearing truth that I am the other half to this black and white parity I ask helplessly for the answer, For where my smile has wandered? In my face, it laughs. A penalty for the knowledge As even if I were to chance upon it Why would it stay with me My smile being the conformist Alongside whatever else touches my existance. Detatched. Everything but my anchor.

Standing on this ledges edge, I challenge you to test this bitter outlook. To tell me I am wrong for being so, or acting so. Take your silent form. I am heedful. Four consequence denies me the right to be right. Aware that anything that changes cannot be reality, I indecently crave this to be real and unchangable. Like a stubborn child would, I firmly ground and mark my place, because I know today, is the tomorrow I created yesterday. With intension of quick decension, the sooner I will lose responsibility to forge again tomorrow. Come forth and show me, for I am a fool. Today I am wrong. Tomorrow may change.