The clocks disturb
the quiet night
with their tick tock tick tock
sounds of flight
The flow of time
so quick, so slow
holds our lives
as the heat the snow
The ring of life
spinning round and round
never does it stop
it keeps it bound
Faithful to the EndWhen the lurking emptiness sets in
Once I've finally been outrun
Like the end of a story, inevitably, closing in
I told her I'd wait for her end to come
No matter how many eons I'd live to see
I'd wait patiently as her lover should
Behind a closed door, without a key
afraid to enter alone--even if I could
But standing amidst this people sea
weighed down by their polluted sins
I flinch whenever they walk through me
My existence a mere paper thin
Their screams echo from the seams
withholding tears between gritted teeth
I cringe as I count the coming years
When will it be her turn for death?
Morosive FallWe fall into the piles of leaves
fallen from the withering trees
Once alive, and once refreshed,
now dried by the nearing death
We watch as the birds fly by
gliding through the darkened sky
Herded together, and in course,
leaving home without remorse
We sigh in sadness to this all,
mourning for the summer before
Gazing as we reminisce
the glazed summer losing to Autumn's kiss
The SelfThe self recedes to make space for the urgent,
To give room for the latent,
And to welcome the impatient.
His stature is confident,
His manner is matter of fact,
And his demands are absolute.
The self does not cower so much as it allows,
It does not matter, it thinks,
After all, who can resist a restful sleep?
But the self will not awaken,
It will not be given the chance,
For he is now all consuming.
Next time, it thinks,
And the self shuffles back to sleep,
He will die, and I with him.
GraceLovely is the day Grace braces me
Lovely would her scent be
Lovely is the smile she graces YOU
Lovely is the song she sings
Lovely would I be to Grace
if only Grace would look at me
Lovely would be our embrace
if she ever touches me
Lovely is the day
Grace takes care of me
She'll end my worries
Why is HEAVEN
getting lower, and lower?
Why is heaven,
so full of SORROW?
Chip in my ShoulderWhat if I gave you a name?
my chip in my shoulder
What if we played a little game?
Hide and seek. Hide and seek.
One two a hundred
Where are you Chip?
I'm coming to GET YOU
show me where you are!
Little chip, little chip
I'm coming for you!
Your time has come
And the clock strikes ten
One two ten
Doom is nigh
Little chip Little chip
How long can you hide?
Are you in my shoulder?
Are you near my back?
Are you where it's bony?
Are you where there's flesh?
Little chip, where are you?
How did you dive?
Digging deeper, deeper red,
My fingers are drenched.
Little chip little chip
How could you cry?
This pool is nothing,
to the name I could find:
UntitledIn my mind, I am but a splinter of my ideal self.
In my mind, there is an everlasting battle between my egos.
My mind, is the self-absorbed existence called "I".
The battle is hot and cold,from
fighting blindly in the sweltering jungle
to a standstill in the cold trenches.
Sometimes, we seek an amiable peace.
Other times, we fearlessly abuse strategem
to the bitter end.
Success, to me, is always bitter--sweet.
Failure is unacceptable,and
the war begins again.
is when war ends
is the day I'm right
Lovely is the moment
Because in my wasted mind,
in my forbidden rooms
in my shackled heart
there lives Weakness.
Head buried in my busom,
Ears open only to moans,
Eyes too salted to see.
She is plagued by Paranoia
Haunted by Chaos
Tempted by Hades,
and everquestioning her existence,
her weak purpose.
You are a thorn,
Stuck in my achilles
You are a friend,
Who is ever loyal.
You don't need me,
As much as I you.
My Own HomeIn the silence of my empty home
Teardrops fall, with no echo
salty flumes were barely shone
and we all move, with no shadow
In the stillness of my own home
There is no presence, but I, alone
the air is chilling, to the bone
and in my bed, I pray for home
In the bosom of my own home
you are missing, from this room
the scent is feint, but your cologne
lingers while you've gone to roam
For in my bosom is my home
and in my home, I alone
sit, and wait, for you to come
home, to me, my only one.
Shining LainShe heard \'reality could drill into a fantasy\'
Panicked, and dashed to have walls built around her dream.
Will her mind ever return to face?
Take responsibility, stop acting like a child?
Maturity shown only through pride,
Yes, m\'lady, the others you outshine.
They all panic, she\'s about to sink,
Yet she asks the why\'s and what\'s,
Trying to obey her sense, suprise the rest.
She hasn\'t heard the song,
Isn\'t aware she\'s blocking her own ways,
Despite her complains of delays.
About to burst, the words about to flow
She had never thought before,
Why the lies, and why the goodbyes?
Why can\'t she believe her own eyes?
Isn\'t it plain to see?
Maturity would never be her destiny.
sempiternalWhen I grow old
For when rainbows dilute and notebooks fatten
on times untimely passing,
when the moon falls out of kilter with a sun that
curdles in a sad, forgotten sky,
and the rain congeals inside the clouds
when the slurry of seconds sinks deep into my bones
and my skin crumples like parchment, my spine coils and splinters
and my fingers buckle, knuckle-cracking -
when my dreams fade like polaroids in sunshine
and my memories break free from their kitestrings
unanchored and drifting in such dulcet mindmurk and I watch
the world crumble from gold into grey.
I want a thousand laugh-lines
for they will be the maps to better times
so I can find my way back
OC Meme*Copy this into your Meme..
-Choose 10 of your OC's
-Answer the questions
-Then tag 3 people
1.) 3, 7, 4, and 9 go ice skating. What happens?
