101 It's what the plastics are hiding behind these ugly scars.

The night wears on, the time weaving in ad out of his thoughts, timing themselves like strings to his fingers, the gentle tapping against the springy keys, the jerky movements of the spindly fingers on the clock. A cold, dark sludge of coffee remains full on his table, the steam no longer rising to kiss the midnight air, the heat no longer burning the table.

His eyes a blinding white against the screen of his Macbook, his glasses glinting and reflecting, a speck of crystal coloured moonlight in his dark room. The warm lamps at his bedside illuminate the back, creating the orange outline of his bed, and the people the settled comfortably on it, under the smooth covers and dark pillows. Their laughter reaches his weary ears, but the sound jumbles up together like words that didnt seem to have meaning.

Their accusations and mind games fill the room with endles echoes and loud, commanding voices. His pulls back the hair from his face, wishing that he had to same fiery passion to love the game, though the pull in his heart told him he wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth joining all of them when they wouldnt even look at him, or trying to make him feel part of something he never was.

A comical boy with large jaws and the sense of humour that outlives anyone that ever lived, a toned built one with a distant look in his eyes, sensitivity from within himself, a girl who was quiet, dangerous as she seemed, one that could be the most perfect of people, another, who laughed and found joy in others, the one that always cared and loved. A skinny tall boy, with sugar rushes in his bloodstream, and sudden outbursts of energy every minute. possible A boy who was introvert and some what spastic when it came to the things he was passionate about, a pair of twins who seemed to be different through their mismatched eyes, and odd capabilities. The brother who carries a strong voice and dominant command over others. a strive for perfection. A boy who was smart, yet oddly cute, the youngest and purest of the lot. And his best friend who was an immature teenager with cliche catch phrases in a 12 year old body.

Then the awkward girl who was loud and eccentric, with passion for everything and beyond what she was capable of. She stumbled towards the Macbook, not even laying eyes on him. She picks up the cup of coffee and it was suddenly burning hot again. Touching it to her lips, she drowned the dark liquid in a few gulps. She sat in his chair, in his lap, or through it.

Her fingers sweep through his, the similarities showing through the same expression, their strong fearless, unapologetical features from the crease of their eyebrows and the line of their lips. He was there, but he wasn't. A figure aging as she did, but never living. A figure, a mere shadow, a hidden person in the shadows, a being who glowed so much in the sun, it was impossible to see.

He was her brother, one that was there with love and surging passion, and not embraces and kisses. He was a lurking shadow, deceiving and clever, a helping hand when there was nothing left, the person who left her the 11 most amazing, wondrous beings in the world to fill in where he couldn't. He would have given the world, but it was beyond him, beyond his capabilities.

She looked to her left, a cold breath on her shoulder, a smile from thin air. Was someone there? she asked herself, reaching a warm hand where the breath was. But no one was there any longer. Just the wind, carrying away the remains of his spirit, finally feeling a chaste burst of perfection after 18 endlessly immortal years.

Nicole (:

100. 100 100 100 100 100.

I'm going off to China in a couple of days.
My blog will be cleaned and dusted in another 10 days.

I just had to make a hundred before I go off (:

100 100 .

99. A world of our own.

Hello everybodiee (:
I'm in Shaun and Ryan's housee :D
We just watched The Love Guru !
Murshka hargate everyone (:
Then we played the ps1.
That retarded arcade game.
So fun ! :DD
I like the afro one :P
It's the kyoootest .
Hopefully we can go play basketball like we planned (:
Looove it .

Miss the kay sea gee.

www.kayseagee.blogspot.com < see that ?
Go reaaad it .
I'm a prometer .
Yip yip :D
Missss youuu guysss <3

Nicole (:

102. You tell me I'm all colour, but you're in black and white.

There were no sighs, just a jumble of facts, screaming absolute, definite failures in my ears. Maybe you were there, your beauty and the way you knew me inside out, how every single piece of me seemed to fit with you. How your fingers were perfect in mine, the clasp forever and always. How you didnt seem to mind slipping your hands around my waist, or sniffing my hair. How you loved to sleep on my lap, or lay down on my chest, with your head under my chin.

