sasusakuforever99

It is you and I, in bed together, holding each other closely and tightly as we could. But, you’re asleep and I am awake, staring at you, mesmerized by how brilliantly amazing you still are despite the years we spent apart.   Your locks outlined the shape of your face; your eyes, though close, I know held the most dazzling color I've ever seen. Your nose and lips carved in excellence; your skin as fair and soft as an infant’s; the muscles on your arms and legs, strong and built delicately – and embracing you, I realize how your body fits mine so perfectly. I allow myself to gently run a hand through your hair, and it&rsq

"Fall for You," By sasusakuforever99 The best thing 'bout tonight's that we're not fighting Could it be that we have been this way before? I know you don't think that I am trying I know you're wearing thin down to the core             Evening, 11 o'clock, there Gilbert is. Sitting on the couch, NOT surrounded with beer. There sat next to him is his close friend, Elizabeta. By this time of night, they would be fighting, or arguing because of Gilbert's....uh....as we may call, 'actions' towards her boyfriend, Roderich.           

"Continue..." By sasusakuforever99 GENRES: fiction / Hetalia / Anime / Romance / Drama / Slice of life [I think.] Summary:...And yet after that, she still continues to love. With a smile, on her face. CHARACTERS: Yvelissa - Philippines [Upper part] (My OC) Francis - France Maria -  Philippines [Bottom part](A friend's OC) Elizabeta - Hungary Names Mentioned: Gilbert - Prussia Antonio - Spain Alexander - Australia (I don't really know the name. I just found it in a deviation           somewhere.) Roderich - Austria Iggy/Arthur - England --- "I'm sorry Yvelissa for bringing this subject up but, aren't you depressed?" Elizabeta

MY ENTRY FOR THE HCB CONTEST OF ANNRIA2002 & DAGGERUNDREA "Goodbye...Sakura" He said softly, with a gently smirk "OKAY! CUT!" Screamed the Director, Ria (Yes, you Ria-senpai!) "Let's take a break Sasuke." Said the Executive Producer, Dana (Yes, you too Dana-senpai!) Sasuke walked out of the stage with small smirk. "Hey Teme!" He heard, He turned his head to see a blonde young man with a grin on his face. "Hey Dope." "Say, you did well today, eh?" The Blonde smiled, "Hn..." He smirked... "Hey! Admit it Teme!" The blonde teased. "Ya know? Sakura-chan seems sexxxyyyy!" Naruto suddenly said changing the subject, "What the hell, Naruto?!" Sas

My fingers bleed words that my lips cannot say. When they try to trickle out, I scowl and turn away. It may not be contagious, but it is a disease. Holding myself deep inside, it's getting hard to breathe. Lies come so easy, to cover up the truth. It’s like my second nature, grown from my very youth. It’s deeper than conviction, more earnest than a thought. It’s my way It’s my life It is my disease.

1. apologize profusely to the ones you were honest with, the ones who believe in you, the ones who never cared, the boy who thought you were worth it, the girl who stayed up all night to hear you breakdown, the doctors, the nurses, the stars, your scars, your little brother who told you he hoped your sad would go away, yourself 2. fall in love with someone who doesn’t understand you. write poems about his eyes being a lighthouse, and his hands being sirens. tell him he is your happiness, he makes you better. tell him his scars are beautiful, he is so breathtakingly beautiful that it’s reasonable you should cry; love him infin

Develop insomnia. Develop problems with substance abuse, nothing serious, but enough that I can say “write drunk, edit sober” and mean it. Drink tea. Write about drinking tea. Take up smoking, ignore the thoughts about it being a slower suicide. Write about suicide. Don’t mean it. Write about sunsets and ink veins. Mean it. Fall in love with someone who will never love me back. Lament. Write a million crappy poems and two good ones. Never show him. Move on. Write a few more bad poems. Fall in love with someone perfect. Screw it up. Fall in love with someone awful. Call him perfect. Screw it up. Cry. Cry for the inevitab

I struggle to be real; it's something I have fought with for a long time. I am always, always afraid that my real thoughts, real opinions, real motivations will be judged. I am always afraid. I live my life in the shadow of doubts, some inherited, some self- invented, and I juggle thoughts behind what some call sparkling wit, and I refer to, cliché as it is, as a mask. I have thoughts that are locked in my head; I never really let them out, and not necessarily because I don't want to, but because my words are clumsy. They trip from my lips, stutter all conversation to a grinding halt, and so my thoughts stay safely locked inside my he

My past is written on my skin, covered by the shroud of shadows that is my Way of Life, Trained to meld into the darkness, to walk unnoticed in the light. The scars carved into my flesh are like a picture, each tales of a thousand words, An echo of a time of cold blood and tears spilt, healed by the embrace of warm words and bright smiles, branding memories in my heart. Irreplaceable. But you no longer see the words, engraved into our skin. No longer know the promises forged with intangible chains. For now I am nothing more to you than a phantom in the rain. A white flower of the snow, a whisper in the night. A china doll with a fragile ma

I call them fragments, the parts of me that were too exhausted to stay. He calls them flecks because I am a flake. I wish I was a flake. It sounds prettier than being a fragment. Flakes are like snow. Soothing, falling from the sky on the tip of his tongue that melt and disappear. Fragments are archeological findings of a scarred past we really should not remember. I want to remember my scars. So I am a fragment. - I draw on my legs. When my skin dries out, I use my index finger as a pencil and draw what the clouds are trying to tell me. Sometimes it’s a dog, and sometimes it’s a bear and sometimes it is his face looking at me

there is a void that has yet to be filled. You probably don't remember when we stayed up all night counting stars or how this world wasn't actually real. We were our own gods. The day your faith died was the day your mother whispered "He's living with her now" and you stopped breathing long enough to forget I was standing there, too. Fast forward to too many years later, we locked eyes in whitewashed halls. Amnesia was written in the creases of your skin like narcotic borderlines between living and acting and you could only pretend like I wasn't there—just a whisper in the wind that reminded you of being human once upo

There's a tiny insecurity in my brain, and it likes to tell me things... it says to be reserved, it says to be quiet... it says to be frightened, it says to cry, for hours and hours.... and I've never stopped to think, that it would actually be, What if nobody likes, the real me?