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Hetalia Meme Thing!Stolen from :iconpony-luver101:
Choose 10 of your favourite characters/OCs/Friends/Celebrites/other.
1:  finds a time machine! What time period do they visit?!
America: Dude, I'm totally going into the future to see if they've invented flying cars yet!
2:  falls in love with , but knows that  is dating . What happens?
Romano: You think I'm going to back down from flirting with a cute girl like Liechtenstein because of some Frenchie? Ha! Yeah, right.
3: wakes up in 's house with no memory of how they got there.
Italy: Ve... Hmm? Where am I? This isn't my house.
England: Good morning.
Italy: Eek! E-
Beyond AbeyanceI used to write of darkness.
Of a place so hollow and apathetic,
And my insignificant place inside it.
But silence was deafening,
along with solitude savage.
I suffocated on thoughts of oblivion.
And I floated there.
my realm of
It wasn’t until I closed my eyes,
That I dreamed of COLOR.
C r e a t i o n f l o o d e d m y l u n g s,
And jump started my blood flow.
I was given all the universe
.........Of which to shape into something b e a u t i f u l..........
S o I g a v e l i f e.
I t o o k c o n t
Pray for PlaguesSempiternal love strung up on silhouetted trees.
Grown as cold as the wind passing through fragile leaves.
The bitter air clots the breeze in my throat.
Each breath simply begs for me to choke.
I can't live with you, I didn't want to try.
Yet you made me sit there and watch as you painfully died.
Now my soul is as hollow as the bones within a bird.
I'm just composed of red lines and screams that are never heard.
There is no difference between night and day.
It feels like I'm sleepwalking either way.
Anything would be better than this volatile raw pain.
So follow me to the graveyard, and we'll pray for plagues.
We're all just scarecrows lost in fields of October.
So enjoy your autumn now, because mine's almost over.
emptythe emptiness eats away at you,
its cold numbness exploding
from behind locked doors and
ironically drowning your entire being
in a vacuum devoid of
even the remnants of a dying star.
the darkness is comfortingly unwelcome,
and you begin to wonder which will
abandon you first -
the morning sun that keeps the beast at bay
or the hope that it will continue to rise.
ReflectionEvery time I look at you
This is what I see
A pathetic little girl
Who looks a lot like me
Every time I look at you
I feel the anger rise
It courses through my veins
And I want to close my eyes
You are so selfish
So needy and vile
Please just go away
At least for a while
I don't want to see you
You make me sick
How dare you show your face
I wish you didn't exist
You're to blame for everything
That I have gone through
You hurt the people I love
And now I'll do it to you
I'll cut you and stab you
I'll rip you to shreds
I'll tear you apart
Till you wish you were dead
You ruined my life
You caused all this pain
And I've come to think that
It will always remain
But who are you really?
The image becomes clearer
And then I realize
I am looking at the mirror.
Think back to a time where happiness was true,
where honesty reigned,
when you weren't afraid to try something new.
Grasp that memory in your hands, and pull it by your chest.
Feel the warmth of that memory especially if it was of a friend,
Close your eyes and breathe, remember when you found that nest?
its okay to cry, just don’t let your hands tremble let go of all the times you lied.
Try to convince yourself that the good outweighed the bad just take his advice,
When the last thing my friend told me was “smile” the week before he died.
Poetry Basics: BrevityBrevity: n. the quality of expressing much in few words.
When I was in tenth grade, I took my first literature course. It was a six week exploration of poetry. The first poem my teacher showed us was Ezra Pound's In a Station of the Metro:
The apparition of faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
I, in all of my 16-year-old knowledge of the intricacies of what poetry is, informed my teacher that those two lines were not a poem.
"You don't think so?"
"No. They don't rhyme, they are just one metaphor, and did I mention they're only two lines?"
She sure showed me.
Importance in Poetry
Pound's poem is considered such a great work because he inserts several layers into a single image. Using only 13 words he evokes an entire painting within the reader's mind. You can hear the sounds of the trains, see the fatigue of a mother wrestling with her cranky toddler,
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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