Love

wears a simple white dress

no more, no less

she doesn't dress to impress

for love has beauty

love is blind

true love is only ever kind

love is patient

love is true

true love is for all, for both me and you

when she's at work

turning strangers into lovers

she dresses up in silver covers

Wrapped all up in clothes of reflection

Love may seem like a simple deception,

but love is good

and love is pure

and love is mine

and love is yours

love belongs to all the lovers,

friends and families

children and mothers

love is beautiful simplicity

and love is made

for you and me

Misery is tall and lanky, with shaggy dirty blond hair that comes down just to his ears. His sense of style is a bit boring and drab, always a grey long-sleeved t-shirt and dark jeans and black converse, but he doesn't mind. He is an introvert, and he always seems to have something on his mind, without ever sharing what he's thinking. When you first start talking to him, he seems kind of dull and dark, but the more you talk to him, the more interesting and complex he becomes. He's never trusted anybody except his father, who left him when he was four. When he looks at people, he can easily see their shallowness and how plastic they are. He knows that inside they're dying, like he is, but he knows it's a different kind of dying than his. His kind of dying is one that makes him feel like he's drowning while everyone around just watches. He knows their kind of dying is one where they feel like they're about to collapse on themselves, since there's no support on the inside to hold them up. But he knows even a sturdy internal structure, like he has, can't save a ship from sinking. The hole in the ship is bringing him down slowly, leaving him deeper and deeper in the cold water. While at home, Misery stays in his room, watches Netflix, plays the guitar, and paints pictures that creep people out. Everywhere there are people, however, he keeps to himself and fiddles with his necklace, a leather strap with the word "hope" attached to it. And he hopes desperately to find hope one day, to be able to lift his head high and know that he'll be okay.

Egregie "Gi" Tractatio is better known as Miss Manipulation. She's far more powerful than most give her credit for, keeping her fingers-- like tendrils, dipped and wrapped in everything. She's a Linguist of the highest caliber, detecting tone and body language as keenly as word choice. Using them all in her favor.

To the eyes of the business world, she's cut-throat and savvy. Her charms know no bounds and her skill is in the art of her craft. She's the inspiration and motivation willed to the workers minds both subconsciously and right in front of their faces.

Among friends she's the observer and unexpected provocateur. Creating situational catalysts for fun and intrigue. She's a match-maker and graceful liar with benevolent intent. Miss Manipulation is a mystery, creating a vortex of interest with which her friends gravitate to and unknowingly revolve around. Her influence is great, but her tactics gentle and laced with compassion.

To strangers, it's all up to the encounter and social chemistry. Volatile situations drudge up malevolent mayhem assured to leave mental scars. Kindness and kinship draw out her elegant enchantments to extend her roots so she can get a taste of their souls.

Miss Manipulation will often dress with purpose, always for her own comfort, but sometimes also for added distraction or perception altering implications. She's a master of disguise and self-confidence, which make her easy to spot one minute and impossible to find the next.

Most alluring of all is the manner of her seductions. A rare few ever extend all the way to fruition, but all instances of her seductive influence hold the weighted truth of genuine desires.

Cross her, and she'll become the nightmare you never knew you could have. "Just give me a reason, I know you have plenty stuffed in that egotistical, pseudo-masculine sort of pride. I will keep the axiom from my eyes and put a smile on my lips that will make you feel amenable inside. I will swallow the truth of my objectives and show you only what will entice you along for the ride. I will snare the curiosity or challenge out of you and provoke the carnal urges of desires you’d rather hide. Make no mistake. I will bait, beguile, and bleed you regardless of whether or not you’ve realized that I lied."

|| another-proser ||

She is dressed in an orangey red and glows with heat and distressed sins.

She whines and moans every time something seems wrong or unfair.

She pisses people off and messes things up.

She ruins and builds.

She is bipolar and loud.

She is anger.

Her red fiery dress blows in the wind and smacks against her six inch black stilettos, oozing with messy love affairs and stereotypical insults.

Her black hair goes with the wind, but not without a hard and lengthy fight. They argue and hit. They yell and scream. They are anger.

Her arms hang limply at her side.

Lifeless and pale.

They symbolize all the people that have been killed because of her...

Because of anger.

Anger's long money- colored nails stand for all the lies the government has let push brought their lips. The lies that have been spoon fed to society to gag their raging honesty and passion.

