betaman

Sharp lines, and an even sharper mind With words so legit you slit your own wrist thick Quick wit'll leave you drowning in a pool of your own blood and black ink. I slice the paper with a lead razor blade Leaving inch-long wounds profusely pouring paradoxes Punctuated only by the imprint on your psyche. I pour my quintessence into the cold steel, leaving personified lacerations in your metaphorical skin.

The Shoe's On The Other Foot A Harry Potter Fanfic by Kevin Smith    "You might wanna watch where you're going more closely next time, Potter," Draco snarled, glaring down at Harry. Harry was sprawled out on the hallway floor, feeling around for his glasses, hoping they weren't broken. His fingers closed around their familiar frame and he replaced them on his face. Quickly he stood and drew his wand, and Draco matched him. There they both stood, aiming at one another's chest. Hermione and Ron stood off someways, aiming their wands at Crabbe and Goyle respectively. "What were you scum doing near our common room anyway?" Draco inquired, mali

In a dream, we'd converge And sprint through the rain. We'd feel only each other, No sadness no, pain. But this is real life And as you can see, There are thousands of reasons Why we couldn't be. Count 1 for every mile That keeps us apart. Multiply that by ten For the strain on your heart. So when our foundation Begins to fall down And you're crying and sobbing 'Cause I'm not around Just remember it was you Who chased fantasy As I stepped through the door Of harsh reality.

No, I don't want to be a writer. I mean, I've already proved my mastery of literature, Already shown that I can thread words together seamlessly. I've already proven that I can come up with 20 better-sounding words than the cliched, bland ones. And I've used more literary devices than I've used bathrooms. I think it's time for me to hang up the towel as a writer, I've submitted my share. I think I'd much rather be called a literary tour guide. Yes, I think that describes me a bit better. I like to believe that my words take you to a whole new world. A blazing Hyperion of emotions, a swirling vortex of feeling. I want you to ride

Till Death Do Us Part - The Clara/Jonas Tragedy Prologue     The stars shone like diamonds in contrast to the night sky, reflecting against the calm sea. The wind blew slightly, creating a soft, whistling sound to anyone that happened to be around. And there was, in fact, a young couple, strolling serenely through the picturesque landscape, the only two to bear witness to one of nature's few miracles. Hand in hand they went, stepping barefoot through the crystal white sand in perfect unison. Nothing but silence was between them. In fact, the only sounds one would hear were what you would imagine the bustling city, someways off to the left,

Firstly, I must say that this has been long coming. I do reward you on turning this open poem into a closed subject, but for now and forever, that is all you shall ever receive recognition for from me. Secondly I must note God's tendency to make an epitome of my life to prove irony exists. Point being how never meeting Cyrus in the first place would have never lead me to realize my true potential and ability in the true art of manipulation. Ever since I've realized my ability to do so, I have been slowly nursing it. It has grown from a small, struggling skill into a roaring, formidable art. It is not to be confused with ability. No, it has e