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| I know why I do the things I do-
So why cant I stop?
The things that I have Found are still lost to me,
I give so much effort- then I fail again.
What I thought had left me is still part of who I am
He was some friend. He sat by this one kid on the bus. He didnt even really want this kid to sit with him. He would pretend to be his friend. Jack was a kid, much more so than the others.
Kevin was a giant of a man. He wasnt tall; he wasnt particularly built. Yet he could stand up straight and see the world for all that glows. Kevin definitely was some guy.
She walked into the room. There wasnt an eerie glow about. You wouldnt say she the kind people turn their heads to. She stepped over to her seat. She is apprehensive. To sit down would be to commit herself. She couldnt do it and turned to walk her own song.
It seemed so cold now. So barren and empty. The white walls no longer held their prints. They could no longer tell their secrets. And the ceiling no longer showed the sky. The stars had fallen, just as she had left.
I can see the edge of the rope that overhangs overhead; I ought to cut myself away- no longer free to choose the wrong thing. Its a lie I tell you, they do so by saying such things. Yet I hear the echo. The water drips down to me. Lost am I, afraid am I. Beware always the happy things around your eyes. It will seem to be fine, but it wont be. Its the same thing everyday.
Do you wonder why I do this; I wonder why you don't
do you wonder why I see through the walls, I wonder why you can't. Dont you think there is more to life than just these pointless games? Dont you believe that we can be anything that is there? There is no originality. It all stems from the known. Yet is this true. Can there be originality. Is creativity a true thing? I only want to know. I only want to believe
Entering the sea, I know it. Cant leave the past behind as it stairs you in the face, the future that is tred can never be. Your search will end. Time will not care. Standing there, in the middle of nothing, on the verge of something; you'll miss it. but that won't matter. bless the darkness. without it, there would only be light. existence in the void isn't
I breaking out tomorrow -i
guess this is what it is like to be
forget about me
hello sorrow, i know you like green tea leave- used and wasted
I do something unexpecterd, change is constant.
As random as a doorway, not not knowing what will come out.
I scream and whisper, " I can show emotion."
As blue as the sky, not knowing where it ends.
I am a spaceship, how far will i go?
Here the knell ring. I always seem to have a certain ennui. My flummox astounds me. All the nescience is consuming
The player piano writes a song
The words on the page are only worth the effort put into them
The one who wants, succeeds
The one who fails, they didnt even try
Your attempts are not without fail
You succeed because you deserve the spoils
The teller told me these questions didnt have answers
The effort you give is worth a thousand words
A pretty picture painted of spoken words
I fly to unplayed beaches
tell me waters break silky
and we rise-
sand clinging to our blood-tipped
desire
Dreams unmade my DaRkNeSs
i imagined day-long lying
and unresponsive angels
but feeling weightless when i die
keeps night remembered
disgaced by his family, hated by his peers, torn with himself- he, there in the corner, waits; for the right time to live has passed, all that is left, now, a cold pair of shoes, and an unused record with no record player
Yet I will never be able to bond in this way. I will always hope to be independent. I will always alone. That is what I wanted after all. That is what I prayed for way in yesteryear. There is no fork to start supper anyway
There is a man sitting in the corner. He appears to be the shell of a former life. A past not long forgotten. He doesnt know himself any better than any other man sitting in their own corner. He wears his dark cloak, tattered and torn. The only thing that I can infer is that he has been on a wandering. This corner is not his resting place. Corners are not the best place to sit. Yet he cant go on. It is not a lack of will that stops him, he yearns to get home. It is not a lack of hope that stops him, he knows were each path leads. All he takes with him is his rope. It is blue, not from his tears; he feels no pain. It is blue so that he might see the sky. He still longs to lift his head. Yet the rope that has pulled him this far, now seems only to tie him down. He may never get home, yet he feels no regret. He may have the strength to travel, but he isnt able to stand on his own.
I know about the pretty things - The things can make you see
Where you ask for a drink of water
From an unquenchable thirst, where
My mouth can only taste the salt
Sometimes I see things out of the corner of my eye ; sometimes I can see things that no one else can see. Sometimes I look for a way out of here. I have never known any other way. Might there be something else
Better than what I know
I refuse to believe that I cant have it
I will not accept them
Are you listening to me?
