Daisy D.

I said goodbye to innocence becuse I was forced to...
Passion is a curse and magic saves me from the demon inside of me, always.

Violets

Leaves went falling when the darkness started to call.

Dawns and Twilights, just like twins, were equal in their blue lights and foggy skies.

Winter arrived, conquered the lands and turned them white.

When love failed her skin got pail, when her eyes turned gray her smile faded away.

In the silence of December a hidden sun was rising in the blue. The Earth got colder and she did too.

Veins of a golden heart were blocked behind the clouds.

The limbs of the world, deprived of their light, couldn’t bloom and couldn’t cry.

In the silence of December trees and flowers always die.

Blood turned into ice and the pump that feeds bodies with life was trapped in a net of crystal lies.

With the awake of the sleeping beast frosted fields melted down and spots of hope emerged from the ground.

Violets dots disturbed the quite snow, bothered its perfection.

Purity of eternal winter was interrupted by the sound of spring. Denied love rose from its candid grave.

When the curse of hibernation left her bones, her soul began to crave.

A starving creature with a tortured mind, stepping out of her cave, reaching for the sun light.

Violet lips on a crystal face,

Violet blood in fragile veins.

With the touch of the African breeze birds sing again and nothing freeze.

When the drums of summer play and rebirth is at the gates,

Pretty flowers wildly bloom and, from death, wild love resumes.

My life is a movie. It started in colors with few credits and a slow usoundtrack.
My life is crazy, full of turning points.
My life is fire, it is passion, adventure, changes.
I didn’t choose it to be this way, I never wanted a movie, but now that it is I wont give up my crown.
Lets either make this movie epic together or leave me alone because divas don’t do it for the oscars. They do it for immortality!

GIrls cry all the times!

GIRLS CRY ALL THE TIMES!!!
We all know that, it’s just a fact!
Girls are emotional and they always express their feelings. 
They cry when in a movie the iceberg hits the boat. They cry when they are stressed at school or at work. They cry if they miss the bus. They cry if they are PMS. They cry when there is no Ice- cream in the fridge and they also cry if there is too much ice-cream in the fridge. They cry if they think they are fat. They cry if they think someone think they are fat. They cry if a guy is a jerk. They cry if they are the jerks and ” he was so nice”! Girls just cry all the F…….G times!
They cry when it’s too hard to park in a small spot, cuz they suck at driving. They cry if they don’t have a ride. 
They cry if they have a ride who froces them to let them in before they let them out.
Girls cry when they are drunk because we all know people are more emotional when drunk. Girls cry if they have to walk home alone. Girls cry if the person that walks them home also undresses them while they sleep.
Girls cry when someone stops them in a scary ally and pushes them on a wall.
Girls cry if men act like wolves in a pack and decide to share their toys.
Girls cry if the monsters under their beds are actually theirs dads, uncles, ganpas.
Girls cry if their boy friends hit them instead of protecting them.
They cry when someone drugs them and sells their bodys to the market.
They cry if one day, after a trip to Prague, they wake up in a truck.
Girls cry when their close are off and all the are wearing is shame, which I’ve heard is pretty transparent.
Girls cry if they are someone’s sex slave. They cry when all that’s linked with phisical love is just fear.
Girls cry when their pictures or videos are out there, for the world to be seen. The mind sometimes is just as fragile as the body it self.
Girls cry when brutally abused once on the street and then killed. Girls cry if brutally abused for life by their men and slowly killed day by day.
Girls cry when they are 13 and forced to be touched by 10 guys a day to pay their pimp.

Girls cry all the times, don’t they?
So make them smile, stop sexual violence!

"the queen of hearts, broken hearts"
Yep… We really are
les-sexual:

how about that? i am in a good mood :)

;)

les-sexual:

how about that? i am in a good mood :)

;)

(Fonte: adamfarklibeyler, via lovelydispute)

Her feet were little, soft. They were good feet, made for walking, big enough to support her little legs. Her granpa, when she was born, bought her a pair of shoes but they were too small. She was born ready, ready to take a step. 
Her mom was tall, so tall she reached the sky, and every time she looked at her she was in the light of the sun or surraunded by an army of stars.
They walked together on green fields, where the flowers were many and the flowers were their bield. Her mom walked tall in front of her and she walked on her shadow, slower,  smaller.
Her feet were little and every step she took they grew a little. She walked in a world of magic and fears were far, weak, broken by the light of the day.
She kept on walking on fresh grass and nothing hurt her little feet untill one day the shadow she was following faded away. Her mom wasn’t tall anymore, she fell on the ground and never walked again.
Now the little girl had to walk alone. The sun was burning the ground underneith her steps and the grass was dry, burned, dead.
She walked alone and her feet were bleeding, her legs were weak and the path started bluring.
After getting lost in the night she wandered around until one day something moved inside of her. She toched her stomack and touched it deep. She felt the kick of two little feet.
Now the skin under her feet is rugh and she’s not afraid to walk on front. She’s tall and on her shadow someone starts to crawl.
She takes her daughter by her hand and day by day she teaches her how to stand.

