Love is like a broken streetlamp

Of darkened, small roads

The daily night haunting camp

Of broken hearts' abodes

The flickering light's the lost hope

Of living another day

The dimming bulb the fraying rope

Tethering us to the bay

Love is like this cruel lamp

Of pretty, silly dreams

It leaves our soaring wings damp

And heartache flowing streams

Love is just a dangerous path

Without a light to see

To face the people's broken wrath

And lock up the once-free

(Also, it's a huge inconvenience and pain because it can cause turtles sneaking out of garden ponds onto the road to be run over. Long story.)

Red is the colour 

when your blood rushes through your body 

as anger bubbles up inside you: 

crimson are 

those bubbles.

It is the colour as

the room pulsates as liquor 

is thrown around freely. 

It is the colour that explodes 

inside you as you hear and feel 

the one you love. It is the colour 

that taints you as you dance with her.

Orange is the colour when you awake

it is the colour of the sun, 

its warmth. 

It is the colour of a flame: 

the flickering heat is orange. 

It is everywhere, 

and when you close your eyes, 

it is orange. 

It is the colour you feel 

when you win - 

that explosion of triumph. 

It is the colour of beginnings 

and endings; 

It is the sunrise and the sunset. 

Yellow is the colour 

when you smile. 

It is the starburst of joy 

when you hear good news, 

or spend time with the ones 

that you care about. 

It is the colour

you feel as you sing 

on cheerful mornings. 

It is when you can feel 

the afternoon breeze tickle 

you as the sun warms you up inside.

It is the colour when you can't stop laughing.

Green is the colour when 

you are alone in a room. 

It is the colour of the Earth - 

it is the colour of a forest breeze 

cooling your skin, and 

the colour of the surrounding trees. 

It is the colour when you want

something others have: 

it is the colour of envy. 

It is the colour you feel as you 

drift down a peaceful river 

on a gently rocking boat.

Blue is the colour when the world 

crashes down around you 

as it rains. 

It is when you are aching 

inside for someone. It is 

the colour when you are reading 

a novel in bed, under the covers. 

It is the colour of infinity: 

the rolling sky, 

the never-ending space. 

It is the colour when you cry. 

It is the colour of the water 

you feel dripping down your skin.

Purple is the colour of a performer 

using his sleight-of-hand

to enchant a child. 

It is the colour of queens and kings, 

and the colour of their aura. 

It is the colour you feel 

sparking in your heart 

as you realise 

that she is seeing someone else. 

It is the colour of a wizened fortune-teller. 

It is the soothing blanket 

of meditation. 

It is the colour of the unknown.

A storm tears the sea apart, waves crashing against the hull of a ship. Lightning arcs down and forks against the water, thunder crashing down around the lonely ship battling the elements.

"Prince Jesper! Step away from the taffrail!" A burly sailor shouts over the noise. A wildly laughing figure, merely a boy, grins at him, rain pelting down and drenching his plain white shirt.

"Oh please, Enok, I'll be fine. It's only a storm, isn't it?"

"Your Highness-"

A roaring wave breaks over the stern of the Ibis II and the belaying ropes snap. The sail is torn away, and the mast cracks under the hurricane-like wind. Slowly, the splintering sound is followed by the ship nearly cracking in half as the mizzen mast topples in a shower of wooden planks.

The boy-prince is swept up with the wave as the ship collapses. Enok's dead eyes glaze over as the experienced sailor's blood drips down the wooden stake his body is impaled on. The ship sinks into the forbidding waves. 

But the boy is still alive. His cries go unheard - everyone is silent. His screams are ripped away by the knife-like wind, cutting his cheek. And everything fades into darkness. The last thing he feels are gentle hands around his waist.

He awakes with the light streaming into his face, drying his salt-water ridden clothing. The warm, fine sand beneath him tickles his hands. And a shadow looms over him - a shy girl with a shawl wrapped around her head. Her calf-like eyes glimmer as she realises his identity. And it all fades back into darkness.

He sits up in a soft bed. He knows not his surroundings. Where is that girl that he awoke to on the beach? Where is he?

He had to find that girl. She must have saved him.

A dimly lit bistro, with smoky lights, and thick, smoke-filled air. Patrons, regulars, and first-timers, all mix together in an indistinguishable blur as I sit in the corner: alone at a table for two, but I'm not being served. I'm not one to be in a relationship, but why am I waiting? Why aren't I ordering a drink, or two, or eight, to drown myself in a liquor-tainted haze?

I stare silently outside the foggy glass, at the street outside, the crowd passing by the window-side booth without a second glance at the lonely figure slumped over a long-forgotten menu, eyes not registering any of the words printed on the worn paper.

