BlueRoseChan

Colors The world is filled with colors. Bright, dull, shiny, exotic, they are all screaming out to me. I want to paint them, I want to write about their brilliance, I want to bath in their light, until I am covered from head to toe in millions and millions of colors. I want to frolic around, turn everything that is white to rainbow, I want to feel the emanating warmth of a blazing red, I want feel the soft furry touch of a light pink. I want to gaze at the life that springs from green, and to be washed away by the salty smell of a breezy blue. I want to dance in their wake, to feel their intensity as I swirl and twirl around in th

Feeling is such a nuisance. Like a domino, the merest word can set off an emotion, one small touch and the whole thing goes down in flames. (What an idiotic notion!) Many things can cause this: Love, death, lies, and truth. They can cause such chaos, and cloud the mind of common sense and other more important things. I hated the rush, the way my heart jerked me around, as if I was tied to a string. I hate being restricted, tied up like a puppet being used like a doll, being overpowered in waves that I couldn't fight at all. So I took that ever beating center of mine, fluttering ceaselessly in my chest, I tore it out of my skin and stored it

BBC's Sherlock Brother Theory-BlueRoseChan (NOTE! this is only a theory! You don;t have to agree with it. The concept occured to me, and I wanted to share it with the world! Also, if you find any evidence supporting this theory, let me know and I shall improve and add it on! ALSO IF POSTED ANYWHERE PLEASE CREDIT ME!) SPOILER ALERT Since watching the third episode of the third season of Sherlock, I was suprised by many things. No, I am not talking about Moriarty coming back, but rather, I am refering to one little sentence. One that you would have had to have been playing close attention, otherwise you would have missed it: "Don’t be

Have you ever wondered what you'd do, If the sky was Red instead of blue, and every lie you ever spoke was true? What if you could mold a life and hold it between your hands, and have what you want but never have to make demands? What would you do then? You can make worlds out of nothing but thoughts and mumbles, and like laborers they will try to erase your troubles, painting your emotions as colors  that are seen by a selected few, These few are called readers, and the writer is you. If you had that power, would you use it? Or would you be the one to abuse it? Crafting words to poke fun, and jab people hard in their sides, not caring that t