Her feet were little, soft. They were good feet, made for walking, big enough to support her little legs. Her granpa, when she was born, bought her a pair of shoes but they were too small. She was born ready, ready to take a step. 

Her mom was tall, so tall she reached the sky, and every time she looked at her she was in the light of the sun or surraunded by an army of stars.

They walked together on green fields, where the flowers were many and the flowers were their bield. Her mom walked tall in front of her and she walked on her shadow, slower,  smaller.

Her feet were little and every step she took they grew a little. She walked in a world of magic and fears were far, weak, broken by the light of the day.

She kept on walking on fresh grass and nothing hurt her little feet untill one day the shadow she was following faded away. Her mom wasn’t tall anymore, she fell on the ground and never walked again.

Now the little girl had to walk alone. The sun was burning the ground underneith her steps and the grass was dry, burned, dead.

She walked alone and her feet were bleeding, her legs were weak and the path started bluring.

After getting lost in the night she wandered around until one day something moved inside of her. She toched her stomack and touched it deep. She felt the kick of two little feet.

Now the skin under her feet is rugh and she’s not afraid to walk on front. She’s tall and on her shadow someone starts to crawl.

She takes her daughter by her hand and day by day she teaches her how to stand.

" Leaves you empty with nothing but dreams. And the world has gone shallow and the world has gone mean."
The Valley of Restored Dreams
When you are a child the world seems bigger, the world doesnt pass the safe line of your back yard.
Your horizon is not where the sun sets but where you mom tells you not to go, the house with the green door where the strange man lives on the second floor.
She was ten, pretty eys, always kept em open to get a good view of her innocent world.
The slide in her garden was old and the Seasons ruined its cords. It would move slowly , following the boring path drawn by the wind.
Her dress was blue and her lips were too. Her pail round chicks showed the shape of something unfinished, of an incomplete dream.
She was wandering around ,chasing the memory of some dog she used to play with, chasing him beyond the fance.
The sound of the wet, cruncy leaves under her steps was getting thinner and thinner and the air was getting colder.
Fall had changed everything she used to love. All the pretty roses in her mom’s flowerbed where dead and a billion tears couldn’t bring em back.
She knew how much the woman cared, she could see it in her faided smile. She kept on walking on the heavy ground without leaving any sign.
She walked bearfoot and time slowly stopped while she was walking in a wall of fog.
Her shoes where hanging from a silver gate. The house had a green door and a strange man lived on the second floor.
The laces where tied in a not and were covered with dark red spots.
She kept on walking but  the dark was slowly taking over the weak november sun. Now the fog was thiker and her path was only showed by the street lights.
The memory of her dog was barking in the night and she followed that sweet sound to the door steps of her house.
Knock, knock, knock. The silence was broken once or twice by the dripping noise of rain. At every knock the walls got softer and the door got lighter. Knock, knock, knock. She was walking bearfoot in the hall,  without leaving any wet spot ot the floor.
She heard the slight sound of sirens coming from outside.  Her mom was crying on the couch. People bought her roses to fill the hole in her carved heart.
Some one handed her a pair of little shoes, shoes for litte feet that will never grow a bit.
The little girl is now walking bearfoot in the snow. The light of winter sun shins on the white yard and everything is pure, and everything is innocent.
There is no fog, no rain, no blood, just the perfecft softness of the end.  The little girl is walking safe, chasing the dog she used to play with, chising him to the valley of restored dreams.

The Valley of Restored Dreams

When you are a child the world seems bigger, the world doesnt pass the safe line of your back yard.

Your horizon is not where the sun sets but where you mom tells you not to go, the house with the green door where the strange man lives on the second floor.

She was ten, pretty eys, always kept em open to get a good view of her innocent world.

The slide in her garden was old and the Seasons ruined its cords. It would move slowly , following the boring path drawn by the wind.

Her dress was blue and her lips were too. Her pail round chicks showed the shape of something unfinished, of an incomplete dream.

She was wandering around ,chasing the memory of some dog she used to play with, chasing him beyond the fance.