The buzzing of moths head-butting the flickering light bulb overhead rhymes with the clink of glasses and tinkle of utensils on plates around me. I can hear a mother and a daughter conversing in whispered tones, verging on an argument. For a second, I wish to be there instead of the middle-aged woman trying to control the anger bubbling up inside, directed at the defiant teenager. At least I would have someone to talk to, even if the words would be hostile.

Loneliness and bachelorhood go hand in hand, I suppose.  

Wedding rings are a thing of the past - that sepia-tinted photograph of naivety. No one would want an old man of thirty. I am nothing special to those enchanting vixens of twenty-five. 

And that's when I see a pair of soulful eyes, a scalp of hastily brushed brown hair, and an awkward tug at a perfectly acceptable knee-length skirt. A shy smile that draws my attention to velvet lips.

Beauty in motion, but unbeknownst to the cloudy-headed people in the room. 

I step forward, hoping for the figure to be real and not a mind-addled spectre. 

I might give love another chance after all.

Looking through books, the words of artfully spun fiction, of fantasy, of imagination. Worlds of undiscovered minds; Universes of everything, anything, that the writer could think of. And interpreted through our own brains, like a filter. Each story a different place inside us.

Oh, the multitude of wondrous places in ourselves! Hundreds, thousands, millions, an infinity of realms, just waiting to be awakened by those precious, golden sentences!

But to imagine, we must have believed, perhaps even for a silvery second. That single, child-like beauty of doubtlessness, brought out in our souls, shaken out by others with their scratches upon a page, their heart-wrenching acts on a stage, their seemingly magical sleight-of-hand. Effortless, yet agonising: that is how we imagine, and thus believe.

How mysterious does the human mind work! Trusting in the most innocent manner our own delirious daydreams! How naive, how beautiful!

It is art - Life does not simply imitate Art (notice how these words are capitalised, for they are Important), but simply Is Art. The Earth of green and blue; Distant nebulae of the finest silver; Human life itself of an iridescent shimmer; All strokes of a Master Creator that many believe and even wholeheartedly give ourselves over to, and this is called Religion, which is based upon BELIEF!

To be real is to be believed in - to believe that yes, we exist, we have a meaning, we are not phantoms of an insane creature! Belief is key to Being!

Suspension of Disbelief: merely a fancy term for a simple, but elaborate, word that I have stressed so much! Belief! And I truly Believe that we have a meaning! That we have to Believe in order to Live! And this cannot be done without, else we are deemed inhuman, even non-existent.

Look at our childhood reveries of unicorns, superheroes, magic! This is all belief! How we visualise, and sigh over, and exclaim excitedly, about our own deliriums! 

We all have our own Suspensions Of Disbelief. And I feel, I Know, that we have to retain this beautiful thing, so often seen and felt, yet taken for granted.

Ending this off with a quote: So now you must choose... Are you a child who has not yet become world-weary? Or are you a philosopher who will vow never to become so? To children, the world and everything in it is new, something that gives rise to astonishment. It is not like that for adults. Most adults accept the world as a matter of course. 

This is from the beautiful work of literature, Sophie's World by Jostein Gaardner. We may soon grow world-weary as we plod on through life sedately, and lose this gift of Belief. Maybe you already have. Maybe we wouldn't even notice it.

Don't lose it.

Believe.

Live.

A/N: This was posted on Wattpad under my other account. I HAVE NOT COPIED EMEMWOLFIE'S STORY ON WATTPAD BECAUSE THAT IS ME. I am EmEmWolfie. That's all!

Cassiopeia Melodia Haiyaki The Eighth was not pleased.

At all.

The suit that her advisor, Haneka, had suggested chafed irritatingly at her waist. He always had horrible taste anyway. He was an advisor and not a fashion consultant after all. She picked at a loose thread on her cloak absentmindedly.

The space shuttle hummed its way through the Circinus Galaxy, traveling at a comfortable speed of two light years per hour. Quite slow, but it was a leisurely cruise after all. They were headed for the Tadpole Galaxy, stopping over in the Sculptor Galaxy for a quick souvenir shopping.

"My Lady, there have been reports of strange disappearances in this particular region. Shall we take another route?" Haneka suggested.

"Are you mad, Haneka? We've traveled so far already."

"Not at all, but I do think that we have made a mistake in our calculations-"

"Are you saying that you doubt our mathematics?"

Cassiopeia eyed the stoic figure as he exhaled softly. "Never, my Lady."

"Good."

The woman turned around and settled herself back in her chair, watching the stars and deep space objects lazily roll by. The huge window to the lifeless space outside glazed over with a press of a button, allowing them to analyse the planetary objects in the glass.

