Zuko's Hell
Zuko's Hell
In the darkest of nights,
The quietest of moments,
Amidst the harshest of cold winds,
Laying in the loud of the silence
The moonlight glints
The abyss grins
The shadows grow
The eyes stare
He stands petrified
Breath shallow and ragged
Eyes wide in terror
Mouth open in horror
In the past, he visits
In the present, he is
In the dark, he lies
In the pain, he lives
He hears laughing
He smells burning
He sees smiling
He feels he is hurting
A ghostly touch
Yet so painful
He cries
He begs
No one listens
Everyone laughs
They point and stare
Now they whisper and glare
The past of his
A lesson they teach
Experience he has
Pain he befriends
He remembers, words from him
He recalls, cries of his
They talk, the begging he did
They mutter, the sinful deed
Burning hot white pain
Tears streaming down his other eye
He sees, atop of him, his father
Grinning with a wild look in his eyes
Of many things, he wonders
Of his sisters crazed giggles
Of his uncle's cowardly response
Of his mother's absence
Of his father's abuse
Of his ignorance
Ignorance that caused the death of many
The losses of his
He cries
He sins
He watches
He tries
He helps
He rages
He whimpers
He wakes up
He's in another hell
And he thinks,
Only the demon of their hell
Finds it to their liking
He smiles
He's tired
He ages
He's alone
Once more
One last time
One more moment
He dreams
More Posts from Dwoality2123 and Others
Contradictions
I'm the very embodiment of contradictions. The physical manifestation of duality molded into a body. I am the adjective of two extremes. To describe me is to confuse oneself, to describe me is to describe everything and nothing. I feel inferiority just as I feel superiority. I'm the most evil nice person to exist for there are equal amounts of nicety than there is evil in me. I am sinful saint. I utter the words of a god that my heart oozes no faith for, yet any arguments of my god's existence fills me with a rage like a devout.
I grieve no one and everyone. My heart beats no care or love for any entity be it my family or my friends or a lover that never will exist for my heart will hold nothing but apathy. Yet. My words and my actions are devotions of a semblance of a love that I do not feel. My thoughts are dedicated for them as if I am driven by love—yet my heart beats nothing but pumped blood.
I understand myself very well, the only person to ever understand me. Though I confuse myself all the time. I am so inexplicable that I am only explained by my name. My name is all the explanations one needs, every nuances of my being—blurred and confusing it may be for anyone but me. They explain me by uttering my name, chalk it up to [—] being [—] as if that's the only explanation for my behavior and my words and my expressions.
People talk about me as if they can understand me, as if their words are true. It is not. Even those that hold the title of my closest friend always gets it wrong. They say my name as if it explains it all despite them not knowing what it is that's actually being explained by the simple whisper of my name.
What's in a name, I wonder?
Because it definitely is not understanding.
Question for writers: what made you guys start writing?
When you can’t remember that really great sentence you wrote in your head five minutes ago but you can remember that really stupid thing you did ten years ago on a random Tuesday
Having trouble deciding whether to make MCU post-NWH Flash Thompson pursue Allied Health or Nursing or Allied Health Management...but maybe I'll make him pursue Nursing bc of comics Flash
Tobias from The Amazing World of Gumball gives me MCU Flash Thompson vibes for some reason.
Some days I don’t want to exist. I’m not suicidal, but I really just want to be not here anymore.
Kuroko: why are you so large?
Atsushi: God decided to bless me with a big dick but found out a small body can't handle it so he gave me a bigger body.
KnS/GoM: . . .
Got Krita and decided to draw one of my previous art but decided to change the whole color scheme. The lines are awful and terrible, I'm not used to not having full control of where my pen lands on the screen. I usually just move the screen and not really my hand but that's hard with a PC and a tablet that has points to mark the location on the screen. But I'm figuring it out.
I legit watched "Willow" just for Tony Revolori, I will cry if they release season 2, like, 12 years later and it's not Tony anymore. I nearly cried when Graydon died but kept my hopes high, because if there's anything fiction is good at, it's never killing off characters.
-
problem-prone liked this · 2 years ago -
kitsuneo2 liked this · 2 years ago -
unforgettable-sensations liked this · 3 years ago -
dwoality2123 reblogged this · 3 years ago
