Novel & Cerita Poetry Teeters On The Edge Of Insanity

Each was a florid fantasy, not viewed as a tale, but lived in him. He was always the main character, distinguished and adventurous, an illusion of splendor he supposed. Cavin likes them that way, it is much better than ordinary life. So if the thoughts of an insane journey still come, how was he to say he was cured? When even in a precarious voyage of the supernatural, here he was risking his life again. A true fantasy is a fixed mistaken notion that gains traction, like a wheel of a wagon on the road, it propels a person in different paths, often unpredictable and toward catastrophe.

And her voice – as mad as it may be – sounded broken and course. “Chlo…” he groaned but she kicked again. This time he was prepared and when he felt the shift in the bed, he quickly moved to dodge her. I forgot… he thought to himself… she’s criminally insane. “Do you want to die?!” She screeched. He felt her shuffle in the dark and sit up against the frame of the bed. Rather than try again in the darkness – especially since his eyes had been so bad in the last year – he got up to open the large, panoramic window overlooking the city. The bright lights quickly illuminated the room enough that he could see her.

Each failed attempt had escalated my anxiety, my heart racing with every passing minute. I'm not insane. I'm not fucking insane. That was the mantra I'd been repeating since I left home, the words echoing in my mind like a desperate prayer. I'd chanted them to myself like a lifeline, clinging to sanity as the world around me spiraled out of control. But as the hours ticked by, the words began to lose their potency. The silence was suffocating, and the darkness closing in around me was starting to seep into my soul.

but my very spirit endlessly perverted by speculation concerning whatever delirious dance this upstart pretender and I are enacting upon the stage? I'm panting like a winded cur by the climax of this maddening self-interrogation. Every pulse pounding with the seething refusal to let this ridiculously inflated farce go any further. To allow my transcendent destiny among legends to remain forever toxified by a poisonous infatuation for my sworn enemy.

The heart screams The rejection of peace To me From me Each new day But then till I live Will I be dust Each new way No success new Reaches me Despite Huge attempts My sweat does make My heart does make I am paralysed Or am I dead I don't even know A moment When I enjoyed life Without a breakage As threat If this is life What is death What is end What is dullness When this is light Of my life I am frail now I know I am weak I know the cause Of my every disease Is mental unease But I still won't complain I still won't complain Till fire extinguish My dreams To dirt, it will be All expectations from me With encouragement Only as a dream How long will I live How long will I blame One day At res

She read the poem on the topmost page: Blurry eyes, in a haze, Cry silently near the window, Go without speaking for days, Written words are all that remain. What did I do wrong? You call me a disgrace. Sleep with pretty women, perfect bodies Yet you dare show me that face? I sit by my lonesome, Never a hair out of place, Temptation walks by, You get in the way. Dismay, disarray, I seek comfort, The warmth of a stranger's arms,

means anymore I don’t know if you can fix a story once people decide how it ends I type Maybe if I just stay quiet, they’ll forget then delete it The moonlight cuts through my curtains, too bright for my liking and I lie there thinking about how silence isn’t always safety sometimes it’s just surrender dressed in peace Still tomorrow I’ll walk different halls keep my head down pretend I’m invisible And maybe if I do it long enough I’ll start to believe it ---

“Make yourselves necessary in the places where they least expect it. Remember — we are not savages but artists. Our art is war disguised as life.” They filed out into the night, carrying plans on tongues and in hearts. Theodore remained behind and watched them go. Alone in the pit, the torchlight threw his shadow long and monstrous across the stone. He raised the small vial once more and uncorked it. A smell like old cut grass and iron rose. He breathed it in, as if the scent of violence steadied his opiate need to win back what had been taken. The sweet, metallic promise of poison let his teeth clench with pleasure.

🌑 Chains of Eternity The silence between the shattering echoes pressed down heavier than steel. Each reflection stood at the edge of becoming, their pale skin flickering with the strange half-light of the labyrinth. They whispered, not loudly, but insistently—threads of poison weaving into the ears of their counterparts.

Feeling slightly silly but quashing it, she pulled on pants at the last minute, and then she got a bottle of wine with a glass and went into the living room to wait. The minutes ticked by, and Cassandra alternately felt confident, insecure and then gravitated back to feeling silly again. But she was determined to stick it out. She needed him too badly. She needed to know too badly. Even if he rejected her, it would be better than this awful ambiguity, this wall of distance. She had to put a stop to the way things seemed to be escalating out of her control as if Sébastien knew something she didn’t as if he was reading from a different script.