Your Heart is Black


What Color is Your Heart?
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hmmm.... maybe not that bad.

Your wings are BROKEN and tattered. You are
an angelic spirit who has fallen from grace for
one reason or another - possibly, you made one
tragic mistake that cost you everything. Or
maybe you were blamed for a crime you didn't
commit. In any case, you are faithless and
joyless. You find no happiness, love, or
acceptance in your love or in yourself. Most
days are a burden and you wonder when the
hurting will end. Sweet, beautiful and
sorrowful, you paint a tragic and touching
picture. You are the one that few understand.
Those that do know you are likely to love you
deeply and wish that they could do something to
ease your pain.
You are hard on yourself and self-critical or
self-loathing. Feeling rejected and unloved,
you are sensitive, caring, deep, and despite
your tainted nature, your soul is
breathtakingly beautiful.

and i had always imagined the person i love to be like this....
but this is bullshit too.

You are one of the few out there whose wings are
truly ANGELIC. Selfless, powerful, and
divine, you are one blessed with a certain
cosmic grace. You are unequalled in
peacefulness, love, and beauty. As a Being of
Light your wings are massive and a soft white
or silver. Countless feathers grace them and
radiate the light within you for all the world
to see. You are a defender, protector, and
caretaker. Comforter of the weak and forgiver
of the wrong, chances are you are taken
advantage of once in awhile, maybe quite often.
But your innocence and wisdom sees the good in
everyone and so this mistreatment does not make
you colder. Merciful to the extreme, you will
try to help misguided souls find themselves and
peace. However not all Angelics allow
themselves to be gotten the better of - the
Seraphim for example will be driven to fighting
for the sake of Justice and protection of those
less powerful. Congratulations - and don't ever
change - the world needs more people like you.


*~*~*Claim Your Wings - Pics and Long Answers*~*~*
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what bullshit.

it is easy to lose yourself if you tie everything that is you to a post let it bark at the world like a mad dog while you parade yourself with your tailored mask of social code.
what does it take to experience yourself... ... ten times over? all those suppressed emotions and expressions.
and all those fobbiden antics... coming at you all at once to claim the debt you owe them.

give in to them and succumb to these unearthly thoughts and desires.... feel what you have always craved for and know your most basic instinct.

kill.

murder.

miam.

destroy.

wreck.

storm.

kick. punch. scratch. tear.

box. pull. push. crack.

break. crush. smash. throw.

do whatever to satiate the lust for wreckage and to draw blood.... your own blood.
see your blood and recognise the smell.
then develop the taste for other people's.

logic says no.
logic tells that you will feel empty and meaningless after this.

i say fuck it.
i tell myself that the devil's my brother and i do as he beckons.

i look upon the world with blood-shot eyes, looking for my victim.
i will make it scream ten times more than i did and feel pain worse than the one i'd just been through.
i will pick on easy target and exert all my accumulated violence on it.
i will make it the most pathetic fucking thing ever on the surface of the earth.

logic says it doesn't deserve it... and i will miss it after it is gone.
i say i want to destroy and you'd better shut up.

over and over.
harder and harder.

once.
twice.
and the so-called last time....

after this i will get over it and go on with life

after this i searched for more targets to satisfy the thirst.... the lust to see more of you perish.
harder. faster.... with eternal damnation. i hacked away at my scape-goats for my blame.

don't talk reason with me.
i don't talk to people, i kill them.

nothing can curb this growing need for violence.... the rising cresendo of insane power... vented out at nobody and everybody. the only way out: more wreckage.

now i look at your face and tell this maddness that you are right... with logic restraining on my urge to smash your beautiful face in and tear your handsome visage apart.

i don't understand why you hate violence.
it is in everyone and it is beautiful.
you cannot handle it and i can't either.
i had learnt to give in and enjoy the devil's ride... and i will teach you this precious lesson if i see you in person.

i will make you suffer for what i suffered.

it is always on the coldest and loneliest nights that you experience insomia.

it is always on such nights that your imagination runs haywire and you begin to think stupid, forbbiden thoughts.