I miss those times where I used my laptop at night and feel your cheek grazing mine, a strong muscular hand on my shoulder, gently flicking your finger through the wisps of my hair. Sometimes, when in the dead of the night with no words, there were no discomforts or awkwardness, no need to speak to feel as if we belonged.

The last time words were exchange, things completely changed. Nothing was the same. The feelings, the moments. And then the beauty slowly slips away, leaving you empty in your shell of hardened ego, no more than a kiss upon your skin, or the smell that lingers on your lips. It was lost, maybes are just another way to tempt fate, the millions who doubted what they did in the past.

No apologies.

The word writhes in the air, searching for someone who dared to chance upon this challenge, the first who decides to give in to the other. Soon, the feelings die away, and the hands are just tools for everyday things. The lips are to part for thirst, the comfort only in sleep. The bravery shrinking into the tiniest of pieces, the memory a past, the sorrow high in the air, the discomfort consuming all passion.

What once was the most beautiful things ever imagine was reduced to ash in a matter of moments. And in the course of time, over days, months, years. We then realize when we want it back the most, it will never appear again.

Nicole (:

98. Here's your necklaces and rings, to choke back the tears you bring.

It's 2 in the fucking morning.

What in the fucking hell am I doing awake?

I don't have a fucking clue.

This post is to you, pretty you.

To choke up the taste of your own medicine.

To make me lie awake in your pool of lies.

Good fucking morning to all the losers out there.

Who chose to waste their precious time reading tons of swear words in posts.

And morning bitch poems.

And think that the person who's writing everything must be a fucking bimbo.

Everyone's a bimbotic bitch.

Open your fucking small eyes to see.

It's just my blood and your taste buds.

And maybe the metallic taste can pierce your senses.

To make you wake up and realize what the fuck are you doing still alive.

Gooooood morning assholes.

And goooodnight to my fucking sleepy eyes.

97.So close to reaching that famous happy end, almost believing this one's not pretend.

A slip of light bounced off the shine of her hair, a strip of golden flame flares up, blinding his vision. They were embracing, love slinking down their thin arms like silk, slipping through their grasped fingers smoothly. Their blood was ringing with ardor, the aroma flooding their robust frames, an inundation of passion parading through their bloodstream like a sudden rush of adrenalin.

His eyes seemed to linger over hers, the intensity of his gaze and the golden shine from her hair forming a pear shaped tear at the side of his eye, struggling to slip down his cheek. Their bodies were radiating with sunlight, forceful yet restrained, vigorous yet subtle.

The smile playing across his lips were familiar in her eyes, as if that mysterious twinge at the corner of his lips were only meant for her understanding. His skin was flawless, each specific detail picked out by the camera soft and dark as coal. The whites of his eyes gleamed a pearly white, the pupils a shadowed brown, circling the darkness into a small insignificant oblivion.

His gaze was on hers, the ones that were greener than grass, and bolder than the colors of the sun. She looked back at him with a inquisitive glance, a humor that seemed to emit with the way her body was playfully leaning against his. He was large, and to her, he appeared as if twenty feet tall, when he was merely half a head taller than she was.

His arm was around her tiny waist, fingers peeking out at thee sides, flashing like a pretty swan on a lake, waiting for someone to notice its loveliness, enunciating beautiful scenery she was floating on, to pronounce her allure, and made sure everyone who was anyone knew she was his.

Her head seemed to be leaning on his shoulder, her red hair falling onto her face. Her emerald, glassy eyes portraying her beauty, escaping her through the wild look in them. She was so gentle with him, like a simple whisper, or a sweet smelling breeze, each capturing how much she treasured him, and willingly gave him all of her.

It was a moment, captured in time where time itself ceased to exist. A moment of sheer bliss, an eternity’s flash of beauty in the eyes of the beholder for as long as they live.

Nicole (:

95. Prized and placed upon a shelf, It's worth its weight in gold.

I'm a crazy Naruto fannnn (:

No don't laugh.

Naruto is cool, okay?

