Hakusho009

Desperation in D Minor I've lost my marbles. Yes, its true. I've lost my marbles I tell you. I know it's strange (how'd they get out?) But I have looked all round about And still can't find them anywhere They're not in place beneath my hair. I've looked in the toy chest, painted red, And beneath my big four-poster bed. They're not beside my easy chair (Despite all the time that I spend there). Well don't just stand there, help me out! Don't just stare or laugh or pout. After all, its all your fault That I'm no longer worth my salt. O don't act shocked, you know its true. They always leave when I'm near you. Or haven't you not

Disclaimer: I don’t Inuyasha or the song The Truth (I think that’s the title, heh heh) by Good Charlotte. The genre is a little weird. Angst and Humor in the same story…is unorthodox, I’ll admit, but it fits the story. Promise. You might wonder since most of the story is pretty angsty (for my stories at least) but the end will, hopefully, be funny. Enjoy. P.S.~ If you scroll down right away to find out what the end is I have no respect for you at all. …and that’s kinda sad coming from me… ---------- It was quiet at dinner. Kagome normally started most conversations but lately she hasn’t been herself

--Puddles-- After the rain With the water on the ground And in the air and all around The puddles mirror Sky and trees, clouds, birds, Making a fake sky below. Driving over sky And ground but fearing The illusion is so perfect that I fear I’ll fall Through the gaps in the road Into the mirror sky --Raining-- Explosions of liquid light Blast outside my window So very dark, but somehow bright Its strange, outside my window. Light cleaves the silver sky And grumbles mumble near But peace still fills me and I sigh. There is no danger here. For rain is cleansing, good, and pure It washes away sin Like tears of angels h

 She was crying again. He could hear her through the paper thin walls sobbing her eyes out like every other night of their miserable lives. And he didn't care. He never had cared. She remembered the day she first met him in those tears. She had been hiding from bullies, crying even then, when she saw him. He was sitting silently, brooding and beautiful. He was an angel of serenity and she loved him. As she grew older she found that others saw his beauty and loved him but never as she did. Her love was pure and true while they were only pretenders. She would prevail. She made an enemy of her closest friend for him. They had stood in the

Emo Blatherings The moon floats out from her cloudy throne The darkness drowns me The sun rises up from his hillside hovel The light consumes me. Stars are birds in paradise’s irony Man understands his will to build He ignores it for destruction. Woman fights for rightful equality She already owns it all. The sun and moon look down in pity They know, but what? They cannot say. They are not cruel, not yet. But soon As we slowly eat our futures down To dirt and blood Why must we toil obliviously? Why can’t we open our blind eyes? To see the beauty wallowing in mud At the feet of money “well spent” Takes

     She’s there as suddenly as she disappeared so many years ago.      He’s not sure how he knew it was her as he was running to where everyone runs to when its pouting down rain, to somewhere warm and dry and safe, but he did and stops dead. Hah. How ironic, because that’s just what she is:  dead.      Its cruel, really, (well, maybe not cruel but frustrating) that he would see her today, four years after her death and not even on an anniversary of anything important.  Its just raining and he’s soaked and clearly not over som

Death To Dickens Dickens should die, Put his head on a pike. His disemboweled corpse Is something I'd like. Dickens should die. His book? It sucks bad. The Tale of Two Cities Is driving me mad. Dickens should die. So called "master of prose." I guess he was great In old times, I suppose. Dickens should die. Dear God! I hate him! They called him a genius I think he was dim. His book has a little Or no plot at all, And I can't understand His old jumbled up scrawl! A book should be art! A grand tapestry weaved. But his dirty old twine of a book has me peeved. Now Patterson says, "He's a God among bugs" Which proves Pa