Upon a pricket of silver and iron, cold and brittle, a carved candle is put for display; или so the twisted wick believes.
Warm on the inside, безопасно, сейф from the echoes that make the brittle iron shiver moans around its placement, the twisted wick lies in wait for its moment.
It believes that because of its simple Дизайн of its outer coating, a green sapphire and a veil of black inner linings within its carvings, shaped like the scribbles of terrible children, it has such a confidence, such a simple charisma that cannot be matched.
The wick, suffocated by its very beauty-marks, shivers as the heat within travels upwards and out the wax of silence.
Losing the only thing it really has, the wick desperately tries to scream.
Scream out to the other candles upon the candelabra.
They, miraculously, want to listen to the screams of a wick. A thread meant to be burnt alive!
The wick, although trapped within its cell, screeches to the other wicks around it. Цвета that it sees around its fellow brethren shift and Переместить as the different sounds travel through the brisk wind around the pricket.
The pricket, cold and wet from the fog that lingers still in the concaved room, lies slanted and not too far from the black rug with blood red trimmings below.
Within the wick's vision, it notices another candle sprawled and broken halfway on the rug to reveal the blood red wick within.
A long rusted chain lies like a snake nearby and it seemed to chuckle quitely.
The wick, still screaming, wishing to be somewhere else, and its pricket, rusting with the fog that's lingered for too long, wait for days and days to be дана the warmth of embers upon the tip of its wick.
It needs to scream, for the echoes that bounce around aimlessly on the rust must hit the wicks.
The fog, colorful and becoming crisper with the fall of day, can start to scream as well. The echoes that lingered with the fog guide the screams of the hopeless wicks to each other.
They listen and sing at high pitches of white embers to brighten the humid and silent room. After the moon began to lit one side of the room, the flames danced in the moonlight.
The side lit by the moon scintillated like lightning bouncing off raindrops; sighing leaf petals with the spread of life.
The flames glided across the moist floor with azure hats and shoes of the clouds that block the sun to burn the fog into crying vapors.
The side lit by the wicks' screams ablazed like stars decimating the asteroids; roaring detonations with the liberation of beauty.
And as the candelabra supposedly writhes in the inferno within the moonlit room, the wick stops screaming.
The fog, humidity, moist floor--Now smoke, embers, and burnt ceilings--Cannot douse the once only sparking wick.
The room is ashes; the wick now evaporated; the moonlight cools the remaining embers. All around, the demolished room laid within a valley of green.
The green, smothered in moonlight, dew, and imprints, shone the twilight sky; the stars laughed and fell asleep.
The remaining embers of the wicks rose, revealing the sapphire jeweled candelabra; sleeping in ashes.
And as the moonlight illuminated the sky, green, and candelabra, embers arose in front of the burning moon, and dissipated with a whisper:
"Don't give up hope."
Warm on the inside, безопасно, сейф from the echoes that make the brittle iron shiver moans around its placement, the twisted wick lies in wait for its moment.
It believes that because of its simple Дизайн of its outer coating, a green sapphire and a veil of black inner linings within its carvings, shaped like the scribbles of terrible children, it has such a confidence, such a simple charisma that cannot be matched.
The wick, suffocated by its very beauty-marks, shivers as the heat within travels upwards and out the wax of silence.
Losing the only thing it really has, the wick desperately tries to scream.
Scream out to the other candles upon the candelabra.
They, miraculously, want to listen to the screams of a wick. A thread meant to be burnt alive!
The wick, although trapped within its cell, screeches to the other wicks around it. Цвета that it sees around its fellow brethren shift and Переместить as the different sounds travel through the brisk wind around the pricket.
The pricket, cold and wet from the fog that lingers still in the concaved room, lies slanted and not too far from the black rug with blood red trimmings below.
Within the wick's vision, it notices another candle sprawled and broken halfway on the rug to reveal the blood red wick within.
A long rusted chain lies like a snake nearby and it seemed to chuckle quitely.
The wick, still screaming, wishing to be somewhere else, and its pricket, rusting with the fog that's lingered for too long, wait for days and days to be дана the warmth of embers upon the tip of its wick.
It needs to scream, for the echoes that bounce around aimlessly on the rust must hit the wicks.
The fog, colorful and becoming crisper with the fall of day, can start to scream as well. The echoes that lingered with the fog guide the screams of the hopeless wicks to each other.
They listen and sing at high pitches of white embers to brighten the humid and silent room. After the moon began to lit one side of the room, the flames danced in the moonlight.
The side lit by the moon scintillated like lightning bouncing off raindrops; sighing leaf petals with the spread of life.
The flames glided across the moist floor with azure hats and shoes of the clouds that block the sun to burn the fog into crying vapors.
