We'll find our tomorrowwe’ll find a way we’ll find the tomorrow that we lost today we’ll find the hope that we sold for a soulWe'll find our tomorrow
We’ll keep looking, even though there’s nothing out there worth finding for
that doesn’t even make sense but if it did would I be writing it?
as I run out of room to write on this guest check i desperately search my mind, pushing dust balls and cobwebs out of the way, for something perfect to say
something for the precious one I am writing for Though these words these stupid words have alr
Another stupid poem.I try to relax but I can’t lay down Without holding on To the floorAnother stupid poem.
I see my footprints on the ceiling and my doorstep in the wall
It’s a window
But to jump out only leaves me on a bloody lawn staring at the stars as they stare back into me
But they’re not there they died long before I fell in love in them
And our sun will die one day, too Then you’ll have to be the god of something else
I want something else
I’ve heard these words a million times But I can’t remember where they’re coming from
The Yellow UmbrellaLie with me on a crooked field We'll watch the shooting stars (They're really planes). And we'll read embarrassing poetry Together.The Yellow Umbrella
Such was a happy yellow umbrella. Now a broken bumbershoot We're no named, no faced stowaways, so we'll use it as a parachute to jump off this dark red train. And onto dark red gravel. Who needs blood anyways?
We're not walking off into the sunset you and I (I and you) are chasing the lonely sun. Bathed in orange and pink, your cheeks look so sweet.
We've forgotten if I gave or stole those kisses (
a fear for free wilting treesIn a room light in one line collides onto the barren floor. It seperates the particles-- that were so humbly sleeping-- sending them into a feverish explosion. They play out the most glorious chaotic dance.a fear for free wilting trees
::Now imagine-- a secret buried deep beneath a hollow tree. The wind it blows but the secret still remains hidden from view-- and somehow that tree still stands::
But the light in that room is apart of the attic of my parent's house. They told us to never be up there alone. There were long, dark nights
ps, pessimists, penises, pizzawe’re walking up the steps to get someps, pessimists, penises, pizza
late lunch.
talking about music, and being close minded. never really understood what that’s all about but i guess we don’t really have a choice to be like that- close minded. it’s something about humanity that screams:
we Are what we Are, and Like what we Like, Hate what we Hate and Take what we Take. i haven’t figured out if Love is like that though.
. . .but back to music. shawn came to the conclusion that if you go into listening to a song expecting the worst, you’ll always feel rewarded. &
.recovery.addiction.obsession.i..recovery.addiction.obsession.
by the dim of the candle light
we sat on our school books
trying to learn something about each other.
the bed is too made.
the lighting too right.
the floor too alone
the door too locked.
the moment too perfect.
1.
it was the hard night standing too still
or the way your tongue made words appear in color
that made me want to drink
so the dark sky would move
and your expression would become all too real.
by the cover of security blankets
and locked doors- i opened myself up
like the road t
The Clover Show
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Clubs
~riplist ~theunknownartists ~CandySpookyTheater
Icon by ~Falln-Avatars
Yup, I'm 14.
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"I think I'd like to go back to the clover show.
Where every spinning thing is winning and grinning into the place
Where the yellow light is bouncing into white
And only over-lonely ogres are getting into the race" -Rushad Eggleston
--
The day there is no room left in HELL I [link] will walk the EARTh....
98% of teenagers do or has tried smoking pot. If you're one of the 2% who hasn't, copy & paste this in your signature..really now i com 2 think of it i've never tr
--
"I think I'd like to go back to the clover show.
Where every spinning thing is winning and grinning into the place
Where the yellow light is bouncing into white
And only over-lonely ogres are getting into the race" -Rushad Eggleston
--
Twitter // My blog // Facebook
Comment to comment, not to get them back
--
"I think I'd like to go back to the clover show.
Where every spinning thing is winning and grinning into the place
Where the yellow light is bouncing into white
And only over-lonely ogres are getting into the race" -Rushad Eggleston
i'm very excited about this account! you're going to start posting your poetry! yay!
--
A scribble or a sonnet: they are really just the same.
I'm excited about this account, too. Except for the fact I haven't written anything in... forever... =\
--
"I think I'd like to go back to the clover show.
Where every spinning thing is winning and grinning into the place
Where the yellow light is bouncing into white
And only over-lonely ogres are getting into the race" -Rushad Eggleston
--
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