toBea-or-not-toBea

For thousands of years she had lain there, not hundreds as so many before had told to yonder weary traveler who curious as any traveler should be would ask with some hesitant expectation of some blinding brilliance - and would therefore be disapointed as many before had been with the clandness of thie tale. But the truth, ohhhh the truth if only they knew it would shake it being to the feeble foundations of their innocence. And so the tale was told- again of some gentle beauty of pale complexion, of some crystalline angel who seemingly floated upon sheets of purest white, limbs relaxed but for some slender elegance that unknowingly clasped a

You know I thought I'd lost you for a while, when I caught that glazed look in your eye, in your face I knew there was too much pain, for you to respond, to me. To anything. Your agony I felt it as my own I wished it had been, my own pain. Anthing but to hear your cry, and I could do nothing, but listen and watch, you suffer And how I'd waited, silent fear. The door slam, shut. I had listened for news, mostly for hope. And for one single, bitter moment I'd thought I'd lost you

You may cast your eyes with great delight upon emerald trees and azure skies And clouds that block out coal black night and listen to wolf's lonely cries No joy do I take in such visage as any I could ever find, in life and sight Or even feel and touch, as this world has lost true beauty. It's problems reach new heights For trees are never everlasting, one day each will fall. Why they call some evergreen I do not know. For a better, truer life I reach, with beat of weary heart. Each breath I take anew But not a beat, not hearts thud, but a tick. You     open my ribcage and find a clock, antique I guess worth more in age than in

They work over the broken, silent songs that lift their hearts, and murmur quiet condolence, with life that rests in bloodied hands. As they hold anothers, bleeding, cease beating in their palm. They stroke, soft fingertips, massage the abused souls, or their bodies at least. In cold weather, when hot breath brings cold mist. They warm themselves over open bodies heat, organs layed out before the masked. The heart now deathly quiet. Dressed in white, stained crimson, the body in peices after slice and slice. The soul lost, the demi- god pays the price.

I don't care How long it takes, or how much it hurts I'll make it someday, somehow. I'll fight with my soul's every breath. My hearts ever tear. Because I decide Who I am? or What I will be?. I simply don't care, if I finish my journey skin flayed, mind lost. And through some miracle? I may be a better person. I can only hope I may be better, a better heart, and soul. And even mind? Why do you see me, as a good person? When it is so obvious, my heart is black. No trace of the pure innocence, that we owned? When I was a child. Where has all my goodness gone? I don't remember losing it, but do we ever? Evil thoughts, evil eve

I can see it, in your eyes, your face. Fear. Your life in my hands. The blade against your throat. My blade. You gasp, writhing for air, for life and hope. For anything that stops the light, fading from you. Your blood dips from my hands, I can't , just can't bring myself to end your life. You don't deserve peace. The scent reeks from you, the decay of all those who have died at your hands. The hands that grasp my neck for support, cut into my flesh. I slice the blade across your neck. The life within you fades.

We knew it would happen, once, one day, in one lifetime, one moment. That would change everything, about my life, about us? But when it happens there will be no us, only me alone, just like before you came and lightened my life. Now I have to learn, to live without you, how can I live without my heart. You have my heart, it beats against your palm. That you have crushed, and bruised. Keep it. I don't want it back. No, I do, I need it, I need you. Please I am empty, you have left me empty, a souless void Can't you give it back? To me?, I still have your heart. I think I'll keep it to fill the dark night, that was, where

Please don't, no, don't let it happen again. I can't stop it. Please I don't think I deserve this? Noooo please (gasps) stop I can't stop myself, it from occuring.(Chokes) Why me, why did he come back to me, my life. The same effects as before, leaves me breathless. Still perfect, he's still so perfect, he's seen me (heart jumps), looking at me, my soul. He can see my soul, my weakness, my hope. Silence

"Not her, please" he cried in desperation, at the sound of his shaking voice the teenager turned, her movement slowed as the revolver was pressed more closely to her skull. "Alex" his name torn from her, his name a silent whisper cried in tones of love and... hope? The womans intent was obvious, her hand was steady on the gun and he knew no fear resided whithin her. He looked into the eyes of his love, eyes that dripped silent tears, so heartfelt those tears could have been drops of blood. His blood, for his heart weeped for her. How he wished to wipe those tears away, and brush those lips now quivering in fear with his. "You killed my fia

We are the living graves of the tortured souls. What if you could see the faces of the animals lined up for slaughter? The souls being skinned and scorched alive, just for our eating pleasure. Can you hear the cries, that make your meal? Or look into the eyes, of all the veal? Tied around that post from birth, a murder will surly come swift. Babies torn from their mothers, with no chance of saying goodbye. They are forced to have another, to keep the process alive. Squirming and squealing, no escape, chickens hang upside down, to fuel the greed, of this murderous clown. Another day gone by, another meal your actions, anoth

I can't quite see the whole picture yet, but the pieces are all here. Some all fixed together, others spread far and wide. But one things for sure: My personality puzzle, fragmented as it may be is slowly coming together as I discover who is me.

 "Then go grab a blanket and stop whining already!" The last time I heard my grandmother say those words was almost excatly seventeen years ago. I pulled the blanket up around my shoulders and pulled my knees closer to my chest as I stared out the window. She died when I was 6, I was too young to actually know her well but I still dwell on every memory I have of her. The snow outside started slowing down and I glanced down at the phone in my lap for the tenth time and noted, it was eleven thirty-four and he wasn't home yet. I took a deep breath and laid my head down on the pillow remembering my grandmothers words, "A watched pot never boils,

She breathed in deeply, the ache almost too much to bear in her frozen lungs. Her hands were bound painfully tight behind her back, her legs roped together by her ankles and knees. It had been days and the fear had diminished into boredom and grief. She'd thought she had been lucky once upon a time - had it really only been three days before that she'd popped the champagne and cheered with her husband, her parents and friends? She laid her head down on the opposite side, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to break through. He was dead; of that she was sure. No more champagne, jokingly mocked red roses or soft candle-light the