nuff said.


InsightSo he says: "she won’t be happy with me Because I can not be happy" A balance so unique, so fine Is dependent on one person too few A poor mans luck is all it takes To free himself from the mace, The bullet that's locked in place and aimed In to the center where good and evil each other faceInsight
It transcends the limits of science and physics Gives proof of purchase of our trustworthy faith Kills and nurses all men at the same time Yet is as fragile as the balance that it breaks
But we have faith in the bullet that’s shot at us That it c


Your Wonder WheelThe heavy feet of the pier sink deep into the silky blue ocean from the weight of the tourists, fishermen, children and adults. The sun illuminates the dirty, used wooden floors and the clear blue waters. The sand particles dance in the wind landing gently on your naked arm, foot or hand. Laughter penetrates the atmosphere, surround sound of geese, loud voices, and passing cars. The sun still slightly covered by the snow white clouds lets itself be known. The little droplets of sweat forming on your forehead, on top of your upper lip are proof of the humid but surprisingly enjoyable weather. The breeze skips by, carrying with it thYour Wonder Wheel


Wrinkle in TimePaper cuts, infected wounds, rough scars and permanent memories.Wrinkle in Time
Stained hearts, bruised skin black eyes and salty tears.
Crooked lines, bent pages faded memories and lost pictures.
Used light bulbs, old batteries dirty screens and broken vending machines.
Sun damage, tissue damage,
people damaged, in a indented world.
Offer a hand, a soft hand a helping hand, a second hand
Turn back time, heal all wounds undo wreckage, let the wrinkle be smoothed.


PainPAIN I cry too often. everything feels like a direct hit everyone's words are a dirct truth aimed at my every wound. I have too many holes. so emptiness eats inside me a living, breathing, hollow vessel. exposed to these people. freinds is wot u call them. they have this power to see thru, me, deep down to my defects pointing, them out with cold, blue highlighters and i cry-thats wot i do. and they point. thats what they do. i close my eyes in aching wonder. when will i find thePain
--
I have been told that I am a surrealist. Which simply isn't true. I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.
~Frida Kahlo
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° ce.webb.se
--
(Dark-eyed Boy, sing me the blues
your sweet southern blues;
I will always want you.)
--
° elfsh.no-ip.com
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