BluetheWriter

My cannon is loaded, firing the beam to destroy all as I want to destroy none, but their bullets smash my shields as I cry in tears of miscommunication, disintigrating them all before my own self.

Slamming my door at you, so you slam your door at me. Who slammed the door first? Nobody. But now I never slam a door. It's impossible to, really. I locked them all. Are you PROUD of your result? I love these doors, and the walls they connect to. And even beyond that, I have a hidden pleasure of watching the effort of removal on them. It's a test, for you. Not for me. I study the restraints of myself, not you. I always wanted to be a scientist. Not the mad ones, or the realistic ones. I just wanted to test that of the mind, because that is where the smartest, out-of-mind people go. I can't see, honestly. I'm blind. But I still here the s

I am a soldier of the light, even as I shoot from darkness. It must of been a dream, despite how it felt so real. I want to shoot them all, with strong will and words. I've done it already, don't think I'll do it more? The soldier isn't always the good one.

Feel the sand pelt your skin with the friction of fighting fires. They tear away the system step by step. If you died here, you truly wouldn't last long. Don't worry, for perhaps I can send some rain your way. Smile, darling. The friction only leaves a little burn. Let go, fly free, be you. This is not a place to build home, it is a place to build memories. Just smile and hold your arms out, before pulling your gun and killing all those that lied.

The bolt shifts back with a rough click as the next round was chambered. You would of thought they would of changed this system by now. But no, and no matter, as the gigantically armored soldier fell with a loud crash despite all. His suit of armor was deemed some of the safest by his uppers; he was told he was the new knight in shining armor. Gold and white design, with large plates curved all around his body. A helmet with the tiniest of view-ports, and a gun almost bigger than he was. But nothing stopped the large round that I shot, the one that sliced through metal, cloth, flesh and bone like it was nothing. Blood dripped from the hole ri

The symbol itself was one that I thought deserved description. It was not something to simply pleasure the mind, although it did such a job fairly nice. The triangle with the broken side, a side fallen over and collapsed towards the middle, connecting itself to the center sphere. It was fairly nice. Fairly nice, fairly nice. But no, not the work of a master. Not the work of someone who spent hours trying to piece together history and words to create meaning. No, it was just something to pleasure the mind. I get up from my desk's chair, lifting up the light paper in my hands as I examine the drawing on some more. Perhaps a spiral wrapped arou

Colors of the blood, colors of the mind, all clashing together in an endless parabola, a turn back to the start, at least as it seems, but yet in reality it turns out the curve is more than that, as it is a whole spiral, one that continues to turn endless in a paradox of itself, as one can not find the point in the middle, one can not find the end to the long, long thread that continues to wrap tighter and tighter in a spiral of itself, coiling in and breaking not only itself, but the world around it, despite the fact that it easy drawn, it is easily created, it is easily mastered, but it just keeps on being endless infinite into nothing, as

"What did I do wrong!?" Spiral yelled at the moon. "What did I do wrong!?" Fuchsia yelled at the sun. "What did I do wrong!?" Eventide yelled to the emptiness. "What did I do wrong!?" Judas yelled to society. "What did I do wrong!?" Doc yelled to the blank paper. "What did they do wrong?" I asked, from the stars.

Inside me, my crystal heart, shattering, destructing. Inside me, I hear a scream, My crystal heart, striking endlessly. It's shattering, help me I'm shattering! Endlessly..

Adjust my helmet, once more, a metal sheet curved just enough to fit around my head. Shakily holding my rifle, take aim, take aim, soldier. Then throw it away. Offer a hand, throwing the helmet down. Lift the other up, and give them a hug, my others yell at me, but I block it out, knowing I am doing right, as the sniper's bullet strikes through my brain.