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Hate Me... Please~~Hate Me... Please~~

I want to scream at you
Even though you didn't do anything

I want to sew your lips together
when you happily smile at me

I want to kick you down
After you've picked me up

I want to shut your eyes forever
So I don't have to see them glint with hope

I want to make you cry
When you dry up all my tears

I want to tell you that I hate you... but I can't
Because you love me and you would die if I left

So the thing I want most in the world
Is for you to hate me

Maybe then I wouldn't feel so bad
Germancest - Versprechen (Preview)
A great battle had finally come to an end as many of the soldiers lied dead across the white Russian battlefield that was mixed with dirt and dry blood. The conflict was between the Allied forces and the Axis, preferably the German army who had stood for the Axis and the Soviet Union for the Allies.

There was no victor in the end and the Allies soon retreated from the war-torn field, leaving the remaining Axis soldiers to fend for themselves on the icy turf. Some of the remaining men who had managed to survive were found immediately being treated for their severe injuries...while the other fallen comrades were yet to be found.

Prussia was
Not againns again. Yesterday I...

...died.

It begi
smokescreened.
His door didn't seal.

The light leaked through in morse code. It was more dotted than dashed in the shady light of underground morning, smoky from that dirty chainsmoker mouth, chapped and broken from a night of second hand liquor and first hand regret.

He checked his watch. It didn't work.

Even after so long in the darkness, he still opened his eyes every now and again to check if the sun was still out.

He felt it. That mouth still gnawing at his throat, all docile words and violent farewells. Those fingers on his abdomen curling into his stomach and tearing.

His skin.

He coughed.

He was overdue.

The door didn't seal. It was easy eno
The Fourth Wishi.
She's an ocean-eyed dreamer who could fit the skies of a thousand worlds into her mayfly heart. She's got an angel face and a nasty little smile, and she knows all the secrets in her world. All she wants is to carry on dreaming, so she wishes for dragonfly wings and bottled summer nights – and sleep that doesn't have to end. That insidious smile lingers, and she won't surrender her dreams even when her life support stumbles and dies.

ii.
He's a romantic with an acoustic soul and steel string scars on his fingertips. He's saving his lovesongs for a perfect girl with summer rolling off her skin and winter in her eyes, and he's never
Sissy Shopping StoryOne-Handed Reading: Sissy Shopping Story (TG)

"Can I help you find anything?"

The salesgirl's voice startled me a little. I turned and smiled at her, then held up the two tops I had been debating over, one in each hand.

"Actually, yes, you can," I answered, still smiling. "I can't decide which of these to get. Maybe you can help me decide?" The salesgirl nodded and turned her eyes to the shirt I I held out first.

"This one?" I inquired.

It was a lavender stretch shirt, princess seamed with three-quarter sleeves ending in cute turned back cuffs. I already had one similar to it in white, except this one had the longer, more pointed style o
Getting in Her Pants"You lost the bet so you have to do it!" laughed Holly.

"Yeah, I only bet because I thought I would win, though," Ash pouted, hoping to wriggle out of his predicament. "I wouldn't have even bet otherwise."

"Well too bad, Ash," Holly said getting mad. "And, just because you are trying to welsh on the bet, I am going to make it harder."

"Noooo!" cried Ash in horror.

"Since you said if you won I had to let you into my pants," the girl went on, "I am still going to do that now that you have lost."

"Hmmm, let's see ..." Holly turned to her dresser and started rummaging through the drawers. "I was just going to make you wear a pair of my jeans
crash chordsHe named his guitar after me, you know. He told me he'd caress it like it was my own body. He made love to me that night, and for months after I could hear him making music-love to the me-guitar.

Three years later, I found the guitar in his garage sale.

"It's just an instrument, kid," he told me, catching me around the waist and pressing the softest kiss against my neck.