Haneka leaned over to Cassiopeia. "My Lady-"

"Just call me Cass."

"Cass, then. I do believe that is Circinus' largest black hole in the distance: do you see that magenta-tinted circle?"

"Yes, very nice. We've seen millions of bloody black holes, Han, one more won't make a damn difference."

The soft-spoken advisor simply admired the massive energy pulse in the distance

The soft-spoken advisor simply admired the massive energy pulse in the distance. "See, Cass, black holes can power universes and even-"

"Shut up, Han. Please."

The man kept quiet. The stars of distant systems glittered like a multitude of scattered diamonds upon a silky, never-ending black velvet, dazzling to the eye and wondrous to see. Each of them had their own mystery, their own story. They were all different.

He glanced at the magenta black hole, and frowned. There was something slightly off about it. He reached over and clicked a silver button on the control panel. The glass shimmered and returned to a normal transparent. The 'black hole' in question certainly did not have the usual mesmerising black orb in its centre.

"Han, what are you doing?"

The man quietly ignored the nearly-child and squinted. Was it growing bigger?

"Get the space controllers and the Batelities up here now, Cass."

Sensing the urgency in his voice, she obeyed unquestioningly and tapped in a frequency to summon the engineers. Moments later, the doors to the observation room burst open to allow in a large group of thirty.

"My Lady, go to your chambers. We will deal with this matter ourselves." Haneka's voice dropped to a serious murmur in her ear. Cassiopeia sighed reluctantly, but complied. The man was wise beyond his age, and even the headstrong, young ruler had to admit that much.

She padded down the carpeted hallway towards the opulent rooms set up for her. Pressing her key card to the scanner, it signified her access with a small beep and the doors slid open, which closed behind her retreating back.

The scratchy carpet became soft fur and she kicked off her boots casually, settling into her luxurious bed. The viewing panel in front of her, slightly inferior to the one in her observatory - how grand that sounded! - displayed a slightly better angle of the doubtful black hole that Haneka had been so mysterious about. Cass shook her head. That man.

However, there was one thing the slightly-ditzy girl knew that he did not.

That black hole was a quasar - an enormously bright, supermassive black hole with accretion of materials that swirled around it that powered galaxies. But quasars did not simply burn by themselves. And she knew the organisation that set them up.

She had been part of it.

Q.U.A.S.A.R - the reigning company of quasar manufacture. It stood for Quintessential Utilisation of Andromeda, Sagittarius, and Abell for Radiation. And their products indeed radiated immense amounts of energy.

Cass scowled at their latest contraption. They were cruel: turning a normal black hole into a super-charged energy source just to fuel their own projects. And also destroying a few galaxies on the way: TG 3902, NL 0124, IW 9620...

She knew the destruction they were capable of. Especially since they destroyed her home.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled on a set of plated space maneuver gear and attached a ray gun to her waist, as per instructed by Haneka's countless exercises in emergency battle, hoping the blaster was similar to the simple light gun she normally wielded.

A knock on the door made her jump. "Cass?" Haneka's muffled voice wafted through the door. "I'm changing now! Don't come in unless you want to see my beautiful self in its natural-"

The door slid open. Haneka stood there coldly. "My Lady, do not lie to me. Where were you going?"

Cassiopeia scowled. "Do not test me, old man. You know me well. You know my drive. Now move."

She tried to push him aside. His arm blocking the doorway never faltered in its position. "Cassiopeia Haiyaki. I am in your Council of Advisors and I currently am telling you to hold your ground and unsuit immediately."

"No."

"It wasn't a question."

She was thrown onto her bed, light enough to not cause damage but sufficient to knock the wind out of her. The girl hissed at the figure standing in her way.

"I'm old enough to not be mothered over by someone who hasn't experienced what I have!"

"I have gone through worse than my planet being burned into oblivion! I have, too, lost my family! And I will not lose you too - not when I have been tasked by your father to protect your sorry life!"

"What do you know about my father? He's dead, and I'm the only one alive, you nitwit!"

"Maybe I know even more about him than you, Cass! I've served in the Haiyaki household since thirteen: when you were a child!"

Cassiopeia scoffed. "Please. I'd know if I saw you in my house."

She spun around wildly and growled at him. "Stay out of my way. We're headed for a damn quasar and I presume you don't know blazes about it. Prepare a mini shuttle for me in two minutes. That is my order."

"Cass-"

"Do it, Haneka!"

The man sighed and left the room, leaving the fuming girl alone with her thoughts. How dare he think that he knew her father? That he knew anyone that she did? Still with a scowl etched on her features, she threw an extra generator into her belt and snapped on light-goggles - basically a smaller, portable version of the special windows.