The side lit by the wicks' screams ablazed like stars decimating the asteroids; roaring detonations with the liberation of beauty.
And as the candelabra supposedly writhes in the inferno within the moonlit room, the wick stops screaming.
The fog, humidity, moist floor--Now smoke, embers, and burnt ceilings--Cannot douse the once only sparking wick.
The room is ashes; the wick now evaporated; the moonlight cools the remaining embers. All around, the demolished room laid within a valley of green.
The green, smothered in moonlight, dew, and imprints, shone the twilight sky; the stars laughed and fell asleep.
The remaining embers of the wicks rose, revealing the sapphire jeweled candelabra; sleeping in ashes.
And as the moonlight illuminated the sky, green, and candelabra, embers arose in front of the burning moon, and dissipated with a whisper:
"Don't give up hope."
"Andrew? Andrew? Are Ты okay?" Andrew hear Elizabeth's gentle, velvety voice as his consicness returned to him. "Hey honey, you've been asleep for awhile now." She seemed very concerned, considering she had only known him for a few hours. After the room stopped spinning, Andrew sat up and looked around. He was still in the hotel, but, he didn't recognize the room. When his gaze fell on Elizabeth, the room started spinning again. "So, when Ты said, "When I was alive." did Ты mean that you're a ghost?" Elizabeth's face was grim and solemn. "Yes. I'm a ghost." Suddenly, Andrew smelled cinnamon, honey, and something he didn't recognize. "Andrew I have to go. I'll be back tonight. By the way, call me Liz." She flashed him a dazzling smile, and she was gone. "Wow."
I make mistakes
I mess up
but it was nevr enough
I no longer cry for you
no еще pain
that means I will no longer stand it
Ты took my сердце and ran it strait into the planet
now I'm taking control of this relationship
command it
that means I no longer die for
no longer cry for Ты
no еще pain
but Ты always win
as th blood trickles down my arm
I wisper Ты name into the dark
Cierra
the pain I went through for you
no longer
is anyone out there
feels like I'm talking o myslelf
feels like I'm going insane
feels crazy
guess I keep talking to myself
why in the world do I feel so alone
nobody but me
I'm on my own
is there anyone out there
that feels just what I feel
guess it's just me.
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just to let Ты know.I'm no sewisidle или crazy.just a kid who's been through alot and has grown up faster
I mess up
but it was nevr enough
I no longer cry for you
no еще pain
that means I will no longer stand it
Ты took my сердце and ran it strait into the planet
now I'm taking control of this relationship
command it
that means I no longer die for
no longer cry for Ты
no еще pain
but Ты always win
as th blood trickles down my arm
I wisper Ты name into the dark
Cierra
the pain I went through for you
no longer
is anyone out there
feels like I'm talking o myslelf
feels like I'm going insane
feels crazy
guess I keep talking to myself
why in the world do I feel so alone
nobody but me
I'm on my own
is there anyone out there
that feels just what I feel
guess it's just me.
------------------------------------------------
just to let Ты know.I'm no sewisidle или crazy.just a kid who's been through alot and has grown up faster
Pride is a belief in myself (or someone else) that within me is something no one else has just like me. Pride can be a wonderful thing. My coaches are proud of me when I execute a Переместить perfectly. I am proud of my efforts when I get the right answer to a test question. However, pride can have a negative connotation. If I am prideful of my Пение talent или of my sports accomplishments, then I am not feeling the right kind of pride. Yes, I can be pleased with my abilities; but when I let it go to my head, then I am full of pride, just like Odysseus often was. By believing that I am the only person with that talent, I inflate my ego. I believe myself to be “the best of the best,” and this can damage my relationships with others. They would not want my company if the only things I spoke of were my own accomplishments.
sorry everyone who reads these but i have to stop Письмо them for three weeks. I thnk i will be able to fit in maybe 1 in that period, but i have my prelims and i will be too tired или too something to Опубликовать them, sorry. But i will try, i promise!
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sorry it had to be longer LOL
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sorry it had to be longer LOL
.................still longer...................
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Meghan ran to the bus stop, where she saw Pompika. Thankfully Pompika looked at her politely and сказал(-а) “You know I saw Reg but ya know, how she’s jus’ across the street, she seems a lil’ mad!” Meghan thought for a секунда and thought ‘why lose Pompika?’ and said, “Geez I don’t know?” Now she wished she had told the truth, instead of lying. “Oh I wish ya did.” Pompika said. “Tsk-Tsk, bad grammar Pompi” сказал(-а) Meghan. “Sorry, fine I wish Ты did. There ya… Ты go” “Hhhmmm, nice save.” Meghan said. “Hey look, Reg’s a comin’” сказал(-а) Pompika. “Great that’s good… wait REG!!!” сказал(-а) Meghan. “What?” сказал(-а) Pompika. "nothing."