Oh, baby - I knew you would sell my soul someday. But I helped; helped you to the door, at least. As I walked out of our shared life, I broke the guitar for you. And it only struck me later that there was a metaphor in there somewhere, but I was too broken to care.
The Piano The voice you hear is not mine. It forms words, but it's not me. I can no more speak than I could fly; not if you begged me, if you tortured me.

Once, a lifetime time ago, I could sing, and I lived for my song. Once she sang with me, and oh, how beautiful we were.

I sing no more.

I don't know where she went; far away, I believe. Perhaps she replaced me with another who sang more beautifully than I ever could. Though she tried, I give her that, she tried to take me with her; brought me all the way down to the sea shore, onto the very sands, but that's as far as I could go; the end of our life together.

Do you think me foolish, allowing my
remember me. remember, me.
"iio," he said gently, fingers twining in that white hair.

she was terrified of looking at him. for all she knew, he was dead-- and this was his corpse, speaking to her in ashen tongues. these ashes, his ashes

and she was covered in his body.

"look at me. sis..."

"paris," she murmured, still clinging to sleep. this was all she wanted. to lay in his arms. she felt water lapping at her heels. ankles. calves. the water rose and she snapped to.

she was standing, now, on a pyre-- linen figurines peppered the horizon and she balked when she realized she was standing in his coffin. a thousand hands with a million fingers clawed through the rott
caterpillars will become butterflies.You called it a whole other world.

"It's a fortress," you tell me when we sit at the bay window, thrown wide open.

The spider webs would cut thousands of crystal strokes under my windowsill in between rainy seasons, and each morning we'd sit out in the yard and I'd watch you sketch the dewdrops ebbed in the tiny satin tightropes. Your father hated them, but you wouldn't let him touch them.

"Everything so geometric and miniature. It's amazing."

The structure of my bones became geometric and miniature, too, so you could trace every line – sitting in that window, with the curtains billowing like butterfly wings.

But I never noticed tha
wildfire.
he had the taste of dust in his mouth. cottonmouth. it was sand in his teeth. he spat himself out in straight lines, clockwork ticks, washboard fluted and frottoir in nature. he made the same noise every time.

it was like the ridges of his spine rose with the horizon when he pulled his shoulders back.  hard to blink against all that grit.  there were bombshells dessicating his skinwork, indefinite and chaotic. shrapnel fearing folk hid underground. he was not that breed. he stood with the army. he stood as an army. their syncopated swagger stilted the staccato of their future deaths. they were not one. they were not one. and he knew that guy
prompt seven - nosebleedShe said,
"I want you to love me so much it hurts."

======

She said,
"I want to be under your skin."

She was inside him. She was in his veins and under the surface and always on his mind. She sprawled out next to him on top of the covers and let her fingers wander between his blemishes, and asked how she made him feel. The sun was setting in the skyline and her words were weaving around him in time with her lips tracing his aura while he fumbled over what she meant. There were gaps between his teeth and he lost the words to tell her that without her, he was going numb. He was losing the sensations in his nerves and nervous system and ner
Cheese After all that cheese, there was nothing to be done but walk backwards the two miles to my green hotel room, shouting "Queso! Queso!" A lumberjack lumbered after me, he'd been to the event and had as much as I had, but he refused to walk backwards, only to speak backwards. "Oseuq! Oseuq!"
Do you remember that night we drank the whole five hundred TV stations and fast-forwarded into the twenty-second century, naked and screeching like crows? I don't either, but it was an unforgettable night. The pizza is incredible in the future.
LifeI am a killer at heart.

They say a slow death is the best death. I must admit it is fitting if you are into torture on the side, but I have to say I do not care if the killing is fast or slow. It just happens to be slow every single time.

You should know that I do not kill in a way that is obvious. If you want to find me, you can not, though I gift something to every person (I kill... for your pleasure).

I want them to feel what I feel.

