Because let's face it - the Role-Playing aspect didn't exactly take off

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Ambrosaic Lycanthropist
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Joined: Thu Apr 13, 2006 10:21 pm


#1 Post by Demyra » Mon Sep 06, 2010 9:08 am

An angel's wings are delicate things,
all this brings, while she sings,
holding one note a little too long,
everything starts to go wrong...

The sun is grey between night and day,
and all we say is that we lost our way.
Locked inside of self inflicted monocrome,
All this brings is an empty home.

With the intensity of gravity against our skulls,
thematic justice, elevated just enough to dig holes,
until the skin seperates from bone, and falls to the ground,
and the soul dissipates, no longer flesh bound.

A cycle of decay is all there will ever be,
because we only need eyes to see,
and only need lungs to breathe,
and stomachs to heave,
hearts losing beat,
is our final feat.

Colors fade to grey and we begin to die,
first using our forked tongues to lie,
our eyes percieve truth and cry,
minds racing wonder why,
while our lungs sigh,
Heart still tries,
While the soul percieves what the body cannot, and says its goodbyes.

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#2 Post by Ne » Tue Sep 14, 2010 2:20 pm

sweet one, Demy :3

not only angel's wings are delicate, they're delicate entities in general :/ and tend to break into lots of pieces...

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