Do you hear what I am saying?
There are only two things that make me cry. Knowing that no one else will ever know what I know and knowing that I will never understand anything any other way
I have failed to achieve the simplest of needs. I can no longer face the stronger. What can I do to stay in this crew. Must I be a man. Or can I be the little boy red
We are here,
maybe that is enough
There is no guarantee that
we will stay here, dont it make you sad
to know life is more than who we are
In the beginning , the heavens and the earth were created. And it was good. In the middle, man was there- as he had been since nearly the beginning. But he doubted his existence. He tore apart the earth and made it his shrine; to worship gluttony and pleasure. In the end, the end as we know it, warmth and joy became a frigid terror. Sinners prayed forgiveness, the righteous praised, and the atheists worried more about dieing than death
They are here
Here among us
Except for my passage
There is no escape
Yet for my path
There is no entrance
No way in
Only one way out
When you are gone
I can not weep
Except for myself
Never able to just be
It came over me
this question: what does it mean to be
does not it matter
fear or foe
shall break you or me
and still I ask
what does it mean to be
when my dear May
let me alone while I kiss the sky
and still I forgot
what does it mean to be
light does not win over darkness because it is better or stronger. It is only the nature of things. It is only that the nature of darkness is only the lack of light
you will weep a limited amount of time on earth, it will rain a hundred thousand drops for every tear we shed. How could one dispute that God forgets our woes.
It was a day. I dont really remember what kind of day. But anyway, it was a day. The sun was high in the sky, not a sound from the caged bird. My name is Cyrus. But that is not the name I was born to have. My parents call me Edington. That is to say that they did. I dont know where they have gone to now. I dont know where they have gone.
Please dont stand at my grave and weep
I did lead a good life, and if I didnt Im gone now
So it doesnt matter anymore. I used to walk among the posies
Already the sun was coming up
Already was everything coming down
It made me feel good to know that I could help
It made me sad to know that my help was worthless
For whom do you please, I would really rather not know
But tell me anyway. Tell me what I dont want to hear
Step on my back, hit me over the head, kick me when Im down
And every now and then, congratulate me on a half-told effort, half-won victory
This is my apology to the ones I have corrupted
You trusted me, but I am not worthy of trust. I lied, cheated and stole; and
I never thought any different about it. It wasnt joy that kept me going. There was no bliss
There was no more than any other path.
Jack was from St. Paul,
Born, bred, and hoped to die there
Dianne didnt know where she came from
Born, bred, and hoped to die there too
I am superman you know. No,
I am not the superman. But
I definitely am a superman. I have
The power to see. Yeah
I know a lot of people can see; well
I see on another plane. Not necessarily more
Just different
It was not as if we didnt want to die. It was just more like we were afraid to live. But, anyway, its over now. We no longer have to be afraid. I no longer weaken myself for the sake of the many. I wish that I could say that I was brave and that I did the right thing. When night falls, I do tremble. I cant take any of it back. What scares me the most is that if I could take it back, I am not sure if I would. I am sorry for what I did, I only hope I can be forgiven by the ones I have hurt. So, as the sun rises, I awake trembling. For I had not died and I would be able to speak for the dead once more
It was only a few years ago. Yet it seems more like tomorrow. None of them want to remember, it really makes no difference to me. Today is the worst day. Memories are worthless. Hope was fading last time I checked. Everything going away until we have a little something and a whole lot of nothing
My room is messy for world peace you know. I dont dare clean it. There was a treaty signed by all the countries in the world, or all the important ones anyway, saying they wouldnt kill each other as long as my room is a mess. You see most wars are started on account of ignorance, and I am very ignorant of the things that go on in the corners of my room. I lost a couple belts one day, I received a ransom note from a pair of terrorist socks later that day. You might also want to consider the effects of biological warfare have had on my room. But of course I am getting tired now. Let me see, Ebola virus or no sleep; thats a tough one.
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