That is what humanity is. It is about relating to others and getting them to sympathise, or empathise, because, deep down, we crave it. We crave the knowledge that we are not alone in this god. forsaken. w
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More from `b0x0rz

declassified information .?
i want to learn what's it like to wake up in the morning and not feel sad.

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April 16, 2006
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Mature Content Filter is On. The Artist has chosen to restrict viewing to deviants 18 and older.
(Contains: violence/gore)

declassified information .4

:iconb0x0rz:


as i walked up the stairs i heard people crying, shivering.

i got to the top.

he turned, pointing a gun at me. it was quite beautiful - - the gun.

it made me laugh. i turned my head away from the gun, looked at the people crying, shivering. some were calm. they were all looking at me. i looked again at the gun. grabbed it with both of my hands, in between my palms, put it on my forehead.
and with tears in my eyes i said calmly:
"do it, please. shoot me, please."

he didn't do it, of course. he just looked at me, amazed. made a step back, forcing the gun out of my hands.
"no."

i fell to the ground. on my back. my hands away from my body. my head tilted to the left, towards the people crying, shivering. a tear slowly started going from my left eye, past my ear, then it hit the ground.
"i can not die."

"i can not die."
"i made all this, you see. everything, the swans, the skies, the rains, the people - - the world."
"i am so lonely. so very - - lonely."

"i thought if i had thousands of years to find her, i would. but no. not once."
"generations passed. and many will."
"i will forever be alone."

:iconb0x0rz:
mature content for a reason.
posted under fiction, for it would be too sad if it was true, and nobody wishes to believe that it could be true, anyhow.

based on true events.

**previous part: declassified information .3
**next part: declassified information .5
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:iconseavor:
!seavor Apr 9, 2010
Very, very good.
My favourite of the 6.
Reply
:iconndstotler:
!ndstotler Oct 25, 2008  Student
This is very good. :) it's my favorite so far. [about to read the rest :D]
Reply
:iconlivingcomforteagle:
~livingcomforteagle Mar 20, 2007
I adore this. it's probably my favorite out of the five.
Reply
:icongrotesquesplendor:
~GrotesqueSplendor May 21, 2006
Now, about this piece.
I liked the fact of him admiring the instrument of his death, it shows how much he wants to die so great is the regret, which i think is still the main feeling in these last three parts. The environment is good, the people crying, some admiring the whole thing, you can sense anxiety in the air provoked by the gun :)
The fact that he compares himself to god is also good. As I see it, his desire to die has been so futile and impossibly fulfilled that he sees himself as immortal; even his job is very risky and he's likely to be killed at any moment. But, then, you question the whole creation of the world thing - was it because god felt lonely? I liked the moment when you made me ponder that :)

I've been liking your story so far but now i'm gonna risk a punch in the mouth hehe the thing that has been through my mind during this reading is... where is this going? I mean, if I interpreted this right, he is dreaming right? But I think you should wake him up now and in an afflicted and incredibly confused way too. In my opinion this would be the perfect moment, to leave the reader to thinking about his last thought - "i will forever be alone." - this is the time where the feeling of regret and loneliness is heaviest. I think it would be a good transition. I'll let you think about that :)

This has been a great story, i'm looking forward to the next part! ;) good work and good luck!
Reply
:iconmichaelangel0:
~michaelangel0 May 7, 2006   Interface Designer
i supppose the why has been edited out. bX, this is impressing. i doubt that you speak french but [link] is a book i'm working on and the various threads that will eventually interweave all capture the gravity and mystery that your declassified information series conveys... well done for this, and perhaps, take a look at the .doc ? :-) peace .
Reply
:iconmickey83:
~Mickey83 Apr 22, 2006
Well, I like it...very interisting and original.
I would suggest to take off the "WHY?" in the end, it's sounds despert and melodramatic, and i do like the bitter atmosphere better.
Reply
:icondark-e:
~dark-e Apr 17, 2006
wow... quite nice, i really liked it ;)
Reply
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