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Take meTake me as I am, for I am what you think
Take me for a fool, because if that is what you want, that is what I'll be
Take me as mute, for I'd rather be silent than joining in your bitchiness
Take me for a geek, for I'd rather be studious than stupid
Take me as a weakling and throw me against the wall
For I will smile back sweetly and will plot to kill you all.
The Things I do for loveHe struggled up the road, the box under his arm. It was nearly as big as him. It didn't fit in the car, so he struggled to her house from the other side of town.
"The things I do for love" he muttered. As he reached the gate he carefully placed the box down, too scared in case he dented the pristine cardboard. Silently he undid the gate and edged himself and the box through. He pinned the little pink card onto the logo on the box. Her favourite website, he thought. Too perfect. She spent her life on deviantART and now she had something to put on her wall. He pulled a smaller box out of his pocket. Velvet, black, ring sized. He smiled, rang the bell and silently prayed this went well.
The picture hung on the wall. A black, glossy frame framed a picture from their date two months ago. Behind them in the picture was a sign, which read "Marry me".
NamesThe little girl sat on the fluffy purple carpet and cried, she felt small and venerable. They were just names, why were they getting to her? She sniffed and lay down, curling up into a ball and stared. Something under her bed caught her eye, her teddy from when she was 5, abandoned in an attempt to be an adult. She reached out and grabbed it, pulling close to her heart and held it tight. She apologised to it, muttering into it's dusty fur for leaving it. The tears rolled down her face and dripped onto the bears cold steely eyes. They were only names, why did it hurt her so much?
She heard shouting. He was coming; they were just names, weren't they? The bruises meant nothing, he just lost it sometimes, and it was the names... but was it. The purple carpet was turning red. The bear's lose beady eyes seemed to be dull in sadness and disappointment. She heard footsteps and the shouting grew louder. She couldn't bear to face him. She took the ring off and placed it on the bed, reached for t
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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