“Though I exist in the realms of day and night, I'm only truly alive in the moments between.” Quote by H.T. Martin
“For your love I have uprooted all my desires, I am no more demanding...” LoveLifeInspirationalPassionStrengthFriendsHeartbreakLonelyBroken HeartAttributed No SourceDivine LoveDeep LovePassionate Love Author:Seema Gupta
“Love is floating somewhere in the beautiful horizon with an equal wave length with same frequency of intense feelings” LoveLifeInspirationalPassionStrengthFriendsHeartbreakLonelyBroken HeartAttributed No SourceDivine LoveDeep LovePassionate Love Author:Seema Gupta
“You are whole today, looking back at fragments of the past. Such a hollow foundation for such a powerful person.” Attributed No Source Author:H.T. Martin
“What do you do when your words aren't enough? What do you do when your actions have no effect? What do you do when all the fibers of your existence scream just to be heard? And yet, only the most deafening silence returns the echoes of your screams. Is there something beyond words and action?” Attributed No Source Author:H.T. Martin
“She was starmetal bones with kaleidoscope eyes. A cracked framework of unique beauty, a patchwork portrait filled with swirling brush strokes, an amalgamation of delicate light and detailed shatter. I could write a novel about the way she breathes.” Attributed No Source Author:H.T. Martin
“The one thing that we need to escape is our minds, but our minds are the one thing that we cannot escape from.” LifeMindTruthSadDepressionMental IllnessAttributed No SourceEscapeSad But TrueUgly Truths Author:Anonymous
“I love her, but every hug leaves bullet holes in my chest. Every kiss is another scar upon my flesh. Every thrust, every touch, every moan that escapes her lips...they are famine to my soul, and I still can't let her go.” Attributed No Source Author:H.T. Martin
“It was the end for something. It was the beginning for another. But in reality it just fell in the middle. In that confusing moment of time between my birth and my death.” Attributed No Source Author:H.T. Martin
“She was poetry written in pen, scribbled and scrawled again and again. Ink splattered across the page. And within those scratched words, those small, sharp incisions, an image can be seen and you're left to wonder what, in the end, this all could mean.” Attributed No Source Author:H.T. Martin
“She was a mimicry of a façade fashioned from the half-truths of her life. She was a beautiful abomination, patched together from the most pristine and terrible parts she could find. She was a black crystal of many cuts and facets whose dark glow suffocated and entranced those it washed over. There was a pointlessness in her eyes and apathy in her stature, and further in, past the symphonies of nightmarish screams was a blinding light. All the capability she could ever ask for kept in a place she would never reach. She chose the ice rather than the fire, shivering and hard with heat sparse, for while a flicker can exist in freeze's cold, it's heat will not radiate, no matter how bold. She took my face in hands that would make ice seem warm and whispered a blizzard into my ear, a cascading song of fear after fear. The lies she spilled, mixed with regrets and appeal, were cloaked in the inferno of her rage, the anger, the only thing that really made her real. This was her one semblance of life, a bottomless and endless void of proportions vast with a calamity of fusion and fission streaking through, a mindless hue, an emotion with a face, a darling of her race. The cracks spew darkness from within her ever so pale skin. They congregated on her curves and flesh in black and churning rivers and streams. They flooded every dip with blackness. They filled every hollow with unstable curiosity, this is her release, this is when she is free. The faces of deceit always laugh, they never wallow for their lies are a pleasure tool, her insides are contorted in laughter the same way, just as slick, just as cruel. A crude combination of fascination, of animation, of the darkest demons of them all. She was poetry written in pen, scratched and scribbled again and again. Ink splattered across the page, and within those scrawled words, those small, sharp incisions, an image can be seen, and you're left to wonder what, in the end, this all could mean...” Attributed No Source Author:H.T. Martin