DancingFallenAngel

I see how it is. When am I allowed to be Broken. Just because I fit your stereotype. The little angel. The perfect person. The one who has it all, All any could ask for. With all of this, Why is it, I feel as Glass. We're not allowed to show the cracks in this perfect facade. Let the glass orb   Shatter.

In the study of names, we'll start with Robert. The poor fellow was often called Robin, as a joke, since it often was used as a nickname for the name Robert. Robin Goodfellow they would call him. It quite suited him too. The boy grew quick and not an inch less mischievous than the good puck himself. He was born to a third generation of Irish family, leading to many interesting stories of the fair folk. Whether he believed them or not is unimportant. He learned to be quick witted and playful as if he were a changeling. It didn't help that he was built like one too. By high school he was lanky and had a impish face, though whether that was hi

'Please' she said, begging. The eyes just stared, and stared. They, the eyes, were glassy. As if a glassmaker had a mold. The same eyes were everywhere, only the colors changed. She fell, or so she thought, She wasn't sure anymore. It felt odd, as if there was something that wasn't there. A pair of hands, strong warm hands. She thought she knew those hands. They were His, weren't they? Those eyes felt like something of His too. They were like ice, cold, to the point of burning her. Were they what they seemed. One more character placed for little Alice to meet along her way. Come, my Alice, she heard. Those voices, we

Glass with curtains, Skin filled with black, Foreign words written there. Young and old, both at once Innocent and Corrupt Cruel and Kind Naive but Wise. Things unseen, words unread, telling too much and revealing too little. Death has touched her but left her here. You can see it in her milk white eyes, never looking, but always seeing. Strong and Unyielding, Pure and Truthful. Days unnumbered, years not tracked, left to tell What's unsaid.

Crushed and flat stolen, and lost, like a new born Moon dancing at Dawn. Friends left, and lovers departed. Candles used and incense burned. A wingless bird, or broken glass. An empty book, a skyless Sun, or a muted deaf. Like a love undone quietly beneath the Sun. Tales unwoven, then respun, in a castle made of ice that lays in a land East of my Sun, and West of her Moon, Where He delivered what you threw, that killed me, like a bloodless knife, or a harmless poison. When it crashed, I broke for days, when you returned I lost my head. Made the Hatter proud and the cat grin, then disappear. It shattered then

One to lead one to chase. A game of tag to a new level. A chase of predator, and prey. The Fox coming in hand's reach, Rabbit dancing just out of reach, a game of coy attentions. Like a ball full of courtiers hiding behind Masks, and feathered fans, Titles or etiquette. This game of chase, is growing dull. Let us leave these tricks and bare our hearts. Without secrets or lies, let us bare our sins. See the face behind the masks, For I'm half sick of shadows, and broken hearts. Let us not fight, for fox or hare. This is a leap of faith. This is the time, The Game ends.