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Dream Journals_IntroThe world of my dreams always as a few constants, one being the concerning and yet familiar lack of a sky. It is blackness, a void with no light, no moon, no stars, unless the dream states otherwise that is what you see when you look up. No blue skies with light fluffy white clouds, no deep night sky with little diamonds littering it or even the sliver of our beloved moon. It is empty. I cannot recall when this first occurred, of if I've only recently, within the past years, noticed the void.Another constant that I've noticed, is that, many a time, when I have nightmares, no matter the intensity, they usually track back to my grandpa's old trailer home, nestled at the back of a small neighborhood behind a church. The neighborhood it's self was always something of an oddity consisting of maybe forty of fifty houses, all filled with strange characters and colorful backgrounds. The church that sat there was relatively small and always had trees out in front of it, mostly pine trees but t
...It's symbolism dear, the way your stars shine down on my gardenGlistening across my flowers, dancing prismatic crystals off the petals.The way everything looks so pale and pristine in the moon beams.The Lilly's love it. It's what makes them grow so tall.The roses revel in the midnight dew drops.Everything falls into motion in the morning,When your stars are banished from sightAnd your flower shines all the brighter.Things seem so quiet now, that I've discovered this gardenThe crumbling walls are protected by vines and bushes too tall for anyone to get through.So everything is still protected, gaurded, secure,But slowly falling away.The garden needs more tending these days, it's been neglectedI never realized it was here, lying just beyond my walls.The walls you could never seem to break downYet somehow managed to get inside stillAnd here is where you will stay, my flowers, your starlightGrowing and feeding each other, becoming stronger every momentWhethere you feel me
Cities Of The Fallen Ch.1A middle-aged man slinked down the bleak streets, his high cheekbones and narrow chin were caked in blackened blood and thickly caked on mud from the night before that he hadn't bothered to try to clean off. It's not like he cared just how haggard he looked, nothing much mattered to him any more. The gently arching wrinkles around his eyes and jawline put his age some where in the questionable late thirties or early forties, though he was fit enough to carry around a heavy laden hiker's backpack and a few leather satchels filled with rainwater with ease. Tired olive eyes sat beneath his greying brows and a scraggly patch of chin stubble spanned to the underside of his neck, stopping at his pronounced Adam's apple. He ran a hand, wrapped in bloodied bandages, through his black hair, streaked with age and drug along with him a thick, titanium, baseball bat, dented and stained from use.It had only been about a month since everything went to hell and this poor man's entire life was turned
Cities Of The Fallen TEASERIt's the simple pleasures in life, the little things that get you through, like the fact of seeing the sun through the clouds after a long anticipated storm. Or drinking rainwater right out of the sky as it falls and savoring the refreshing feeling it leaves on your skin. Even the droning sounds of the beasts and monsters that now enthrall the world can be comforting from behind thickly reinforced walls. It beats the silence that leaves you nothing but the sound of your memories to keep you company, left in the corners of your mind that chose the most inconvenient time to rear the heads. The only advice to give anyone during this age is to enjoy the simple pleasures. When you feel like you've got nothing to live for anymore and the only thing that keeps you driving forward and keeps you moving is a fleeting hope that disappears as soon as the sun sets, you have to stay sane, because sometimes the monsters aren't the most dangerous things in the world.