anonymous.I’m submerged, feeling the water run over me like a ton of bricks and with every movement my bones creak like rusted doors. I can’t get out from under the weight of the world, it’s choking me and I’m terrified beyond reason. I lye awake at night wishing the stars would fall on me and burn the world away so I wouldn’t be so ill at ease. I’m alone and it’s the sickest kind of alone because I know somewhere out there you’re so happy with yourself. You were always the center of my world and now the latitudes and longitudes are off kilter. The infinite lines that ran through me to you are cut in jagged pieceanonymous.
what you've always hated.The violins, they build beneath your bones And you swear you’ve seen this place before A million times in your mind As your hands run miles Across wooden benches And metal swing sets Your mind can’t take it all in It’s all too much And your breath backfires Ricochets across the night sky That starts to cry As your feet dig themselves Into the soil Into the very root of it all It starts to pourwhat you've always hated.
But you can’t leave Because you’re missing something You’re missing him So now you’ll sit on soaked sidewalks
you, you're real.i'm wading in your evanescent light your fingertips brush against my backbone i'm suddenly under water floating in a river that's ethereal, divine under the crystals, i see you and my God you're beautiful your eyes are outlined in diamonds you whisper my name and it carries across the currents i'm blinded by this burning light i'm blinded by you until i resurface awaken to this reality it was all a dream but you, you're realyou, you're real.
that sunday morning.Sometimes Sunday mornings crawl into sunrises full of orange gumdrops and leftover moon dust. This Sunday morning was not one of those mornings; this Sunday morning was a grey sheet of construction paper pasted together with black billowing smoke hanging over the haunted remnants of everything I had loved.that sunday morning.
My house that I had grown up in, my house that I had loved in, my house that I had dreamed in was now ashes of rubble and cement. And I couldn’t stand to look at the lonesome skeleton of boards and wood that remained at my feet.
“Tilley! TILLEY!” I heard my mother’s scream carry beneath the door frame. It s
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Spark Bright Free Webzine, open for submissions now [link]
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There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes..
How pure, how dear their dwelling place... Borne, like thy leaves, onward; from a boy... And laid my hand upon thy mane - as i do
--
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes..
How pure, how dear their dwelling place... Borne, like thy leaves, onward; from a boy... And laid my hand upon thy mane - as i do
--
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes..
How pure, how dear their dwelling place... Borne, like thy leaves, onward; from a boy... And laid my hand upon thy mane - as i do
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dayt!
would you like some luck
paylaşmak hala esastır, evet.
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35mm feat PhotoShop
(\ /)
( . .)
o(")(")
--
Spark Bright Free Webzine, open for submissions now [link]
--
"I believe in individuality, being yourself, and to hell with what anybody else thinks about you."-Billie Joe Armstrong
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