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Mine, So back off, Buddy.Love is Greedy and Suspicious,
It is "Slightly" jelous, too.
The ones you love must be yours alone,
Or you've got some work to do.
You'll hunt them down with an M-16
And blast off their freaking head
Because your spouse is yours alone,
And anyone else is dead.
EmotionsWhat is the definition of love?
How do you define Joy?
Can you bring Sadness into words?
It is a rather interesting Ploy.
It'd take a thousand words to tell
Someone how it feels,
To love someone completely,
(Not 'cause they cook you meals.)
Pure Joy is indescribable,
Like a strong narcotic Drug,
Though sometimes you can feel it,
In a Long Awaited Hug.
The crushing weight of Sadness
Is hard to put to phrase.
It's heavy and depressing,
It's a dark, slow-moving haze.
Emotions aren't easily
Described in words we use.
From total Bliss to Anger,
And Guiltiness and Blues.
Lonely HeartsSome people might complain,
If they have a lonely heart,
But in reality,
It's a brand-new shining start.
You're open to the world,
To go anywhere you please,
Whether lying on your bed,
Or walking through the trees.
But when you feel the love
Of someone by your side,
And it disapears,
You cannot help but cry.
And if you see some lady
Really happy with her man,
You run and go and sulk alone
(In the room to which you ran.)
You're jelous of all the friends
That have people that they date,
You want some of the "Action",
You just don't want to wait.
Missing PieceWhen you're really sad,
Something inside you dies.
You're no longer full of life,
As you release your soaking cries.
But when you can start to heal,
That something grows right back,
Stronger than before,
To get you back on track.
You'll never be the same,
Because that little piece is new,
It's easier to cope,
Because you really grew.
The Best of NatureThe mist in the forest,
The foam on the sea,
The buzzing harmony of a working bee,
The songs of the mountains in perfect melody,
And the happy swaying leaves of a willow tree.
The colors are bright,
The sounds are pure,
In the night, it has even more lure.
BruisesThe colors of sadness,
All blacks and dark blues,
Like the painful reminder,
Of an unsightly bruise.
Depression is plastered,
Plain on your face,
Nothing can wipe it,
Without a trace.
It stings like a cut,
With pain clear as day,
It aches like the bruise,
But it won't go away.
Broken HeartsEvery time your heart is broken,
A little piece just cracks.
It never really, truly heals,
Completely growing back.
Over a very longish time,
While you cry your bleeding tears,
The wound starts to scab,
Locking up your hidden Fears.
Sometimes you pick it open,
And it starts to bleed again,
This time it's much easier
To say "Goodbye" to your loving friend.
When you can leave it be,
For Months and weeks and days,
It transforms into a scar,
A reminder in many ways.
The Panic Room (A Supernatural One-Shot)“Dean…? Dean?”
The name felt like lead on Sam’s tongue, so thick and heavy that he wasn’t sure if the syllable had actually made it past his lips.
The only reason he was aware of something cutting into his neck was the trail of red that was marking a small pathway against the stark fabric of his shirt. The dark suit and tie that usually accompanied the white-collared look were missing, but he couldn’t remember why.
His brother’s name seemed to drop soundlessly into the dark space before him. Everything felt heavy. Dull. Maybe he was dreaming.
But dreams shouldn’t smell of dust and abandonment. They shouldn’t be framed by cobwebs and wallpaper so aged that their floral design has faded into funeral bouquets. They shouldn’t have flickering candlelight and robed figures looking down on you.
No, dreams shouldn’t be like that.
But Winchesters don’t have dreams. They have nightmares. Sam smile
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