It's the coolest anime in the world!

And I am not in love with Sasuke :P

______________________________

She ran her fingers over the edges of the canvas, taking it the details of the smooth wood and the large white surface in which she was to paint. He stood there, his hand jammed into his pockets, the other hand feeling the rough face of her finished portraits.

The window was open and bare, the curtains billowing in the wind.

The sun wrapped up his body, illuminating him in a beautiful warm glow that spilled onto the ground like wild gold threads. Veins slinked up his forearms like blue snakes, slipping under the sleeves of his rolled up blue shirt, away from greedy eyes who seek beauty that flashes in the darkest of nights.

His legs were surging with muscle and power, ripping beneath his ivory skin. His knee length jeans hung loosely beneath his hips, struggling to stay upright with the strip of leather in the hoops of the belt loops. His toes were wriggling inside his sneakers, the white cap at the tip shivering with each tap of his restless feet.

She took out her faithful paintbrush.

His eyes were creased in concentrating, trying to figure out the true meaning of her ambitious and beautiful canvas, what each stroke represented. One arm was outstretched, holding the wooden frame firm beneath his dry palms, twisting it from side to side, pretending to be able to decifer the hidden secrets beneath the layer of random colours in splashes of white.

His nose twitched, the dust inching it's way into his discomfort, however, his mouth was a grim line of beauty, drawn to such a perfect, strong feature or meaning of concentration. Unaware of her eyes lingering over his beautiful frame, he smiled unconsciously, the sides of his lips tugging into a faint grin.

With her thumb in line with the thick paintbrush, her vision blurred and only focused on the brush on her outstretched hand, she turned it to try and figure out the position of his strong stand, the beautiful curve in his back. As if her world collapsed on her, her fingers moved deftly across the white surface, thick strokes and soft touches to places which needed a little colour or spark.

Every part that contacted the canvas came to life within her eyes. She was lost in the white, her hands dipping into the subtle and strong colours, back and forth, back and forth, the beauty in each of her nimble swipes and strikes. His image burnt itself into her mind, searing up all lingering thoughts, and without glancing a second time at her portrait subject, she added the little details and smudges to perfection.

"That's good," he said.

While she was painting, he walked around and looked at her.

Her hair was tied up in a loose bunch, strips of hair curling down her damp neck. She didn't flinch or move away when he tugged the scrunchy free from her strangled hair. He carassed a lock of it beside his smooth cheek, his eyes closed in sheer ecstasy from the scent of the paint, to the rich smell unfolding in the small lock of hair. The next time he flicked his eyes at the picture, she was already done.

"Thank you," she smiled, slipping her hairband from his fingers.

She had done it, capturing each detail, each important aspect of him. The way his fingers looked so soft and beautiful, his eyebrows painted in thin lines, creasing slightly into his nose, his beautiful eyes gazing down at her painting. The creases in his jeans and shirt, and the subtle smirk on his lips. But instead of the abstract canvas he was studying, she drew a little boy sitting on a branch, his fingers grazing the beautiful, golden sun.

He looked at the canvas for a long time.

"How did you know?" he whispered.

"Know what?" she asked, wiping her dirty hands on a dark coloured cloth.

He looked up at her quizzically, then smiled.

"Nothing," he simply replied.

His eyes lingered back onto the canvas.

The little boy was him. When he was 8, he climbed up a beautiful oak tree and sat on the branch for the longest of time, thinking that when the sun started to set he could try and grab at it, keeping it locked away in his heart, keeping the gold only to himself.

Finally, when the sky bursted with rages of orange, he sat on the tip of the strongest branch and stretch out his little fingers to the beautiful perfect golden circle in the sky.

For a moment, he could feel the fiery of the sun, the beauty beating inside of him, bursting in his eyes, burning up all of his fingers. It contacted with the skin on his body and spreaded like wildfire, a sillouhette against the monstrousity of the sun in the sky. It consumed his body in mockery, and told him with it's beautiful orange and gold that he was never going to be good enough to be viewed in anyone's eyes.

