Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.Bo. by Silver-cLaw
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
Music: symphony of...sometimes she tears her heart outMusic: symphony of... by whisperedmemories
just to play the strings,
and throws it hard against a rock
until percussion rings,
sometimes she'll pull the knife out
and whisk it through her veins,
then let the blood-winds whistle
crescendoing her pain,
sometimes she'll steal gold lighters
and burn until the bone,
hearing brass above her screaming
with deeper resonance than stone,
sometimes her head is aching
a metronome in her ear,
heart-beats pound 'til choirs waking
scream agonized and clear,
sometimes she is black and white
and pounds down on her knees,
tearing flesh and bone with this
piano bound disease,
the doctors say beware of her
she gets worse by the day,
but if you really want to know her
you can, just. push. play.
ReflectionsReflections by xxHarmoniousChaosxx
I look in the mirror reflection,
I hope my true self avoids detection.
I am not who they believe,
I find freedom when they leave.
I see myself with this refinement,
It's all traditional confinement.
Who is she?
That beauty staring at me.
Not who I was meant to be.
This personality and this face,
My family's disgrace.
Honor and poise,
Someone save me from this choice.
I hide behind this façade,
It's a delicate charade.
I see myself as a warrior,
Everyone around sees me as inferior.
Why can't I let my true self shine?
Why must I let this cage confine?
Behind this face I fade.
Who is that girl I see,
Staring straight back at me?
Turned to obscurity.
This sad shallow reflection.