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a loveless heartis nothing buta heart-shaped box
Burn Everything's burning From the fire to the flames To the ashes it crumbles to pieces
FLAMES BURN EVERY INCH AROUND ME EVERYTHING I TOUCH TURNS BRIGHT ORANGE I LIGHT A CIGARETTE WITH MY FINGER INHALING EVERY BREATH OF SMOKE THE FIRE BURNS BRIGHTLY CONSUMING MY LIFE MY MEMORIES
We are the unfortunate ones, The ones forged by ash and claimed by fire, The ones whose whispers they hear as they dance through the blood red sky,
People don't understand her. Born from the ashes, her eyes shine like embers. A spark ignites in her soul. Her heart, a continuous burning coal. Her passion burns brighter than her fears.
There’s blood in the sky, and there are daisies on the ground, and there are ashes in the air. You’re surrounded by marigolds.
She dreams of the ocean late at night and longs for the wild salty air. We all know the beauty of waves at twilight; But she wants sails bathed in starlight, Winds raking their fingers through her hair,
Give me your ashes. If death cries your name too soon; If you can't hold on.
Awakened Spirits Hoping to leave this Earth to Sleep at last
Whisps of ashy gray smoke occasionally drift over the walls. Sometimes, when the wind blows just the right way, I can smell the charred, silent world outside of my fortress.
Dear Branches, Gnarled and twisted. Dear leavess, Brown and rotting, We give thanks to thee, Dear tree For through thee Our family lives vicariously. Though dead and gone,
I feel like that. That pale greyish wisp of ash that crumbles beneath the slightest touch, That's been consumed by a ravenous fire that first caressed Then incinerated every fiber of it's being. I feel like that.
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I breathe this air one more time, I get back up, though I was burnt to the ground, And just like that phoenix, I may be missing a few feathers and have a few scars,
December ashes cold and gasping lay, upon the earth- the Millions gray. Amidst the frozen earth of Ash, the torches flame-- the Light holding back these Bleak days. they burn-
We sit idle upon our thrones, taking in our wretched domain. It's humor- ous how they scurry about as if it mattered, running faster and fast- er, pain and anguish and rust. How comical.
Rise Above By Brandon Motter
Burning ashes fall upon my shoulders, and screaming bodies run. I look through the blur of faces, and don't know what can be done.