Then he spotted a girl in the canvas, looking up at the sun, just a speck of black, with her thin arms reaching out towards the sky, towards him?

That very girl walked towards him, and he looked at her with a weak smile, his knees shaking. She swathed her arms across his chest and rested her chin next to his neck, breathing in deeply. She stopped his knees from shaking, stopped his chest from heaving, stopped his world from spinning.

And the golden sun was his to keep forever.

Nicole (:

94. I'll be right here when your world starts to fall.

It's a pathway of beauty, the malignity figures hiding in the shadows, the repulsion seeping away in the cracks, like water drying up in a puddle. There is no darkness, no fear in the swaying of the gradeur in the trees, just perfection ramming themselves into the roots, coursing through the thick liquid in the barks and the trunks.

A fingertip touching the stream, ripples layer after layer simultaneously, the tranquil pale blue lively yet subtle. The rush of water chased each other down the entire length, swooping up in delight, an undertow in the seeminglessly harmless, tiny waves. The sky is plastered with cotton candy clouds, the sky blue so magnificent, words were merely terms of what they truly were.

The sun was gold and rich, but it was a slave to the sky's beauty, a shadow of the vast green plains perfection.

A boy tumbles down the grass hill, his smile so sincere and free as his limp arms wave around his body. He gets up and dusted his pretty gray shirt from all the tiny specks of grass, and then shook out his sandy golden hair free of all dirt. He was alone, with no one there to judge him, no one there to point their ugly fingers and tell him he wasn't being his age.

With strength in his will, and power in his dreams, he tore down the plain, his hair streaking back. Everything whips past him, the cars on the road, the houses lined up on the streets, the children playing with their imaginary friends. His light feet graze the floor silently, his gray shirt shredding off his body like paper. A strip of red flame flickers from the path that he stepped over.

He didn't feel dizzy or faint, though his feet moved so fast, and the world was a vast blur. The torrent of colours snapping past his vision, whirlwind after whirlwind of greens, and blues, and reds, and yellows. Adrenalin pumped into his veins like drugs, he pressed on his tireless run, miles and miles and miles of destruction and beauty passing by in a blink of an eye.

A sudden jolt in his heart cause his fatigue to arise.

Stopping in a hurry, he dragged his bare feet across the feet of sand at a beach on the other side of the world. The palms of his feet were burning, but nothing the cool sand couldn't handle. His grey shirt ripped apart and lost by the wind, his jeans torn and burnt to his knees, he sits down on the bay, watching the moon shine above his head through the streaks of hair that slid down his forehead.

The pale light flooded over his strong bold frame, the shadows swallowing the rest. He lay down on the darker patch of wet sand, his arms folded at the back of his head. The clouds here were thin, unlike the plump ones that were on the very same sky a while ago. They surrounded the moon, halo rings of gray leading into the core of the sky, and at the very centre, a beautiful bleached, white, perfect, round moon, illuminating everything in sight and beyond.

"Charming," she claimed, tracing her fingers into the curve of his back.

"I am," he smiled, turning around and wrapping an arm around her small waist. She playfully shoved him away, and sat upright on their lazy blue mat. He got up and buried his head into the nape of her neck, resting it on her lazy shoulders. Their fingers clasp tightly, gently pressing on each others palms, as if to reassure themselves that each were real and not a figment of their very imagination.

"How long more?" he whispered, so quiet she almost thought that the winds had spoken. A silver rivulet of the moon ran down her smooth, pale cheeks. Her grip loosened on his fingers, her hair dishevelled and messy and tracing down her hunch back. Her cheeks were no longer rosy, and her eyes dim and dark. She looked like she had already lost hope and given up, perishing under the heavy burden of a battle for her conscious. She was lost, but beautiful as he remembered her to be.

"Just today," she mummured.

"Just today."

He led his head slide from her shoulder and buried it into the small of her back. Shaken, the sobs vibrated into the core of her body. His legs wrapped around hers, feeling the pang of her cold limbs against his. She rested her frail body on his, holding his wrists and wrapping them around her body.