2.) Its Christmas!!! 5 throws a christmas party and invites three people of choice. Who does he/she invite? What happens?
3.) 6 catches 2 dancing/singing to the 'spice girls'. What's 6's reaction?
4.) 1 and 10 are stuck in a janitor's closet. How the crap did they get in there?
5.) 4 confesses his/her love for 8. What happens?
6.) 3 walks in to see 6 and 7 making out in 3's closet.. What is their reactions?
7.) 9 and 5 have an argument that soon turns into a fist fight. How did it start? And How does 2 try to break it up?
8.) 6 and 7 are getting married! But 8 is in love with 7. What does 8 do?
9.) You here a knock on your door. You open it to see every one of your OC's bursting in to your home. What do you do?
10.) 2 admits to you that he/she killed 9. What do you do?
11.) Everyone gat
InsanityWhy hello there insanity
Let me walk you 'round the floor
If you look off to your left
you'll see the girl i was before.
The tiles might be broken
But its nothing time can't fix
But if you think its art-work
Then all the broken parts will mix.
And the doorknobs may not work
But you can crawl through like spies
The holes you made with your fist
Are looking just your size.
The mirror in the hallway
Has seen some better days
And although you may see yourself
It's not uncommon to also see haze.
And the windows may be drafty
But i promise its not too cold
And if you can deal with that
I'm sure that you'll be sold.
And you see here in the closet
That the lightswitch doesn't work
But that only because
There are inner demons that lurk.
The picture frames are empty
But thats only an attempt to forget
All the fun i once had
And the soul that I once bet.
There's shattered glass in the bedroom
From when you told it was goodbye
And i let the bird out of it's cage
Knowing it would die.
But the basem
The Rumour of IcarusIcarus
there is a rumour that your father killed you, that
he bent your wings until they broke and then
told you, "Fly."
If this rumour is true, then it lives in the throats of
those fragile boys who wear your death like Cain's mark,
whose tender hands split like swollen tomatoes when
they pluck strangled seabirds, whose
arms slump beneath the weight of their father's genius.
And this rumour lives on
the under-skin of their eyelids so that when they die
or simply sleep
they dream of their fathers
or maybe just of Daedalus, standing with
his hands full of feathers and wax,
their blood-flecked down under his fingernails.
your face is gone, icarus, you are a warning & a tragedy &
the patron saint of boys who will not listen but also you are a god, icarus,
a god to these boys and still, when you fell
said Bruegel in oils, Auden and Williams in verse
no one gave a damn.
they also say that your father strained the sunlight into an amphora
and told you, "Dri
and we found...we love like we sin, terrified and breathless.
we are tea-at-midnight girls, naming constellations
that don't exist after lost tourists we meet on the
street, reminding our freckle covered shoulders
that even beautiful things can be made ordinary.
we are broken fingers and half-closed eyelids and a
penchant for mischief. we are ribbon skin and frantic
desires and incandescent hope. we are a voice spilling
secrets to falling leaves diving after their arachnid brothers,
mimicking the millions before us who were
judged unfairly, unjustly but all too correctly.
we whisper promises to dandelions because they do not
know how to hold grudges and we refuse to die because
the world can not stand the sight of our scars and
cloud-colored eyes filled with a malady called freedom.
we are believers and dreamers and scared to death but we
are not done yet. we are dusty library windows and thunder
raking through bones and leaving eyes glowing, skin shaking,
burning whispers of 'I'm sorry, but this is
Paper MacheDrop your paper hearts into a basin of tears
and dry them in the sun
Well tape the middles back together
Glue them back to back
It Has Come To My AttentionIt has come to my attention
that people like me
are generally not welcome in fairy tales.
It's the talking birds that do it.
The minute a sparrow shows up to pipe a direful warning
it's all over
down at the first hurdle
The body in the fifty-fathom well
will have to wait
the old woman turned into a hare
the murdered mother in the juniper tree
as I whip out my Sibley guide and look for the entry
with the fieldmark labeled capable of human speech.
For this crime
I have been accused of a failure of wonder
of having chained up my inner child and sent her
to work in the salt mines.
But the truth
(if you really want to know)
is that I have read too many fairy tales
and lived a bit too long
to be surprised by anything that happens in
the cottages of lonely woodcutters.
I can even venture a guess
to why the bear speaks with the voice of a maiden
(my heart goes out to her)
and why, when the animal has saved your life,
you will be required to make a harp out of its bones.
These are o
There is nothing more devastating
Than losing a loved one
Knowing that you will never
Hear their voice again
Or feel their touch, or see them smile
It's heart breaking
Time is a powerful thing
One that is forever
Time takes everything
And makes it it's own
They say that time
Heals all wounds
Time only created more scars
As the ones that it caused before
Begin to heal
To lose a loved one
Is a tragedy all in its own
But don't be sad
You will see them again
Because while time takes everything it can
Will take you too.
Time takes everything
And eventually it even takes you.
Oh art thief, oh art thiefOh art thief, oh art thief
How you’ve brought us all to grief.
How can you be unashamed?
When you stole from people unnamed
How you think about your own fame
Just like others like you playing that game
How you feed off us
How you live on others success
How can you sleep at nights,
Knowing you infringed other’s rights?
How can you enjoy this fame,
Knowing it rightfully belongs to another name?
Do we also carry the blame
That we blindly follow someone’s claim?
To the people that believe everything humans say
To you I say good day
We must always question what we are told
Or we can start to be controlled
By vicious lies and such
To me that is just too much