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Paper Heart by V A Hyder
Paper Heart © V. A. Hyder
I'm gonna take all my feelings
And wrap them in a paper heart
It's a delicate puzzle so be careful how you start
I never knew your feelings so I think it's safe to say
I'll give you my paper love and find out this way
I never saw your reaction so now I'll never know
I want to see that sweet smile
But your emotions never show.
How can I love you when you walk away?
I wish I could ask you to stay I want you to stay
I wish this had never happened to me and to you,
You never looked at me that way till you said 'we're through'
The crumpled remains are all that is left
Along with all of the things that you never said
I never knew how little I meant to you
Until you ripped my paper heart in two
I'm sitting alone in the corner of my mind
Tracing my heart with the lines you left behind
I wish that I could ha-a-ave you he-e-ere
But all I have left of you are ripped papers and tears
I don't think I can piece this
The Boy Who Loved Chapter 20
First Day On The Job
"You cannot be serious?" Draco asked incredilously as he eyed the ill-fitting black polo-neck that hung loosely on his frame and the itchy black trousers he had been forced to change into. He felt highly irritable as he glared at his expression. "Do I honestly have to wear this all day long? It itches like crazy!"
Harry gave him a sympathetic look in the mirror. "It's not the best I know but you'll be able to buy your own pair once you've worked a day. Then you won't get heat-rash on your legs"
Draco groaned and knocked his forehead against the staff bathroom mirror, "I loathe heat-rash. I've never been out so much in one Summer before"
Harry cocked a disbelieving eyebrow, "not ever?"
The blond shook his head, "I'm more of a winter person"
Harry rolled his eyes with a smile as Draco turned in a sluggish manner to face him. Harry frowned and reached up to unbutton the top of the four buttons resting beneath the blond boys' throat. At Draco's a
The Boy Who Loved Chapter 21
With their uniforms packed into Harry's locker, and their regular, non-itching trousers on their legs, Harry led Draco out of the brightly illuminated supermarket, across the parking-lot and over the small wooden barrier to the bus-stop. The early evening was quite warm. When the loud red bus rattled up to the small shelter, and they both climbed on and paid along with the other passengers, Draco felt his stomach do flip-flops. He really could not stand muggle vehicles. However, according to Harry, this was the only way that they were getting to this 'B&Q' and back with anything they bought along the way.
Draco doubted that very much. Harry most likely just wanted to torment him a little more.
They managed to get two seats together, despite the gaggly of children returning home from their first day back at school. Draco sat in the aisle seat, not wishing to get car-sick at watching the streets rolling by. Harry was staring out of the window, lost
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More