myOtaku.com: sailorcrystal

myO Still <3's You

Vitals

Birthday
• 1991-01-05
Gender
• Female
Location
• throughout the vast infosphere network
Member Since
• 2004-05-05
Occupation
• metal collecter
Real Name
• Nazo or what most of my friends call me...Dracula..

Personal

Achievements
• pulling myself apart for others, achieving peace with myself
Anime Fan Since
• 5, ( sailormoon 1st aired)
Favorite Anime
• descendents of darkness, tsubasa,chrono crusade, FMA, rurouni kenshin,fruits basket,naruto,trigun, full moon,aria,ghost in the shell, clamp works, and others
Goals
• collect even more manga, and rid the world of my misfortunate cousin
Hobbies
• reading, collecting manga, sometimes writing poems, and collecting pieces of metal.
Talents
• expressing emotion in the ocassional poem, and serious devotion and loyalty

myOtaku.com: sailorcrystal

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

The buried soul ( inc.)
The darkness encompassing, staggering to a nearby wall, my body seemed to move in an alien methodica that was so foreign to myself. Sliding to fall upon the crevese where the floor and the wall met, my tattered cuffs of my pants seemed to soak in the waist deep pool of liquor. My mind burdened with much else in haggard imagery did not respond to the blood, a stagnant smell, a bright crimson in hue began to soak through the patterned sweater I wore. This article clung to my clumsy form as for dear life. Nothing seemed to have anymore meaning.

The metallic scent weighing the air as if in the midst of this invisible scarring battle of wills where the atmosphere is tensed. The quiet scene had been shattered all too quickly earlier when I had curled up near the window frame peering at the cityscape below, remembering sensations that had sent my physical spiraling and the soul of my beloved sister's tears splattered across the moon, tainting it.

Screams ignite the foundation in a small expanse of time, when agony of charred gunpowder in the breath along with the glimpse of the grotesque positions of fallen gods now becoming corpses. They dropped a hidden gift upon drapped royal jewel hued rugs whereas ebony and ivory reside. The mad whispers within the halls finally stopped when all was quiet and the only assailant that figment may have brought to life for no exceptional reason but whim.

Waltzed into the front yard or a field of over-grown weeds on this vast property and through the windows I resinated with the vibrations of weaponry. The meaty heap of man no longer, simply with the slow of time gracing the world eye view with slow fall to only land on a misplaced clothesline where my sister and I shared happiness. Now only to cling to this delicate string and hang.
With is the final atonement, the virtue of the buried soul long left with no marker.
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