I Want To Set The World On FireI Want To Set The World On FireI Want To Set The World On Fire by von19
I want to watch it all blaze in fiery glory and know it was my hand that
created the spark.
Cinders and smoldering bodies washed away in phoenix ashes.
Cascading into the sky in a maelstrom of panicked cries.
I love you.
But do you love me?
I'm having a hard time deciphering these riddles, they leave me empty inside.
Is this desolation normal?
Barren cities and body bags: casualties of love.
Don't deny it. We all try to, but it is as much fate as deniability.
Your ribcage is open, be careful or you heart may flutter out.
All tempo and loose melodies. Sing to me.
As I have sung to you.
Of desolate cities blanketed in flame, how I love to see them burn.
Don't extinguish me.
Heroes Eventually DieAll around us lay the tattered and bloody bodies of the people closest to him. "It's okay," I whispered as I cradled his limp body in my arms.Heroes Eventually Die by von19
"This was bound to happen, there was nothing you could do, it was only a matter of time…" He seemed to be dazed, locked in a trance, another world... completely separate from reality. But really, who wouldn't be?
I wouldn't be surprised if he died in my arms from the trauma, but he wouldn't, I made sure he wouldn't. I refuse to let him come this far and die because of his own insufferable emotions. My shoulder was wet from the tears he'd shed, I couldn't see the look on his face but I knew I wouldn't want to…
His body began to quiver ever so slightly, and I could feel his throat against me try to form a sentence but all that came out was an unintelligible painful croak. His quiver became a shiver and after a while violent shaking. I hel
Into the AbyssThe last thing I like my victims to see is me severing their soul from their body, it pleases me to no extent to know I was the last thing they saw!Into the Abyss by von19
There's so much joy in it!
On this particular night I was hunting with the hopes of doing just that, hopefully I come upon him before those Pestilence bastards. Chicago was my territory and I had no intention of sharing, everyone else can fuck themselves.
As I sat atop the garbage can I pulled the photo from my jeans pocket and studied it, on it was a fat, balding white guy. He probably didn't have much to live for looking like that.
I was in the 'bad' part of Chicago where drug dealers roamed the filthy streets and everyone gave off a murderous aura, I loved it! I was across the street from the Legler library – where my target worked – in an alley; it's a late Monday night so he should be leaving around this time. The brown double doors opened and he strode out
5 Literary Journals - Publish Your Writing
No More Excuses Submit Your Writing To These Journals
Many of us — especially writers — find ourselves buried beneath a growing pile of books we’ve been meaning to read but haven’t been able to find the time. More depressing is the even longer list of book titles we know we need to read. The pile gets higher, the list gets longer every day. There’s always another seminal classic we haven’t gotten around to. It
her gaze is stoic.
she is calm.
his lips are tense.
he is fighting back the swelling panic.
he wrote her poems every day, but she never read them. she is preoccupied with painting in red, and dying her hair to make herself feel like a different person.
he hates red now, because of her. he hates the way her hair is turning into wisps from every change of mood, the black mask she puts on every morning. he hates the holes in her once pure body. he hates long-sleeved shirts.
her dark lips slant in an almost-smile that is a mere shadow of her once bright grin. he wonders why she covers her lovely lips in such a dark shade of reddish-brown. i used to kiss those lips, he thinks. but then she is lost in the halls among the crowd and even the ghost of the girl he loved isn't there to remind him of the past.
he pulls at the edges of his shirt and tries to smile.
on some nights, he almost climbs out the window onto the roof. but then he looks down and thinks about falli
Artists on Writers - No. 6, Octavia Butler
Issue No. 6|Archives
Octavia Butler the Slayer of Stereotypes…
How many times have artists been dismissed or discouraged because of someone else interpreting their audacity as egotism? Octavia Butler started writing science fiction because of the film Devil Girl From Mars. Don’t misunderstand–she wasn’t inspired by the movie, she knew that she could write a better story.
Growing up in Pasadena, California, Butler was shy and introverted. She preferred writing stories over socializing. When she was twelve years old she saw Devil Girl From Mars, and began writing science fiction in an effort to do the genre some justice.
In the end she succeeded by leaps and bounds. Butler’s work is recognized as groundbreaking, not least of all b
The Elements of True GeniusOne with knowledge alone is just smart,
One who understands the neoteric easily merely possesses intelligence,
One with experience alone only understands one's past,
One with motivation is bothered not by the unknown, does not require experience, and progresses regardless of intellect.
One who possesses knowledge, intelligence, experience, and motivation in turn possesses true genius.
Hey, my name is ??? and I currently live in Chicago.|
I love all types of music, from Classical to Rap.
My favorite style of art is Literature! I think its so amazing what a few words can do, everything from deceive to persuade to inspire. I like to think of myself as a bit of a bibliophile (lol).
I don't write or care for Fanfic very much. I don't have a favorite author, artist or anything like that. There's WAY~ too many to narrow it down.
I guess that's about it, I hope you enjoy reading my work. I'll post drawing of my characters and my main work of literature that I've been working on since middle school eventually.
P.S. Please comment and tell me what you think. I love all criticism and feedback. If you like a particular work I'll gladly continue it for you and you only.