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These TracksAs I lie here on these train tracks
I wait to pay my final tax
Reminisce of memories shared
Until the end that you've declared
The sun fell and the moon arose
Escaping the trees are the crows
I'm envious of their free wings
Such emotion heartbreak brings
In midnight sky I see your face
My soul wanders to a special place
But if I leave, you'll still be there
A remembrance of grand despair
Who has meant the most to me
You're the only one I see
This is difficult to withstand
If only you could understand
Your lips are one memory I truly miss
So when you and your lover begin to kiss
Anger swells up within my veins
Adrenaline can't break these chains
Destiny is fate, there is no excuse
I'm stuck here singing lovesick blues
Wishing on stars for a second chance
Just that one last, final dance
My watch tells me it's time to go
My departure will be far from slow
There's one more message that I must send
Before into Heaven I transcend
I still love you, whatever I say
My love for you grows more ea
Beyond Your GatesYou've always been here
Yet I still wonder
Why our relationship
Has gone asunder
Look at my eyes
Look how time flies
One day you just left
Where did you go
Please tell me very soon
This I must know
Why did you leave
Why make me grieve
You need to get courage
To open your eyes
Look at your residence
That would be wise
Grab your suitcase
Leave your disgrace
Come live with me
There's plenty to see
Born to ProtectThe red sun above shines so bright
Guiding our way with its grand light
Down on the Earth exist the guided
Those special souls that live divided
Each living soul has a protector
Whom is one of God's many spectres
Sworn to guard its child 'till death
When the child takes its last breath
Whether the child punches its foe
Or murders him and gets sent to Death Row
The protector shall always be there
Even if the child does not care
When the child finds itself an adult
The protector will feel much guilt
The child will go its separate way
The protector will have nothing to say
The protector will pay its final tax
But protectors possess wings of wax
They fly to the sun to say good bye
Their wings melt and then they die
Please understand this now, my love
You are my wondrous, beautiful dove
I'm your protector, here to serve you
Never leave, and I'll stay here too
Audiohead IThe Arkansas desert sun seemed to have been exerting all its energy that one day, that one summer day, for the temperature had risen ten degrees above the norm. He sat in his room motionless, simply watching the wall; watching the wall to see if it would move. He was convinced that the wall was going to move. Move and encircle him and the world around him in such a way that escape would be impossibly; not even a thought. It did not move; in fact, it never moved. Not a single inch nor single centimeter, for the wall moving would completely defy the the laws of motion that Isaac Newton had defined.
In an quick, swift motion, he leapt up from his seat and sprinted to the wall that he had been staring at for nearly an hour and pushed it with both of his hands. The wall ceased to move. He kicked the wall with his right leg. The wall ceased to move. The wall was not going to surrender to the likes of him. He started to yell until his lungs gave out and the heat overtook him; eventually, he f
Dying IntentThe crimson flicker off in the distance startled the postman. He wore thick-rimmed glasses to aid his sight, but even with them, he could not make out what the flicker wa. He thought about it for a while as he walked towards his next town, and suddenly realized that it was in the same direction of his destination. He wondered if it was a village festivity or event that he was unaware of. After walking another mile, the postman decided to give it a rest and wait until he arrived to figure everything out. The nearest road sign told him that he had nine more miles to go.
After three miles of walking, the Sun began to rise. The postman felt that he needed a short rest, so he sat on the closest bench and drank half of his water bottle. Just as he was about to continue his journey, he was stopped by a group of three highwaymen. They asked him if he had seen any news reports about three thieves stealing from innocent passerby. The postman said he did not, and the highwaymen exchanged glances.
Machine of LifeWe are all just cogs
The machine of life
Always moving on
Some cogs are larger
While others are not
Quiet minute ones
Still complete their jobs
The giant switch man
He who turns it on
Can turn right around
And turn it back off
Cogs live in much fear
Shutting down is scary
But those cogs worry
Whilst others do not
Cogs do not differ
That much in between
But without one cog
The machine would fail
WallowdengarsenSilently sits the intrigued astronomer
Wondering at what the dolop brings
But oh, what a task at hand he has!
Waiting 'till the gruesnort sings
Observing with montear but not vigor
Atop his high and mighty taurel
But below this darsnit of an abode
Waits the quick and nimble martel
To send a dersode to all the venthrush
Asking for their unpaid tax
But 'tis this act that tires him out
And renders him unable to relax
Although there is much mathera that stands
Deep in thought he waits and wonders why
Even though there is much forest and landscape
There is nary a soul that ventures by
He checks the insides of his taurel
To discover if there was a fladure
But fladure 'twas not, yet still it annoys
There must be some way to forge a lure
At once he notices a girl follow the trail
He waved but she pardamares and takes a detour
She nearly uteracks and falls off-path for
She was distracted by the Wallowdengarsen's snore
The church bells ring albeit the distance
Dolotites scream and run about the
I Want AnswersWhat happens when you love someone, but you can't stand their face?
