Kianio

_+_ Swaying in the breeze, like a ripple in a lake, the wind is the master. I, a mere chess piece in this game. The game of conquer or judgment. Fabric touches my cheek, caressing it, whispering words of comfort. Soft spoken silk greets me at the entrance. Playing on a chessboard of wins and losses. Everyone is unfortunate-- everyone is blessed by Lady Luck. The checkered tiles hold no mercy. Slight breezes threaten our sanity. The silk whisperes in it's sweet voice, When will this game end? For all these unfortunate people. When will this game end? The wind is the mater. Our fate lies in it's hands-- our love, our hate. O

I built you a stairway to Earth. From the clouds to my house, come see the world's worth. Come with me and see the sights. See the crevices, and the stars at night. Fly in the water, with your arms held high. Be free as a bird, soaring through the sky. The world can be a beautiful place if you give it a chance. So come back down, now I'm waiting at the entrance. Come with me and hear the sounds. Feel the beat without any bounds. I hold out my hand. Awaiting yours to meet. We'll explore the world and see it's form complete. Let's glide in the air without a worry nor care. I'll capture the blue and give it all to you.

Once upon a dreadful time, there lived a teenaged girl, who's heart was surely made out of the finest gold. She lived in the small town of Greed, which was located on the outskirts of an unknown country. This girl was not the normal thirteen-year-old, however. In the town of Greed, not kindness nor gratitude existed. The residents were truly awful – they each greeted each other with a sneer or glare, they cursed and spoke rudely to their tourists. Tourists, as in any poor soul unlucky enough to have been trapped in that awful town. Ah yes, the young girl with the heart of gold. Please excuse me, I had gotten carried away with that horri

I'm afraid my insanity Is getting the better of me. I cannot remember the things that I have done. Nor the sins I have commited. He was always there for me, however. He always reminded me of the things that I've done. I was always aware of things when around him. I wonder what he could have done to provoke my rage? I do remember flashes from those awful incidents, however. The warm blood against my face. A warm summer breeze rolling in from the window. And the sickeningly sweet sound of the knife constantly plunging into his chest. Yes, surely, surely, I had killed him. He meant nothing to me, then. He could not withstand