then, the skies will prompt you what to do with those sleeplessness by raining all night... ....
so, i am supposed to join in the fun?

nothing is solid in this place. nothing is real either.
so what? if it is so beautiful?

some people never learn.... .... and i am one of these people.



i saved up every bit of strength in my pathetic, broken body.... just to travel to a place that i don't belong.....
to be hurt, and left out.
to cry, and feel the pain.
when the time runs out and energy runs low....
i picked up the fragments and retreat to where i belong.
drying my tears, and cleaning those wounds....
only to return to be hurt again, and again... and again.
it is not the rain.
it's my tears... tears that i shed for someone who is never around to see them.
stupid unwanted fluid that is worth nothing to noone.
my tears are not worth your pity.
your pity is not worthy of my tears.
nobody understands... i don't expect you to either.

who am i really?

this someone who finds herself surrounded by angels so long ago...
happy and smiling as she walks down the road with joy and laughter by her side.

then one day. oneday. her angel was shot. it was painful and he was bleeding.
he looked to her through his bloodshot eyes, overwhlemed with emotion and love...
pleading for her hands... her hands to deliver him from hurt, for she was the closest to him.

this girl stepped away instead... for she cannot offer herself out of pity.
for she thought she want to respect his dignity.

the angels watched in mute silence... ... and hid their wings and glory.
no longer does she finds herself surrounded by them and the joy and laughter she had grown so fond of.

on the naked earth, her angel picked himself up and reached out for her, lovingly as ever.... ....
in this broken body of his, as if nothing happened.
she felt like a traitor. she felt like a murderer. she felt helpless. and she felt tears.

this coward flee.... .... far far away from this group of strangers looking at her and what she had done to their friend.
she want to escape from all these that should never have happened. she want things to be happy.
she want him to be happy.

from that day onwards, she will not make another angel shelter her with his wings.
she will walk alone on the barren earth.
she will stay away from the happy angels and let them be.... and let him be.



from an invisible corner, she watched the angels spread their wings and flew off...
her most beautiful angel lagging behind and scarred.
it is a painful sight to bear... and it made her cry.
but it is something she chose from the very start... ... and she has to live with it all.


this time, without the help of angels.

Genjo Sanzo


Which Saiyuki Character are you?
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she looked him in the eye... ... almost thirty centimetres above her eye-level.
the tall, laconic man flinched -- but only for a fraction of a second.

"... are you wearing platforms?"
"...... ...... no."

"then can i take a picture with you?"
"...... ......"

"just one picture?" the girl was almost pleading with him. it would be bullying if he didn't say "yes".
yes, she'll most probably start tearing before him and everyone else... and that was the last thing he needed.

the exceptionally tall and fair-skinned man stood in contrast beside the stout, "jaundiced" girl ... ... looking for all the world like an ivory chopstick beside some unnamed root of an argricultural vegetable.
sniggers found their way out of suppression when it became obvious that a close up of the two faces is technically impossible if both persons are standing upright.

chewing away on her lower lip, the girl looked at the photographer, then at the ground. there was silence for an excruciating one minute (with the girl going silent, the guy being of little words, and everyone becoming speechless....)

then.... "this is not working out.... is it?" trying hard to hold back the tears, the girl mumbled to the ground.

"yes. .... ...."

"guessed you would be better off playing mahjong. sorry for wasting your time."

"... ... or we could be better off seated at a dinner table having dinner... ..."

she looked up and saw bashfulness written all over his face. regrets... already? but nevermind, because she knew he meant what he said.
maybe it wasn't meant to be said, but it was great to hear.
maybe she'd imagined the sincerity in his words, but he kept his word somehow... and kept her imagination running.
and for the humiliating episode with the camera, dinner was enough to make up for everything.



things don't work out in every direction... but they always do, if you look in the right one.

i don't think i'll have a tattoo for my love one on my body.

because i found a better and more lasting way to pledge my love for this person.

..... maybe i discovered only now.

maybe..... i did it without knowing its significance and how proud i am of this silly deed.

i really feel proud and happy....

when the world calls me by this word that conjures his visage in my mind everytime i hear it.

iris, is a good name.