Marching out down the corridor towards the docking bay, she noted the absence of soldiers patrolling. They were slacking off - she had to let Haneka deal with that for now.

Bay Three was the only one with the small, easy to pilot ship that she had demanded. Thankfully, her advisor was nowhere in sight as she hopped into the shuttle.

Cassiopeia knew that she didn't have to do it - the Batelities would eventually recalculate their trajectory - but this could be the only chance Haneka would allow her near a quasar, no less one run by her ex-slave-traders. She had to take revenge. And the air-headed facade would just have to wait.

She yanked the throttle and the ship eased out of the docking bay. As the tiny shuttle reached an acceptable distance away from Haneka, she spun it around and shuddered speedily towards the pulsating object of her hatred.

Five minutes into her silent, but angst-filled ride, she felt a creeping feeling crawl up her neck - like someone had been staring at her. But she was alone in the tiny ship...

"Meteorite to your left."

She swore violently and nearly smashed the shuttle into the crater-pockmarked rock. "What the blazing supernova nebulae are you doing here?" she shrieked.

"Making sure my Lady doesn't die."

Haneka casually leaned over her seat and pressed a button, allowing the rumbling of the ship to cease into a smooth ride. "I knew that," she muttered.

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"No, you- Watch out!"

He jerked the throttle back one notch and threw the wheel to the left. Cass was flung into the side of the ship. "Damn it, Han, I can steer it myself."

She shrugged his hand off and powered their way to the quasar stonily. Haneka grimaced in the backseat. "Do you even know how to destroy a quasar, Miss I-Am-A-Strong-Independent-Woman-Who-Doesn't-Need-Any-Help?"

"Yes."

He awaited an explanation, but it never came. The girl stared stubbornly ahead. He couldn't know yet.

The quasar came into immense view right in front of them. He blinked. "Where did that come from?"

Cass rolled her eyes. "Don't you know? Q.U.A.S.A.R always cloaks quasars until you're staring it in the face. Idiot."

Idiot? Idiot? How dare she?

Wait, he was technically her servant.

Damn it to nebula.

He felt the temperature grow warmer, and the light shields went up. "We're going in." A warm ray of light started to surround the entire shuttle, glowing strangely, and unlike anything he had ever felt before - like a caress at one time, but a hard slap in the mouth at another.

Cass unbuckled her seatbelt. Haneka really was such a bore, but at least he knew what to do. But he definitely didn't know what she was going to.

"Be careful."

"I'm not a kid. Shut up."

She unfastened the gun from her belt, and attached a ventilation mask over her mouth and nose, feeling the elastic snap comfortably against the back of her head. "I'll be out in ten minutes. Pilot the ship round the back. I'll meet you there."

Ignoring his protests, she struggled out the hatch and leaped into the heart of the flames.

He could only hope she wouldn't be swallowed into the void, and come out unscathed.

He could only pray that she knew what she was doing.

He could not tell that she had tears streaming down her face.

And he would not know that she didn't have the self-assuredness she seemed to have.

Haneka trusted Cassiopeia with his life. He worshipped her, silently, in his own way. He believed that she would be alive, and she would perhaps stop one of the millions of quasars used by the mysterious organisation she never talked about.

Obeying her, he settled the shuttle southward of the glowing, pulsating sphere.

Each minute was a burning agony.

Each second a furious scream.

Finally, finally, he saw a figure float out from the quasar. A silhouette of a girl.

Flowing hair.

Wan smile.

Triumphant eyes.

"Hope you were satisfied," he grumbled as she came nearer.

She made no attempt at a reply. And that was when he saw it.

The burned flesh at her throat.

The lifeless slack of her shoulders.

And worst of all.

Her chest with a gaping hole.

All those posers, acting like they know

The amazing Panic! At The Disco

And those mockers who make fun of me

My dyed hair, my individuality

It's not a phase, it's who I am

Stop it, Mom, just leave, goddamn!

It's my life, I do what I want

So what if I'm a waiter in a restaurant?

It's just a fail, I'll do better 

I can wear any ugly sweater

Even if it's to hide my scars

From stupid fights in musty bars

My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy

Nonfat latte, make it soy

It's not goth, it's pure style

Maybe understanding will take a while

Have you heard of MySpace, Linkin Park

Damn, love that eyeshadow: so dark!

Stay out of my journals, add me online

Cool, can I try some wine?

Draw the curtains, turn up in black

Spend your money buying crack

I hate life, give me that beer

I want to just get outta here!

You don't understand me, okay?

No one will get the words I say

Not my parents; not my friends

Everyone'll know how that ends!

I write free-verse: I'm a poet

And the world better freakin' know it

Please, it's America, land of the free

I'm a teenager, just let me be!