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Which One Is Me?

W

Which One Is Me?

It's not about the name, it's about a knotted up bluesy tune strummed out of my strung out guitar bashed n' smashed onto the sidewalk, where the rain will undoubtedly drag it down down towards the sewer. So is that where my mind is now? The gutter? Yes. I feel so hopeless, I feel nothing. I feel like I'm dead inside. Yet still scared of people who will misread every word I type. I type so little now but I don't write as often either. I feel vacant, and cold, where is your god now? I cannot find a way, to have this make any sense. How long do I stretch it on? For as long as I can, before I off myself, and people read th

got my smile again!

Hi again!

Hi There

Yay

Prettiness

Fiery Phoenix

F

Fiery Phoenix

This is not what I wanted I don't like trying anymore at these vague attempts at summarizing my life.. who am I living for? what am I? is there a place where I can feel safe within? time and time again the answer will be the same again I don't want to hear him murmur to me down the stairs you don't control me.. and you never will.. however I will always love and care about you.. but I can't carry you as a burden anymore... too much too much baggage to try and carry for one person like myself.. I'd end up swallowed whole... I feel so dead inside I feel so tired inside why don't I just... sleep things away again? Like I've been trying to? for

Every Turn Every Burn

E

Every Turn Every Burn

This'll be a day to remember, for each and every tribunal I screw up, I will cry nothing but a fountain of youth from my eyes, as smooth as a laser guided missile I will descend upon each and every....  each and every... turn...  every turn, is a burn, inching a bite away from me, what could it possibly mean? in this scene of meaninglessness... I have written a way out for myself, but it's not what you think, there is definitely no end in sight, no way, not in this realm.  In this realm, I shall stay a-flight. Can't you see, it's flying beyond me.   But this will certainly not do, no no shampoo to detangle these knotted up hairs, like brittl

Standing Still

S

Standing Still

My brain is at a stand still in between where the shadows lie and the pauses dangle in front of me.. like dangling a carrot in front of a horse.. Or perhaps the metaphor I am looking for.. is the one about.. leading a horse, to water? And you can't make him drink it? Whatever, I'm screwing this story up. in the name of, "working on something", for the sake of, "something to work on". A pause or two I sigh heavily these typings are much too hard for me to understand as I stare at no keys below my eyes typing without looking nowadays is a tough task and at the same time, very easy. And very easily this poem could be considered your worst o

No Title To Bear

N

No Title To Bear

Cracking my tired fingers, I hear 'em crack. The sound swirls around, into my ears. I am at a loss for words. I can't seem to follow others paths of words. For each and every day, I crawl below the raging storms, I've created for myself. Rolling deeper beneath the hideaway, dirt covers me more and more and I look back, into the distance.. "I need to find a way out of this mess" I hear myself mumbling to myself. This is no way to live this is no way to hide, this is no way to.. to... damn.. I've forgotten what I was going to say... perhaps it was something deep perhaps it was something sweet, only I know these rings that I loop myself into.
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Which One Is Me?

W

Which One Is Me?

It's not about the name, it's about a knotted up bluesy tune strummed out of my strung out guitar bashed n' smashed onto the sidewalk, where the rain will undoubtedly drag it down down towards the sewer. So is that where my mind is now? The gutter? Yes. I feel so hopeless, I feel nothing. I feel like I'm dead inside. Yet still scared of people who will misread every word I type. I type so little now but I don't write as often either. I feel vacant, and cold, where is your god now? I cannot find a way, to have this make any sense. How long do I stretch it on? For as long as I can, before I off myself, and people read th

got my smile again!

