I'M LOSING TOUCH — DUMP

[maestro]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 460px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; color: black; padding: 0px"][sub]A writing dump for me. Some will be for any characters I may have, or it may just be for fun. Honestly I don't really know. Don't post here please, I want to keep it organized. I don't know anyone here, so I'm not open to any tracks. If you want to comment about something then just pm me, but I doubt anybody would actually look at this.

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[maestro]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 460px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; color: black; padding: 0px"][sub]The frigid fingers clutching at your neck, and the hot breath on your face startled you. It had shocked you to such a degree that your body jolted with such a manner parallel to an inhuman being. Grasping at his throat, did he begin to realize it was nothing short of a dream. A dream? Perhaps a nightmare? Was a dream not a nightmare and a dream a nightmare? A dream was something someone longed for, was it not? That longing was a nightmare in itself. Knowing that dream would never be possible, thus leaving a person empty. Yet... Yet, dreams were solace. A place where even the most selfish desires come true. No matter how abstract it was, no matter how clear it was, any desire is made possible. However, a dream is nothing more and nothing less than a wish. A nightmare in disguise, but nightmare has its own classification. A dream in which one's desires are unfulfilled. In a sense a nightmare slapped reality in a dreamers face. Yes, reality. The fact that you were bound by laws that can not be broken. We all are chained by something of some sort.

Hot breathes steady once more did he gaze at the white plaster ceiling of his room. He always pondered the what ifs, the should haves, and the why. Others called it overthinking, but he merely saw it as viewing the truth. If he was born female, would he have to abide by the worlds laws regarding femininity? That he, no she would be expected to look and behave a certain manner? To follow the social conformity placed upon them. A female is expected to look beautiful, however the term beautiful has been misconstrued by the media. Brainwashing. Propaganda. A woman was no better than a man, and a man was no better than a woman. However, by social standards a woman seemed nothing more than a doll. Numerous advertisements and merchandise sold in order to create a "beautiful woman". That is not to say woman struggle, and men are lounging about.

Men too have their own struggles. Not giving childbirth or behaving a certain way. The struggle of men was their appearance. Appearance. The struggle of all. If not fitting the "standard" look, it was then the thought lingered in the mind. I'm not normal. Normality. The thing most strive for and for those seeking individualism that journey was hard enough. Being one's self was a struggle, yet fitting in to society was also part of it. He knew that too well. No matter what he did that he would not be "normal". What is normal? Normal was a concept, a measurement. Is normality nothing short of an illusion? No matter, normality can never be achieved without losing something equal. To be normal means losing one's identity, to be one's self is to lose normality. Whatever the case, the decision came to those who desired it. He sought normality. Conformity. He loathed being "normal", yet he knew if he was to be his own self society would not accept him.

Rolling on his side did he curl up into a ball. I'm not fine.

[maestro]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 460px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; color: black; padding: 0px"][sub]Her little fingers are what kept her sane.

That's what the elderly said. A little girl had kept a woman sane, and this woman was not of her mother. This woman had lost a child of her own. That child had been the little girls best friend. Killed in a car crash. The news broke out quickly in the small town. Her friend had passed away, and her own mother comforted the woman who had lost their child. The little girl only knew her mother, her father had long passed away during a bank robbery. The woman was the child's mother's friend. Every day when the little girl returned from school did she see the woman stare solemnly at her. Adults were a strange thing to children. The little girl had yet to know the true reason of the woman's longing gaze. Innocence. The little girl every day hugged the woman, allowing her to braid her hair and cook meals for her. That is, while the little girl's mother was at work. On weekends the woman did not appear, never to be seen. Some might say that the woman was a ghost.

One winter's day did the little girl wait for her mother with the woman, only for her mother never to appear. Something was amiss, however the child did not know yet. The woman had left the room for five minutes, leaving the little girl to imagine where her mother was. A gentle hand had touched her shoulder, the woman whom had lost her own daughter. Smiling at her presence did the little girl asked to be picked up. Without hesitation the woman carried the little girl away, for how would a five year old know that her mother was killed by a car? These things were better left unsaid. From that day onward did the pair never returned to the house.

Time passed, the little girl becoming an adult. The woman who had raised her becoming old as well. The pair had lived in the woman's house, the woman raising the girl as her own daughter. However, the girl had forgotten her best friend and her real mother. The girl thought of the woman as her own mother. It had never crossed the girl's mind that the woman was not her mother, and reality the killer of her true mother. The person who had planned the untimely demise of the girl's real mother.

Regret plagued the woman, now in her forties. Having killed the girl's mother just to have a daughter, even one not of her own. Still, the woman could only smile recalling the tiny fingers that granted her happiness. The little girl was now an adult, but the memories of raising the child gave the woman joy. Despite changing the little girl's name, the woman held no regrets in raising the child. Her child, Elizabeth Clark. The same name the woman gave to her long deceased daughter.

