�One with the shadows� (THIS ONE!!!!!!!!) -- Join farm

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Subject: �One with the shadows� (THIS ONE!!!!!!!!)

Author:
Alex

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Date Posted: 16:33:58 03/08/03 Sat
Author Host/IP: cache-rb08.proxy.aol.com/152.163.188.40

�Why were we born? Why do we live?�

The raging fire of sadness dies away
As the icy rain continues to pour tonight

Those I love, those I hate,
Are hidden within my aching heart
I found I coudn't regret
What I believed in long ago
That a day of parting
Was only destiny's promise...

A sorrowful kiss as our hearts go their ways
The past was better for having been together
These undying memories I hold
I'll cherish tenderly, someday.

Why were we born? Why do we live?
The rain washes away all the reasons
Without anything to follow
Love can be broken

The memory of names is a flaming stormy blue
That drophlets pierce like a rain of needles
Someone's wail, someone's hopes
Smoothered on a corner of some drenched street

Thereis nothing I can do,
Even for the one I wanted to protect
Now that one has passed away
And nothing left but to laugh

The rain hurt, all is hopeless
Even if the joyous times are torn apart...
I know it is only a vain wish
And the tears gently trickle down

Left the rain fall until the fire disappears

Then consign those fleeting dreams to oblivion
Without anything to follow
Love can be broken
Love is broken

� Once upon a time, there was a boy.

He was love and light- sweetness and kindness all in one pretty little package.

He was short, delicate looking. Blonde hair, huge blue-grey eyes that took up half his face, a pert little noise, soft, pouty lips worthy of cupid pictures, a heart shapped face, ruddy cheeks- the face made for marble angels.

He was built like a cherub, or a little fallen angel.....yes, that was what he was. A fallen angel.

Ment for happyness and contentment.

Not brothels and harsh, cold sex. Those soft lips were never ment for what was done to them- that delicate body never intended for the treatment he was given.

He was kind, beautiful, trusting, maybe a bit nieve, playful.

He killed himself when he was fifteen years old.�

� T he boy enters slowly, deep brown hair is kept out of his eyes by a blood red head band. He wears a raggid blue top that covers only his chest, with a brown-something underneath it. Fingerless gloves cover his hands, and a black, patched coat is there to keep him moderately warm. Brown, practily painted on pants complete the picture, and it's painfully obviouse what this boy is running from. Deep, deep green eyes peer cooly but sucpisiously at all.�

I am cursed:

Alexander

But they all scream at me:

Alex

I've been trapped here:

Sixteen years

I find pleasure in:

Duno. Havn't found anything 'pleasureable' in this world as of yet.

I detest:

Let's put it this way. I havn't seen everything on this earth and hated it- but I've hated everything I've seen.

My history is:

I was a whore. I am not any longer, I hope. How I came to be that and how I got away from it is my business and mine alone.

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