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Eight: Extremities armed for the call of the wild; the hunter marches. Seven: Strings fanning into the damp corners of cardboard castles.
i walk amongst an ocean of stars in a world of shadow. touch the reflection, obsessive perfection. the uncertainties of my mind permeate my very step, a constellation of faces in unfamiliar places.
My name's not Springsteen, But I sure feel like a Boss Haters attempting to rag on me Gonna feel a little lot of lost cause Time's chipping away at this face, Turning this ice into a sculpture
i could get losT in those eyes. beHind them there are other worlds, lights, and sensations thAt take you like a tidal wave. the world fades away around us for a Time, and it’S an epic euphoria, all the little while.
Four years ago, our lives changed forever. We got one more mission left. One more chance to close out strong. The final fight, the clock strikes. Today is a chance to finish what we started.
One cannot belong to his belongings That much is certain, no matter our longings. The darkness is dying, gives birth to the dawn, We, not objects, should be the ones who do the pawning.
Brain, test. Lunch break, yes. Hustle to classes Grades up, passes. Thinking? No. Keep up with the poetic flow. What is green?
As I dwell on this long and lonely road One everlasting mile away from home You see me on the bench, jacket zipped Book open in my lap, my head dipped Poetry in motion,
What wonders the sky beholds, What wisdom does the intricate dropets of clouds contain? Trees of rich brown bark, of emerald green leaves,
there is no emptier crescent of feeling than wandering through unfeeling, unending crowds, more alone than you ever have felt in your lifetime.
Green, white. Wood wafts westward into my nasal wonder. Beans crack and crumble away to dust As the black lake of broken dreams Boils into blight. Creators crawl the clavier, clawing
what captures the earth's wonder, takes us to new places, and leaves us with happiness or heartbreak on our faces? it paints us to another and carries entertainment's greatest masterpieces
Slow dancing to Sam Cooke under the mountaintop stars, Cooking creamy chicken parmesan alfredo Saturday night While hearing the pot singing and sizzling. Laughing until our insides crumble in pain,
as my feet shift heavily lumbering forward on this iceberg ground, i cast my gaze on the world above me. as i approach an organized pile of bricks and glass, white teardrops of flecks