Elizabeth Clark only waved as she said, "I love you mom!" How easily fooled children can be.

[maestro]

[align=center][div style="font-size:14.1pt;line-height:0.9;color:#000;font-family:arial black;text-transform:uppercase"]HAND-FREEZING MORNING, LANGUID AFTERNOON TOO
—  BY THIS SOUND THE TWO OF US ARE CONNECTED  —[div style="font-size:8.6pt;line-height:1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:1px"] MAESTRO. TIRED & RESERVED. [abbr=TWELVE (FLINTLOCKLODGE), AFTERMATH (UNDECIDED), KELLY "KADEN" (NORTHSTAR)]CURRENT CHARACTERS[/abbr]. NEUTRAL PRONOUNS THEY/THEM. #receiver

[maestro]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 460px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; color: black; padding: 0px"][sub]UPDATES 1.4.18
Kelly and Aftermath have been dropped in order to keep my sanity. The only real character I'll be rping is twelve, that is if I have the motivation to.

TO DO
Get in the swing of playing twelve, as well as update their tags. Heartchart maybe, but who knows if they'll be played a lot.

[maestro]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 460px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; color: black; padding: 0px"][sub]behind those panes what is that you reflect?
or have they become too clouded to behold?
why is it so?
perhaps it is because i desired to see beyond those panes.
or perhaps i loathed them, for they held the truth.
broken boy, broken boy, the phrase emanates
the tales hidden within are cruel
why is it that i wish to learn these tales?
for each and every tale told they were discarded
it seems the closing draws close
such a shame
battered and ill i made them
yet i still desire more
tears were spilled
blood was spilled
just before the last page is torn, resent me
you foolish boy

ink can be found shimmering in the embrace of water
what a lovely sight
a gentle thing the ink is
extending its hand to those who venture near
the water simply watches with judgment
wouldn't it be wonderful to see the ink fade to nothing?
it extends its hand awaiting a gentle embrace
foolish ink, for the ocean resents those unworthy of your presence
traces left behind, the ink retreats confounded
with every visit the water's grasp loosens
laughter resounded
how long would it last?
or when will it begin?
the sand begins crumble
a hole is left behind
seems like it was useless after all

mountains of it
pools of it
along with a putrid stench
it looms among red and white
a pitiful being it is
unable to accept the smallest of touches, it cowers
strange it is to choose those who can approach
what a fickle it is
finding solace in the darkness
treading beyond red with ease
again and again it can be found in a sea of white
gently, swimming in red for some time it backs away
cautious it is, what a smart creature
wary of the beast that hides in plain sight

metal and the harsh clawing at the floor
the metal tears flesh bringing an abundant red
broken bones echo
lungs become punctured
a wicked smile can be found
destruction everywhere
left behind is only a mere memory
white sways in the damp air
judgement has been passed another day
the maddening grin proof of such
curiosity leads one astray after all

hunger that can not be satisfied
a gaping hole
the will to consume
one who knows no bounds
unlimited power
one that i can not seem to grasp
in a mere instant blood spatters
upon walls and cold floors
eccentric as the glutton is
hatred lurks
in due time the gaping hole will be filled
the glutton swallows fervently
fingers trace among skin and tighten

A daisy surrounded by dead leaves
it falters and wavers
yet it never seems to fall
the white carnation entangles itself with the daisy
setting them ablaze sounds just about right
or perhaps it is better to destroy one and watch the other suffer
wretched daisy who drowns themselves lies
no matter
be happy with the memory
for memories bring temporary bliss

born of the same letter we are nothing alike
siblings yet not at all
tender judgement
unwavering will
two sides of the same coin
emotions are best left disregarded
useless they are in a grand scale of things
tirelessly the creature works
why is it so?
does it have anything to gain?
why does it compel me?
far too interesting they are to let go of
and so i await the day it comes crashing down

tightly holding them i put them to rest
tracing the tears running down their face
sad child, sad child what is it that you wish?
a girl is reflected in your eyes, and i see that we desire the same
i leave you with warmth emitting from my fingertips
yet i know you'll never find out
neither can i answer why
when dawn arrives i simply ponder
is this what care is?
and if that is so, no wonder why they desire it

in my dreams i saw a boy crying
all alone they were in the abyss
extending my hand i grab their shoulder
when they turn i see myself
red eyes contemplating everything, shaking
ah yes, a fragile unstable boy
fragile boy, fragile boy, what eats at you?
is it the love you'll never get, or is it the pain of isolation?
oh, wait you're not real
a failure and nothing more
wear the mask that you loathe
strong fool, strong fool, that you are