Hetalia Meme Thing!Stolen from :iconpony-luver101:Choose 10 of your favourite characters/OCs/Friends/Celebrites/other.1: Italy.2: Romano.3: England.4: America.5: Canada.6: France.7: Prussia. 8: Belarus.9: Liechtenstein.10: Hungary.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.Unbreathing,Unspoken,Overlookingmy realm ofgray.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.
SmileThink.Think back to a time where happiness was true,where honesty reigned,when you weren't afraid to try something new.Grasp.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?cry.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.
emptythe emptiness eats away at you,its cold numbness explodingfrom behind locked doors andfrom beneath forgotten buried memories,ironically drowning your entire beingin a vacuum devoid ofeven the remnants of a dying star.the darkness is comfortingly unwelcome,and you begin to wonder which willabandon you first -the morning sun that keeps the beast at bayor the hope that it will continue to rise.
ReflectionEvery time I look at youThis is what I seeA pathetic little girlWho looks a lot like meEvery time I look at youI feel the anger riseIt courses through my veinsAnd I want to close my eyesYou are so selfishSo needy and vilePlease just go awayAt least for a whileI don't want to see youYou make me sickHow dare you show your faceI wish you didn't existYou're to blame for everythingThat I have gone throughYou hurt the people I loveAnd now I'll do it to youI'll cut you and stab youI'll rip you to shredsI'll tear you apartTill you wish you were deadYou ruined my lifeYou caused all this painAnd I've come to think thatIt will always remainBut who are you really?The image becomes clearerAnd then I realizeI am looking at the mirror.
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?""We'll see." She sure showed me. Importance in PoetryPound'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,