Fiery Phoenix

F

Fiery Phoenix

This is not what I wanted I don't like trying anymore at these vague attempts at summarizing my life.. who am I living for? what am I? is there a place where I can feel safe within? time and time again the answer will be the same again I don't want to hear him murmur to me down the stairs you don't control me.. and you never will.. however I will always love and care about you.. but I can't carry you as a burden anymore... too much too much baggage to try and carry for one person like myself.. I'd end up swallowed whole... I feel so dead inside I feel so tired inside why don't I just... sleep things away again? Like I've been trying to? for

Every Turn Every Burn

E

Every Turn Every Burn

This'll be a day to remember, for each and every tribunal I screw up, I will cry nothing but a fountain of youth from my eyes, as smooth as a laser guided missile I will descend upon each and every....  each and every... turn...  every turn, is a burn, inching a bite away from me, what could it possibly mean? in this scene of meaninglessness... I have written a way out for myself, but it's not what you think, there is definitely no end in sight, no way, not in this realm.  In this realm, I shall stay a-flight. Can't you see, it's flying beyond me.   But this will certainly not do, no no shampoo to detangle these knotted up hairs, like brittl

Standing Still

S

Standing Still

My brain is at a stand still in between where the shadows lie and the pauses dangle in front of me.. like dangling a carrot in front of a horse.. Or perhaps the metaphor I am looking for.. is the one about.. leading a horse, to water? And you can't make him drink it? Whatever, I'm screwing this story up. in the name of, "working on something", for the sake of, "something to work on". A pause or two I sigh heavily these typings are much too hard for me to understand as I stare at no keys below my eyes typing without looking nowadays is a tough task and at the same time, very easy. And very easily this poem could be considered your worst o

No Title To Bear

N

No Title To Bear

Cracking my tired fingers, I hear 'em crack. The sound swirls around, into my ears. I am at a loss for words. I can't seem to follow others paths of words. For each and every day, I crawl below the raging storms, I've created for myself. Rolling deeper beneath the hideaway, dirt covers me more and more and I look back, into the distance.. "I need to find a way out of this mess" I hear myself mumbling to myself. This is no way to live this is no way to hide, this is no way to.. to... damn.. I've forgotten what I was going to say... perhaps it was something deep perhaps it was something sweet, only I know these rings that I loop myself into.

Autumn Amy Brown Fairy VII

Sketchdump + HOW TO DRAW SCREAMING FACES VIDEO!

The herbologist

Simple Lolita

Sweet as lolita

Draw this in your style: MINIMINI X Nevilk

Dahlia and Chibi RayHearth

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The Golden Age of comics was a weird time 30

Beautiful Dead

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My Bio
Favourite genre of music: Kate Bush, ABBA, Daft Punk, Emilie Simon, Maaya Sakamoto, Enya, Ladytron, Eurodance
Favourite style of art: photoshop! :D
Operating System: www.youtube.com/user/TheCoconu…
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Wallpaper of choice: One Piece!
Favourite cartoon character: Spike Spiegel from Cowboy bebop, Stewie Griffin, Francine from Amercian Dad, Chopper, Luffy
Personal Quote: "Ah even if you can never return, you'll keep on walking forward." -One Piece

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Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, Inception, Matrix, Interstellar 555, Star Wars, Indiana Jones
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Beck, Pet Shop Boys, Kylie Minogue, Lemon Demon, Fastball, Barenaked Ladies, Moody Blues, B-52'
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Which One Is Me?

Which One Is Me?

It's not about the name, it's about a knotted up bluesy tune strummed out of my strung out guitar bashed n' smashed onto the sidewalk, where the rain will undoubtedly drag it down down towards the sewer. So is that where my mind is now? The gutter? Yes. I feel so hopeless, I feel nothing. I feel like I'm dead inside. Yet still scared of people who will misread every word I type. I type so little now but I don't write as often either. I feel vacant, and cold, where is your god now? I cannot find a way, to have this make any sense. How long do I stretch it on? For as long as I can, before I off myself, and people read the signs, that were there a long time ago. I feel the visions of myself dying, tearing away at me. I see myself punching my own reflection, my own mirror. I see myself ripping myself silently to shreds, stomping on the floor like a little child, crying at the first cold word out of someone's lips. Floating away from my ears I push the words away they bat n' claw at my
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Kuroshiro-jogeHobbyist Artist
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