The sound of the wet, cruncy leaves under her steps was getting thinner and thinner and the air was getting colder.

Fall had changed everything she used to love. All the pretty roses in her mom’s flowerbed where dead and a billion tears couldn’t bring em back.

She knew how much the woman cared, she could see it in her faided smile. She kept on walking on the heavy ground without leaving any sign.

She walked bearfoot and time slowly stopped while she was walking in a wall of fog.

Her shoes where hanging from a silver gate. The house had a green door and a strange man lived on the second floor.

The laces where tied in a not and were covered with dark red spots.

She kept on walking but  the dark was slowly taking over the weak november sun. Now the fog was thiker and her path was only showed by the street lights.

The memory of her dog was barking in the night and she followed that sweet sound to the door steps of her house.

Knock, knock, knock. The silence was broken once or twice by the dripping noise of rain. At every knock the walls got softer and the door got lighter. Knock, knock, knock. She was walking bearfoot in the hall,  without leaving any wet spot ot the floor.

She heard the slight sound of sirens coming from outside.  Her mom was crying on the couch. People bought her roses to fill the hole in her carved heart.

Some one handed her a pair of little shoes, shoes for litte feet that will never grow a bit.

The little girl is now walking bearfoot in the snow. The light of winter sun shins on the white yard and everything is pure, and everything is innocent.

There is no fog, no rain, no blood, just the perfecft softness of the end.  The little girl is walking safe, chasing the dog she used to play with, chising him to the valley of restored dreams.

The Crime
She was a suburb girl, living in the country side, where the sun shines high and the sky is open wide. No one ever taught her love, no one ever taught her to walk alone. She had messy copper hair, thin lips, her skin was pale. The shadow of rumors and false tales, nobody knew her story, nobody knew her pain. She hid her bones in a shapeless piece of fabric while memories came back to hunt her, to violate her tired mind. The streets of that town were scary at dawn, when the sun sets and no one hears your calls. The ghosts of her hangmen were in the eyes of every man, in whoever tried to show her love, in whoever tried to redeem her soul. Music was playing in her ears that day, when they robbed her soul and threw it away. Music was playing from her machine, she couldn’t hear her own scream. A nightmare was slowly growing inside her womb , eating the rest of her ashamed flesh, eating the energy of a life that was still fresh. She wandered through the lands under the bright September sky, walking by the river, staring at the far line that divides dark and light. She walked by the edge of the river, kicking some rocks out of her path. Her hair was dancing in the wind, covering her face, covering her faded smile. Months passed and the bump she carried around now has hands, eyes and feet on the ground. She holds her creature in a white dress, feeding it with her shapeless silhouette, too young to be that of a mother, too wounded to forget. Now everybody knows her story, everybody knows the girl with no glory. She carries around the little monster and while he sucks her chest, she forgets the shame, the hate and all the rest. The fruit of her damnation becomes her source of pride and when the little creature smiles she forgives the crime. Mother and son walk now through the lands of the countryside, chasing the flood of a river who’s spring never dies.

The Crime

She was a suburb girl, living in the country side, where the sun shines high and the sky is open wide. No one ever taught her love, no one ever taught her to walk alone. She had messy copper hair, thin lips, her skin was pale. The shadow of rumors and false tales, nobody knew her story, nobody knew her pain. She hid her bones in a shapeless piece of fabric while memories came back to hunt her, to violate her tired mind. The streets of that town were scary at dawn, when the sun sets and no one hears your calls. The ghosts of her hangmen were in the eyes of every man, in whoever tried to show her love, in whoever tried to redeem her soul. Music was playing in her ears that day, when they robbed her soul and threw it away. Music was playing from her machine, she couldn’t hear her own scream. A nightmare was slowly growing inside her womb , eating the rest of her ashamed flesh, eating the energy of a life that was still fresh. She wandered through the lands under the bright September sky, walking by the river, staring at the far line that divides dark and light. She walked by the edge of the river, kicking some rocks out of her path. Her hair was dancing in the wind, covering her face, covering her faded smile. Months passed and the bump she carried around now has hands, eyes and feet on the ground. She holds her creature in a white dress, feeding it with her shapeless silhouette, too young to be that of a mother, too wounded to forget. Now everybody knows her story, everybody knows the girl with no glory. She carries around the little monster and while he sucks her chest, she forgets the shame, the hate and all the rest. The fruit of her damnation becomes her source of pride and when the little creature smiles she forgives the crime. Mother and son walk now through the lands of the countryside, chasing the flood of a river who’s spring never dies.