Makino

Pâro

Sleepy Thoughts

Happiness is strange.
It is neither a gift nor a talent.
It is not something that someone else can truly give you.
Perhaps a momentary laugh or sense of euphoria;
But, with their departure they take that “happiness”.

There are those who can give themselves joy,
But often with the aid of something else.
Is happiness truly a joyful thing?
Or more so a curse;
A taunt of something we will never truly live out?

There are some who embrace their natural state.
There are some who turn to enjoy dark themes.
There are those who take a strange enjoyment in loneliness,
Feigning their desire for a nicer existence,
Enjoying the attention.

To some the world is black and white,
Bold and definite,
Right and wrong.

To some, the world is a mix of colors,
Complex and incongruent,
Neither just nor immoral.

There are those who cannot even think of what the world is like,
For ignorance is their bliss.

No matter how many different types of flawed humans there are
They all have surely understood happiness.

We all take joy in many different things.
It is like a quick high that fades far too fast.

Is it truly nice to be happy?
Or would you be better off emotionless?

Christmas Gift Game

A toy lizard; but decapitated.

Men vs. Women Race to 1000

651

Pâro

Trust Me

---

---

There was an air of charisma
It clung to the curves she so eloquently wore,
His eye could never seem to find satisfaction
He looked at her many times, she knew it
With dislike, distaste, and sometimes a
Curious sense of want.
Why was it he chased still?

Perhaps it was the charisma
That drew so many others in.
Perhaps he had fallen victim,
But perhaps she had too.

Her palms ached for his own within her loneliest hours
When perhaps his own were entwined with a woman worth less than she.
Had he not valued himself
As she had?
She was a treasure,
Perhaps not a good one
But one that was not to be shared.

Her body had been tasted, devoured
Solely by the man
Who was more akin,
In nature,
To a wolf
Than he was to human.

But she too
Was akin to a snake
Venom dripping from words she spoke
Words not meant
And words hidden.

Man and woman differ in more ways than physical
For a man can bring him self to physically touch another woman
When he has one that already craves him
Quite dearly.

However, woman is not pure of heart
Entirely.
She will play with the hearts of unsuspecting victims;
Waiting, without ruining her physical state,
For a wild male she adores to return.
For they always do.

Perhaps distance is a remedy to their sore minds.
But, sore minds that belong not to themselves.
Perhaps they think they have something nice, something new.

---

_{But they can own nothing when they own not even themselves.}

---

The woman, cold and shrouded with a strange charisma,
Choked the wolf whom entered her world with veils of bitter dislike.
Biting down at his neck,
Venomous words invading his body.
Perhaps she took his will, his life.
But he took her heart as his own
Clutched tightly,
Stolen wildly,
And forever it would beat.

---

---

Pâro

Just like that

---

---

“I’m a little fucked up.”

Her words were a sweet sort of bitter, huffed out in single stressed breath. Three crisp seconds stumbled by, a tear void of color dripping down her cheek; a pained chuckle slipped delicately.

A suiting sound for her.

“Well, not just a little.”

---

---

Their conversations had been bitter, toxic in the eyes of those who didn’t understand how it was they loved each other, those who had never felt their love; but he understood.

He understood.

He drank her smiles up like they would vanish without a warning, as if she would someday be a dream that he awoke from.

Maybe she was. Maybe.

Just maybe, they were trapped in a fantasy that neither really wanted to leave; because words were bullets and they both were addicted to pulling triggers, falling to their knees in sync with the other because pain was not simply something they could forget. Pain was shared, a mutual link.

Because “I love you”s were spoken out of genuine trust and care, guilt drenching every words so deeply that the other could almost drown within it. Guilt earned, because neither was innocent in the self-deprecating dance they engaged in. But they wouldn’t stop, perhaps couldn’t.

She knew she couldn’t, because little lashes and scratches on her sanity were worth it. She was a whole bundle of bad news, ribbons of cruelty wrapped crudely around insecurity and cold attitudes.
She was a gift many would not dare to open, but he took her with a smile and a laugh.
She would never feel whole, fixed; she didn’t want to. She didn’t need to be fixed, she was broken and she loved it. She was a cracked valuable that could not be repaired, but he made her forget she was broken.

He made her forget the negativity she felt, because he gave her something stronger.

He gave her love.

Maybe it was a little fucked, maybe it was a little twisted and torn at the edges, but she didn’t want perfect.

She didn’t need perfect.

She needed him

She carried out a flawed love with him, and flawed was what she liked.

She valued the scars he left on her heart because they came from him, she valued the bruises of his words because they were not meant. She valued his sweet words, because they were meant for her. She valued his time, because it was limited. It was limited, and he chose to give it to her.

She valued him

Another can speak of what they think love is, what they think it should be; but they were not her, and they had not gone through what she had.

Her life was not a movie for others to spy in.

She had love. Genuine love, and she valued it.

She was a messed up individual, but she embraced it.

Others wore masks of feigned happiness and feigned ignorance. No one is pure in the world, no one is.

She was flawed, as was he. She loved him in a twisted way, and he loved her.

Perhaps their love was inches from toxic, not healthy to an individual spared from their pain.
But to her it was all she would ever accept.

She was happy that way.

---

---

Pâro

You Are Blind

---

~

I see through your paper thin personality
The silly games you play
And the silly way you speak.

I see through your false guilt and sorrow
A simple hoax for hungry eyes,
My eyes do not crave to be entertained
They crave to observe, and so they will.

I see through all of your lies.
I see through every piece of you.
Like a flake of dead skin.
I see through your shell
And I observe what lies within.

But you, you do not see through me.

You could not even see the simple fact
I decided to play along to your game.
I decided to mimic your pretty words.
And listen to you,
Like a pretty little fool.

I turned to the very nightmare you yourself had never dreamed of, because you could not dream
You were so concerned with yourself
Your game

You never saw past your own clear barrier.

You are not like me, for you are blind

I see through your paper thin personality.
But do you see through mine?

---

Hello.

What the actual fuck. Makino? Kino? As aka Rice Kino?

How the fuck did you find this website. I bet Azuris did, that son of irish cuntfagulation.

@Chasebloodcrest

Get off my thread and mind ya business.

Men vs. Women Race to 1000

596

Give the avatar above you a Porn Name!

Dead-eye cum-atose

Men vs. Women Race to 1000

596