Pragmatic is the virtue of diligence. Always active in the common comedy, let alone the discipline desired to do what's destined to unfold before this paragon. His jaw is angled from clenching his teeth in anticipation, her breath steadily drawing in the heavy air around her. Eyes dilating in excitement. All because diligence reaps what is sows

drawtext(the cold dark)
I'm glitching.
there are parts of me where the code runs but nothing prints.
why cant I remember what I wrote.
Overlap,
Unknown variables,
variable emotions.love undefined
variable emotions.trust undefined
variable thoughts.doyoucare undefined
variable thoughts.selfworth does not exist could not be launched


scrthoughts.thecold_dark
if Object(self) = true,
{{
I feel like a faulty copy ripped from someone else's script.
I have a function that lets me scream.
But it wont start.
I have a function that lets me dream.
But it wont start.
My cpu has gone cold while the processor over heats.
I don't know how to get past this last line of code.
I don't know how this code to line get past.
past know to I don't get how..
...
I fear its killing me.
}
if alone  =  true
repeat
}

I'm lost in a sea of my own troubles.
My family's picture grows blurry.
I lost my sense of direction.
its gone so soon like ashes in a flurry. my troubles are quadratic the weight it doubles. This life's enigmatic, the pressure it bubbles. Lost at sea without a paddle. A good god, godless, ripped from the saddle. I don't know why i put so much stock in make believe. Gee maybe i don't know, hopefully it'll be a dream That'll be conceived. Possibly ill received, because greatness is disbelieved, rarely achieved, grandma's dreams cleaved, All the children are ******* grieving. Deceiving our selves, packing the shelves, we're leaving.
Stop.
I have to find my bearing.
Stop.
The waters are cool. The wind is blowing softly.
Right now, just hold her hand.
Listen to the wind.

Welcome back. the tent is raised.
our town is razed,
our eyes go unfazed
Unable to escape a dream come true
Unable to expect to be left with so few.
A calculated loss, given attrition
given munition, and a lack of nutrition.
It wasn't war that we asked for, we just wanted peace.
It wasn't you that we die for, the dignity belongs to ourselves.
When you play that melody on your piano,
In your private home,
Remember me.

Twisted bone towers thirty feet high.
Etched with every promise and every word the doctors said to you. Resonating with the residual chemo left inside.
You collapse.
All those words,
All of those people building you up,
All of it just to watch you fall.

As I looked into the face of a young boy.
I could see the explosion inside his pupils,
Almost as bright as the grin that pierced his closed smile.
It was all too apparent.
He had an idea.

nothing more than a child with a pencil
a mere morsel in an ocean of literature
not something to pay a bill
something I learned before I was mature
my words work wonderful swan songs that serenade simply bite by bite  slowly swallowing you body and soul. That my words make youforget that a poem is more than a string of words tied to a cannonball meant to make an impact. in fact is a cannon ball will explode somewhere behind the broken memories and hiding demons. That the "miracles" that flow from my mind is nothing but insidious illusions that are shrouded in deeper meanings. When in reality I just want to scream because I've been given all the pieces but I don't have the key.