Things I Do When I Feel Down :cThere are times in our lives,When we hit the all time low.When the second-hand serenades no longer cut it,And when simply 'letting it burn' no longer works for us.We roll upon our beds like a roly-poly collection of rolltastic things;And we lay face up toward the ceiling, slaying monsters on our portable consoles.But that my friends is when inspiration strikes!That is the moment when I rise up from the covers,When I take a marker pen in my hand and use it as a microphone.When my neighbours wonder what the bloody hell is going on,Because I've started singing songs by Nightwish.And when I get bored of that, IRON SAVIOUR,Heavy Metal never dies! Marylin Manson, The Beautiful People.Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Your Guardian Angel.Because truly when I see you smile,Though tears may not run down my face,I would never in this world replace:The feeling of a success, and the smile it might bringsWhen I entertain you, with the way I sing.And if you've gotten
Chenbeard the PirateChapter 1:I remember waking up, with the distinct metallic taste of blood swilling about my teeth. I spat a red glob of the stuff onto the stone floor and tried very hard, through the pounding of my skull, to determine why I had been left in such a poor state of affairs. Most of my memories had been jumbled up, no doubt by the violence inflicted upon me prior to my arrival. My thoughts were a nonsensical sequence of colors and sounds--most of which made no sense. I could recall several important bits and pieces though: a voice, one that was calling out for me and a warm hand, reaching toward the distance. Was that hand mine? I wondered, as the memory faded away. How exactly had I come to arrive in this place, that alone was food for thought. My internal rumination however was soon broken by the sound of a rusted metallic gate, screeching it's lungs out as it attempted to open the way. I could not see the whining mechanism, but I could tell that it was defin
Thoughts of YouI wonder how many days I spent dreaming,Of all the things I could never say.And just when I'd written it all in a letter.You showed up smiling in front me.And all of a sudden, the letter didn't matter anymore... (^_^)
Living With A LieYou sit there shaking; emotionally frozen.You check the time on your watch, despite knowing it already.The ever-present numbness, the cold feeling which clutches at your soul;That is what you feel upon the dawn of the lie.To know its nature, to know its being;To have it spill upon your awareness.What words would surmise such a bitter feeling:Betrayal, grief? Perhaps the use of dejection, p
The Day We Died"Oh shit, oh shit! Just what the hell are those things man," yelled private Johnson, as he unloaded just over half his M-4 carbine's clip at the screaming creatures. The bent-limbed horrors were peppered with bullets, but still they continued to crawl toward the soldier and his sergeant; shrieking in a strange unintelligible language. The creatures were by no means fast; they were limited to crawling, but their large bulky arms showed no sign of weakness. It served as both a weapon and a shield, dragging the rest of their thin emaciated body along the floor. "I suggest you duck for cover Johnson, those things will tear you apart in melee," said first-sergeant Gabriel as he placed a hand on Johnson's shoulder and ushered him behind the blockade of furniture that had been set up. The sergeant pulled the pin on an old frag grenade. One that he had found within a storage box in the facility and he held it tightly in his hands until he was sure of the distance. "
What's Left Behind...Some days I find myself staggering from this hovel;To stand with shaking legs upon the window ledge.I look down at the tiny world below, wind rushing before me;And I wonder if I'll be able to fly tonight...The caress of the wind, so gentle upon my skin.One step, one leap and I'd dip myself into the eye of the storm.But just before my courage sends me;Just before I take the final plunge.I find myself looking back, at the world I'd leave behind...Stacks of paper and a pot of ink,Reams of stories too precious to burn.Ideas and fears both rolled into one;And pages of poetry left undone...It always leaves me smiling...For these were the treasures so close to my heart.They are the wealth of my mind; my soul, my art.And I could never ever leave them be,Where another might burn them, without thinking of me..."Apologies father, I cannot join you yet:For in this world, a treasure still exists.A treasure tha
Without the IndividualWithout the IndividualCan you imagine a world, directed by a single mind?A collective conscious, a living hive.Each time we are born, we receive a part of itAnd when we return, we share in the pool.There would be no fear of death;No fear of the unknown…For a thousand souls would bolster our hearts.We could live—truly LIVE—to the fullest extent of our capabilities.And when we succeed?That success returns to the hive…That success can be shared across the next generation.We would become an ever-evolving organism.One with a thousand faces, but a single driving purpose.Can you even imagine how that would feel?But…I suppose that you can’t.For you, as with all humans, share in a single flaw:The nature of the individual, the ego of the singular man.Existing in a void of his own thoughts—he has no point of reference.He is alone, even if surrounded by other humans,For he shall never share in their minds…
DesperationI wonder how many days you've spent feeling lost.Thinking that you're going somewhere.Never actually getting anywhere.You look at the same four walls over and over again.You can paint them in different colours,But you know they're still the same.And you convince yourself that you're making progress,Nothing's changed, but you're making progress.Things are getting worse, but you're making progress.And then you wake up and realise,That shit has hit the fan...Suddenly you're forced to do the things you couldn't,The kind of things that you were never comfortable with.And you find out you can do them.You find out that the only reason you couldn't,Was because you were afraid to try.It's hard - trying to take that first step.It's hard - trying to convince yourself to take that chance.But
This is for the UnderdogYou know what it's like,When your feet touch the bottom.You wish you were like others,But you know that you can never be.The glam and the glitz,The sound of a thousand people cheering you on.That's not for you, That's never going to be for you!But you know what,You've got something else inside of you.You've got something else,That no one who sits on a lofty throne could ever have.And that's pain...You're in pain, because you know this is bitter.You're in pain, because you've been denied something better.But you take that dose of bitterness And you swallow it like it's god-damn medicine!Because the king expects you the crumble,The king expects you to lie down and surrender.So play dead if you have to,But when you rise again...Make sure you tear out their god-damn throat!
Battle ScarsBattle Scars:Sharp claws rake into my skinas my blood bursts forth to splatter against the groundThe uneven breathing of my foetells me that he too is wounded and close to deathI can see his teeth, flecked with frothing salivafoaming and spitting as he bellows his nameHe charges into me, his frame crashing with minethe impact has me reeling and I fall back against the stoneThe ground feels coldthe icy chill seeping into my bonesthe warmth of my blood escapes meand I can feel myself beginning to fadeUp toward the sky I glancepraying that I might receive assistanceI pray that he who commands me, he who stands aboveWill pity his servant and relieve me of this pain...Yet, my prayers go unheardHere I lie, slowly fadingslowly drifting into the grey oceanas the voice that commands me utters my fate:"Pikachu, use Thunderbolt NOW!"-Chen Yuan Wen, Experimental Release
SANGUINE Chapter 1 - 4SANGUINEA tale of vampires, twists and delusions, by Chen Yuan WenChapter 1: The Smiling DevilRelease Three: Pages 10 14 Lina pushed aside the proffered pastry and she felt her mood beginning to sour. It was as though her emotions had begun flowing in reverse and she began to grow angry. What am I doing talking politely with a demon, she wondered to herself. "I'm tired of your games Sanguinus, we should be fighting! You are a demon and I am a Paladin of the White Lady. Even for us to be engaging in conversation is heresy and so we must do battle. Draw your weapon and face me!" She hefted her hammer into a combat stance, as if to emphasize the point. Sanguinus put his hands up and shrugged in an almost bored fashion, "I haven't a weapon to draw milady and if your honour would be so sullied by attacking an unarmed opponent who is not even interested in battle; then it would seem that you