CelesteLudenberg

I know a woman from far away who carries a locked up heart. She said she traded the key away in the interest of her art. She seems made of ice, but I know it involves her nerves of steel. I watch her writhe in pain that's slow-- a pain that's far too real. The sun used to shine but it seems so dim because her smile went into the dark. Both light and life so shut in the box of her locked up heart

I am a foreign object to myself. My voice is an alien sound, my body does not register as my own-- I do not own these curves, this rounded face. I cannot count all of these unknown freckles on my cheeks. My name does not register in my mind as my own. I was merely born under an alias. I was told my entire life to be myself. Yet, what does that mean? Be yourself, but only in the way that I want you to. Now me and a bunch of others like me are sitting on our knees, heads bowed down like we're waiting for a formal execution. They remove these unfamiliar faces in hopes the bodies are identical, none stand out from one another, you cannot read o

Perhaps the world is more than just a blank poker face. Perhaps, despite all your blank remarks and cold comments, there is a small crack in your porcelain mask. Cold as ice, composed and calm, useful in serious situations-- is that how you wish to be identified? Deception is immutable, unable to be altered once spoken. It is a stone cemented to ground. You're fixing yourself a grand castle which can only be forged out of your own lies. Castles are built for protection, yet I must ask what are you hiding from? Must I have an armada of followers, to break down your fortress and see what lies within? However, in my life I've noticed something a

It wasn’t the first time Mukuro Ikusaba had been driven to tears. In fact, it had happened rather often, especially given the notion that a soldier should remain stoic and unfeeling. It definitely was not the first time that her younger twin sister, Junko Enoshima, had been the person making her cry either. That in itself was far more common than it should ever have been. Mukuro just wanted acceptance. For once in her life, she wanted some inkling of praise from her sister, even if it meant going along with some not so wise ideas. Admittedly, the elder of the two had found her despair fetish highly unsettling to say the least, yet she&#