What happens when all you have is just yourself to embrace?
What happens when your heart is going at the fastest pace?
What happens when your heart is the object you misplace?
Who is the one who will give me every answer I need?
Who is the one that makes me get on my knees and plead?
Who is the one who makes me depressed and roll up my weed?
Who is the one who restricts my ability to proceed?
When will this abhorrent torture ever end?
When will I finally find this necessary friend?
When will you finally be able to comprehend?
When will our relationship ever be able to mend?
Where do I get the broom to clean up this mess?
Where do I go to relieve all this stress?
Where do I go to just take all my pain and repress?
Where will I end up, does anybody have a guess?
Why did you even do all of this to me?
Why did you put our love under lock and key?
Why do you always assume my life is worry-free?
Why can't you realize that yo
Prevaricated CommitmentDo you remember the days as well as I do?
We sat in my room, chatted, it was just us two
Then one of those days I decided to ask you
Is our love just imaginary or is it really true?
You just sat there and thought for a minute
It took a while but you finally answered it
All you said was you were not sure if it's legit
But you reassured me by saying let's wait a little bit
But waited I have for one too many years
This calm stature I present is not what is appears
On the other side of the pillow I shed tears
When you sleep-talk I hear about him, I know this, I've got ears
Who is this other guy you've got on your mind?
Who is this guy whom all along you kept behind?
Every day the subtle hints do well to remind
Every little thought of my feelings love to unwind
You sat in your office just drinking coffee
I pull your chair back and ask why you can't see
I'm dying inside is what I say as I plea
Just tell me the truth, do you really love me?
You smile a bit, and you tell me I'm your soul mate
The Boy and the SailorThe little boy stopped in front of the elder sailor, admiring the man’s stagnant position along with his strong posture. The sailor continued to smoke his decrepit pipe, unaware of the boy staring at him. The boy contemplated what he should do- whether to tap the man before asking him questions or just to start asking them aloud. As the boy pondered over what he should do, the old sailor finally took notice of the well-dressed school boy in front of him.
“What do ya want, sonny?” the sailor asked.
“I don’t rightly know, sir,” the nervous boy replied.
“Ain’t ya or ain’t ya not goin’ ask me something?”
“I’m not sure what to ask you.”
“Well, ya better ask me quick cause I’m liable to drop dead any second.”
“Lemme think, sir. Why do you wear your anchor tattoo on your leg instead of your arm?”
“Keeps me grounded this way I don’t fly away like them balloons.”
The Little PrinceOnce upon a time there was a beautiful Prince, and he loved. That was his blessing and his curse. He felt everything, so deeply, good and bad, and it pierced his soul. It hurt the Prince to love so deeply, and he saw that no one else did. So he forgot that his curse was also a blessing and he hated himself because of it. He felt the pain deeper and deeper and forgot the love. He couldn't make the pain go away, but the devil sent whispers to him telling him he could, but the love and the beauty had to go first. So he tried to kill the beauty inside of him. Tried to convince himself it didn't exist. And he felt the pain deeper and deeper and the love and the beauty less and less.
Finally he went to the devil, intent on trading his beauty for a life with no pain. He begged the devil to take away his pain.
"But first little Prince, I want your love, and your beauty." the devil said. So the little Prince reached inside of himself and pulled out a shimmering, pulsing, glowing orb of beauty a
My FuneralThey’re crying again.
Rigor mortis has me at its mercy so I can do nothing to quell their suffering. So I lie and watch through slits of almost closed eyes at the small glimpses I can catch of the living.
It’s an odd sensation being dead for in essence it is absence. An absolute absence of everything. You don’t really notice it when alive, but the sheer lack of sound hits you like a brick wall. The sounds of your breath or the thump of your heart or the thrum of the blood through your veins are gone – sounds you never truly hear when still living. In death all you are met with is silence within yourself and thundering in to take its place are the roaring sounds of the world around your still corpse.
In my constricted vision I can see the broad petals of roses around my head. They are white as paper which is nice. I always imagined myself buried wreathed in roses so at least someone realised. I wonder if it was my sister?
I can hear a choked voice saying my name.
VoidHow long does it take for the dreamer to realize that the dream can never be? My life spins in an endless void, going deeper downward into an unknown world. What can I do to stop this paradox that I’m force to dance with? There is nothing here to see, nothing here to hear, nothing here to grasp. Falling downward, when will it end? My mind is buzzing with insane tired thoughts, making me want to close my eyes and sleep by-and-by.
Wake me when this torment ends, wake me and tell me I’m still alive. The endless sleep is here, pulling into the ethereal void. Where is the light that is bound to those whose soul seeks to find escape? No one can hear me in this place, I can only beg for someone to save me. I know I’ve been here before, the place so endless and constant, tormenting the mind through this bottomless pit.
The fathomless agony that hounds those who venture through, oft lose their memories by casting them from their ingenious minds; discarding them aside for
2 heads are better than one.Two heads are better than one: Short stories about people with two heads, so virtuous with one head, don’t lose theirs.