She is anger.

Monsieur Vérité is his name

For being right, all the time, he is famed

Hard as it may be to be noticed

He perseveres to be heard

Shouts atop his lungs

Waves his hands up and down

Runs around in circles

Does what he can to garner focus

Most people deem him unsafe

They'd rather shun him away

Than endure his nagging purity

So instead, they throw obscenities

In attempts to get rid of him

He's as strong as strong can be

Tries hard to never fumble

The most earnest, the most humble

He adorns a long green robe

Trailing behind

It's a wonder he doesn't trip

His eyes sparkle like emerald drops

He's simplistic and to the point

Thrives on helping those around

Sometimes, however, he covers his face

With his long cloak

Refuses to show the world what he's made of

For fear of his worst enemy

Madame Faux

The cunning damsel who lures careless men

Into her treacherous trap

Of misery and a broken conscience

It's on days like these that the little man in green

Loses faith in himself

And hides away, while the wicked witch

Weaves her wand of sickening spells

He drags his helpless frame back home

And jumps into his warm cozy bed

Looks out the window, up at the sky

At the twinkling stars so bright

Finds his lost inspiration, once again

Rests his tired limbs and sore throat

After a long hard day of work in vain

Revels in the receding pain

Smiles himself to sleep

Knowing within his heart

That goodness and reality will never part

Trista was beautiful but she didn't see it. Her skin was pale like moonlight and her ebony hair cascaded from her head in large curls. Her most defining feature was her eyes, they were an ocean of dark blue with a ring of ice around the pupil. Her sense of style consisted of black clothes and no makeup since she accepted nothing could improve her looks and make her even close to decent looking. She had no friends or family. She had been an orphan since birth and had been all alone since her best friend, Hope, had been beaten to death by her boyfriend. Even before Hope's death she kept to herself but now that Hope was gone that trait was even more prominent. Trista worked at a local library, arranging books and listening to music with her earbuds so no one would talk to her. The money she got from working she would spend on alcohol and the blades she used to decorate her arms. She was a silent crier, not that anyone would know. They didn't even find her body until the neighbors started to smell something. Poor Trista had been starved, drunk, dehydrated, and had been bleeding from her wrists when the landlord finally came to check on her. She had no funeral and was put in the ground almost immediately. No really noticed her abscence, not her neighbors, not the librarian, not even the guy at the gas sation from whom she bought all her things. Trista was just gone and she perfered it that way. From her perspective no one would have to put up with her anymore and she wouldn't inflict any of the same pain others did onto her.

The girl that likes manipulating people, whose every move is for her own benefit, who is selfish, knows it, and doesn't care. I know a girl who paints her own masks to get what she wants, doesn't need lies to convince herself what's right and wrong.

I know a girl who yearns to be accepted yet others only know her mask. She knows she's pretending, but the masks have become part of her. She's nothing without a mask, without definition. Everything in her life is defined, from how to act to how to speak. She's the ruler of her life-yet she's enslaved by her own rules. A mask. She can be anything she wants to be, anything the situation calls for, anything they want her to be.

Not pretty enough? Don't worry. She's an artist. She can paint herself to look exactly like she wants to.

Not smart enough? Don't worry. She's a genius. She can ace anything you give her, answer every question.

Anything she wants to be.

But what if...

"Be you." Ridiculous."Me?" She doesn't know anymore. "Me" is only her most common mask, nothing else.

I know a girl who will lie and cheat and steal to get what she desires. Everything's for a bigger motive. She lies to help the boy avoid detention. Now he owes her for it. She cheats to rank the highest on the test. Now she's even more respected then before. She's all about herself and what happens to her.

A liar, a thief.

Who is she?

A mask.

That is all.

Her name is Trista . Her name literally means sad . She has her own unique style . She doesn't like what everyone else does . She's okay with wearing jeans and a rock band tee shirt one day and then wearing a dress with heals the next . She love to wear her hair down. She likes dark makeup . Everyone assumes that since she likes dark makeup and wears dark clothes that she's "emo" or "goth" . They don't know her story at all . It's not her fat that she's sad a the time . She hates it . But who can change it ? She's tried and tried but she can't because sadness isn't something you can just change on the spot . It takes time and a hell of a lot of energy . She has an American English accent . She generally behaves in every setting unless you make her angry.