| Prose. Poetry. The occasional essay. Sometimes a painting or two, other times a drawing. Sometimes original, sometimes fan-based. |


Sidetracked He was a dapper gentleman, dressed all in blacks and greys, with a top hat on his head and a cigar between his teeth. The rain didn't seem to touch him, though he held no umbrella; likewise, the smoke and smog of the city seemed to wrap around him, a shroud and a shield to the night air. His grip, as he shook my hand, was like the steel of the city; firm, unyielding, and likely responsible for the livelihood of others. It is a powerful thing, to know that someone holds life in the palm of his hands even if you don't think it's your life, to know that someone has that kind of power is sobering.Sidetracked by ~unhealthyobsession
He asked me where the nearest pub was; sa


Learn, Prepare, Survive We are teetering towards becoming a world of smoke and ash, of violence and fear. The common man and woman are under threat, and while they may realize that somewhere out there their worst nightmare is rising up, they do nothing to stop the true threat and either ignore it completely or run about in mindless hysteria. Politicians bicker and in turn get nothing done, leaving roadways to ruin open and making the path of destruction an easy one for a threat to us all. In a far off land or perhaps just next door, a plague is stirring, and as of right now, we can do very little. The United States of America does not know how to effectively deaLearn, Prepare, Survive by ~unhealthyobsession


Lifes' Arts They say life is what youLifes' Arts by ~unhealthyobsession
Make of it. But all I
Have ever, ever made
Is broken-glass pictures
And crooked pottery;
A crumpled paper crane,
And the words that I can
Never say when I need
To the most. I sit on
Rusted cans of paint and
I sleep with a thousand
Notebook pages with words
And poems and heroes that
Do what I cannot do
Save the day, fall in love,
And then live happily
Ever after; riding
Into the sunset with
A steed and victory.
I do not believe that
I have no control when
It comes to destiny,
But I wish there was a
Way to pause; to check the
Instructions and correct.
And if I happen to
Drop the masterp


life, avian The raven idolizes the dove,life, avian by ~unhealthyobsession
Maybe even loves her.
The phoenix is engulfed;
The phoenix is reborn.
One broken-winged bird,
One lark without a song;
One miserable little fledgling
Who's been watching all along.
Now the vultures are circling;
Now the robin disappears;
And these shatter-hearted birds
Build nests of litter and expectations,
Of unused change
And the remnants of fast food;
Of cigarette butts
And a single canister of film.
| Prose. Poetry. The occasional essay. Sometimes a painting or two, other times a drawing. Sometimes original, sometimes fan-based. |