1. The 2 headed monster metaphor.
2. The Siamese twins that did not want to sell to everybody.
3. The Siamese twins who do not care for what they published on Internet.
The beauty of writing / drawing lies in perfecting our skills as a samurai learn to make perfect cuts with his katana or in the same way a basketball player learn to dunk.
If you are part of the artistic community of DeviantArt what I write today may interest you, or if you're on DeviantArt to appreciate their art, you may find seeds of knowledge among my letters.
I can’t hide it, I love writing, but what I like the most is to philosophize about positive aspects that help me be a better person. What you are about to read is a compil
And now she never willA young girl had taken to wandering on a road that went from her house.
The sky was a blend of yellow as if they fields were growing into it. Golden Fields. noting ever changed.
Suddenly there was a man on the road a man she'd never seen as she'd seen no one before on these roads at all. She stood and looked at him, he wore a top had, a coat too large that it draped the ground tailing behind him. white gloves and a mask.
He in a second was upon her folding her hands into his, his masked face next to hers as if he were about to whisper something to her that would change it all. she stood silent looking into his brilliant cold eyes something shining behind them as the light left her own.
The man kept walking as he left her there laying on the road He had more things to do and no time to do them. Her golden hair streaming like rivers of gold, a small bat flew from her coat, and I have not the time to mention where it came from. just that it was her only friend in the
The butterflyThe 7:15 alarm.
Don't you just hate the 7:15 alarm? Of course you do. Everyone does.
So I was bad today. I've been good so many days in a row now that I deserve it. I snoozed until half past and grabbed my coffee from the starbucks at Michigan and 11th instead.
Thankfully I was able to find a spot, downtown Chicago traffic isn't a spacious place, least of all in the morning rush.
The Hyundai ran great, getting it was a good idea.
The roads cleared up a bit as I approached the office, and I was able to pick up some speed across the Williamsburg bridge.
At the red light at State and Adams there was a butterfly. A pretty one, with lemon wings, flapping idly in the wind.
At the next light I killed a woman.
She was crossing the road when I hit her, swerving away, but still hitting her at her left temple with my headlamp, dragging her along, killing her.
She had blond hair.
"Are you drunk, sir?" They are asking me now. The police. I insist I am not.
"Are you drunk, sir?"
The 7:15 alar
Mr. Foxworth and The Raven Haired LadyA hungry Mr. Foxworth wandered around town in hopes to find some food. However, with the lack of money in his pockets, no grocery store or restaurant would even let him inside. So, his search continued until he stumbled upon a raven haired lady with a basket of fruit.
He went up to her with a sly smile and charmingly said, "Oh my, you are beautiful. Why, if your voice is even half as beautiful as your face, you must be destined for fame and fortune. Let me hear you sing."
She smiled at this flattery. And accepted the challenge eagerly. She set the basket on the ground walked over to pick up a wine glass from a table at the nearby café. The raven haired lady waled a high pitch note until the glass broke into small pieces. She stood there triumphantly with the broken glass in her hand.
However, by the time she looked up, Mr. Foxworth had already run more than a block away along with her basket of fruit. She pouted and looked down at her feet, where she found a note.
MomentsSometimes there are moments when the world should stop.
Moments, made for the sole purpose to shock. To yell silently and falling down unconscious on the spot. To inflict suffering.
There are very many of these moments, thousands, even trillions, even more sad moments than happy moments, but I think that would not surprise anyone, right? At least not the ones who go through life without hiding their eyes behind the palms of their neighbours.
Sometimes there are moments clinging to the duration of one breath. Moments which only contain the blink of an eye.
And if one of those moments is suddenly over and the pulse starts to pound again, the blood rushes back into the ears and the throat feels sore and rough, one wonders why the world has not stood still then. Why not all people sit stunned on their knees while their hands cover up their heads and cry cry CRY.
Why the water does not freeze and the fire is immutably burning.
Why the tears don’t stick on their che
Journal of the RemnantIf I knew how this would all turn out, well, I still would have taken this path. It's not worth it, you know. The one closer to me was easier to reach. The other was farther away, but on the end, there was a shining gold that looked like all I ever wanted. It was all I ever needed, and I stared as you waited on the end of the other trail. I didn't take it, though; I couldn't be troubled. I went down the closer path and I tripped and I fell and couldn't get back up, and still I lay on the floor, just looking at the shining gold light on the edge of the other trail that has evaded me ever since. If I could redo one thing in my entire lifetime, I would rewind to just about the point at the fork roads, look closer at the light to see what I wanted, ever needed, and then choose the same path again because it's the way that I was meant to venture.
Let us go back before I even entered that dastardly forest, shall we? I was just a wanderer travelling on a boundless highway; there were exits, b
to crumble up
the remnant pieces
of my love for you
and throw them in the trash
but I'm such a bad shot.
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
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