There they lay, so broken but so beautiful. The salty smell of the sea, the scent of freshly cut grass and milky vanilla shampoo in her hair. His fingers were shaking, his chest convulsing with tears. He was strong and sometimes so absent minded, he didnt realize it would be coming so soon. She remained silent and teary eyed, and watched the ring of clouds swallow up the moon with aid of the soft becoming winds.

"We have no more time left," he shuddered, holding her close to him.

She felt the warmth of his breath, and the scent of his aftershave billowing in the wind.

"Time is forever. We are not," she merely replied, leaning back into his chest.

She felt his heartbeat timing in and out with the seconds that tick past on his watch. Her eyes were throbbing with tears, too strained for her to control. Her lungs were betraying her, her chest crashing down inside her frail body. Her body was collapsing on her mind itself. She closed her eyes, and finally felt a welcoming darkness after such a long time.

"We could be forever," he said.

She could feel his smile at the small of her back, the rush of breath against her shirt. She could hear everything. The sound of his breathing, the rustle of dried leaves, the waves crashing onto the shore, the palm trees swaying with the wind, their feet digging into the sand. Everything was so controlled, so easy to understand now. He saw her lazy eyed gaze falling onto his face, one look that could help him see the truth to everthing.

"No, we couldn't," he mumbled softly.

He chuckled through his shuddering intake of breaths. It's the truth, he thought. We all have to face up to it somehow. He wanted to say so many things.

To tell her that her voice soothed his wild rages, and her touch was simply the most magestic thing in the world. He wanted to run his fingers through her beautiful hair, and tell her that she was the spark inside of him that kept him alive. He wanted to kiss the nape of his neck, and feel the he was the one who could protect her from everything and anything.

But he couldn't protect her from herself.

"I know," she smiled, cocking her head to look back at him.

He didnt know if she had answered him, or just knew what he was thinking.

He reached forward and brushed her hair back tenderly, feeling the firm soft skin on her face in his palms. He ran his fingers down her cheek, and the other traced the curve of her back. He sealed her lips with his, a brush of divinity, a rush of faultless perfection, a jolt of fervor from their shaking fingertips.

What seemed like the most perfect moment in their long gone solitary lives lasted almost forever, feelings overflowed into each part of them that felt each other. The passion gushed and surged through their veins, adrenalin poured and flooded their wary minds.

Their eyes were closed, but they saw everything as if they were open. They felt warm love's gaze at them from the clouds above, the soft shades of pink illuminating from the stars. They felt the pang of prescence or longing they have never chose to show. Fingertips to fingertips, lips to lips, the moment seize to end.

When they parted, they have said all they wanted to without even speaking a single word.

Turning to the rings of clouds in the sky, he kept the memory of his lover so dear and close to him. The moon was soon swallowed by the swirl of grey smoke, just like that night. He smiled. After so long of sorrow lingering in his prescence, he still could feel her last breath being swept away by the wind, and her beauty fused in his heart forever.

Nicole (:

91. I'm a sexy teapot, skinny and proud. Here's my handle, here's my mouth.

My hands are in yours.

I'm holding on, with all I can, with every part of me I could give.

But you dont bother to acknowledge me, dont bother to hold my fingers back. There isn't a response, not even shaking, like you normally do.

I cared if you did, oh, I'd give up everything if you ever did, and I hoped with all of me that you would. But nothing, not even a single sliver of movement, or any glint in your eyes.

They're closed. And I dont think they'd ever open again.

It's like you fell into a lake of ice, and the water sealed above your head.

Yeah, you froze in time, with your eyes shut and your lips sealed.

Your chest doesnt rise and fall anymore.

No flicker, no nothing.

Just this pretty wind in your hair, and that faint smile on your lips.

I'd prefer to think you as my little Snow White, and that you'd sleep in a perfect shrine forever.

I'd be a large, not so ugly dwarf. Yeah, with flowers in my hands, and hope in my heart.

And I'd also be the princess to come and save you, to create our perfect happy ending, what we really existed on this world to do, to love.

But unlike the fairytale, no matter how many times I touch my lips to yours, you never ever ever seem to wake up.

Nicole (: