Reality is a player of strings,
each strand doing a number of things,
Their fingers dancing playfully,
even though the game is of extreme,
as there fangs bite into the hopes and dreams,
until the blood is gone from bodies, and we're
left standing wondering, what happened to the crisp clear
vision that was so near, it was practically here, but then its a vacuum of the one and only fear.

I like the chaos, dear friend,
The way the screams echo,
And stretch out so that they never end in your head.
I like the way the dial of emotions starts spinning, and the poisons start winning, and soon you might start grinning.
When there's silence, you always know, it's your heart that ceases to go, and the tick tock of time is a no show.
Let there be hisses and sparks, as fire reaches to tear us apart, and the sounds a invisible work of art.
I like the cacophony, the simple ceremony, that makes your eyes open to the symphony,
The thunder crack, to say troubles back, you need to not slack, and that you shall never lack,
The feeling of adventure at its sweetest, wildest point.

The sound as water hits coin.
After coin. After..coin. So many wishes.
Some come true- what miracle could it be?
Others fade with time, the hopeful ones cast away.
I wonder what a Wishing Well's Wish might be,
would it be to grant more wishes, stop granting them,
or maybe have some arms or thoughts or anything at all,
that could make them wish upon a coin, and through it into
some depth thats deeper when you don't look.

Mocking Jay, what do you say?
Mocking Jay, what do you say?
As you fly, through and fray,
come with the evening,
and gone the next day.
gone the next day.
You keep on leaving me,
stay, stay, on your willow tree!
It seems you always creep, leave
when I am but trying to sleep.
Mocking Jay, you seem to not be able to make up your mind!
Can't you find
some words that you like?
You hear things and if there sweet, repeat,
and I used to find it quite neat,
but what are you trying to make my mind greet?
It's a bit sad, I suppose, your story, as it unfolds,
you find other voices as gold,
but, behold!
your vocal cords are set in stone,
when it comes to speaking your own!
set in stone,
Do you hide in shadows
as others whisper,
trying to find the perfect sentence,
the one that says,
what you want to say?

People utter promises
like fitful dreams,
some may stick with you forever,
others are blown as fast as thoughts into the wind.
Some like to speak there thoughts, like infernos twisting away as tornados do. Some write them, piles and piles of
w
o
r
d
sketched onto the page as they form mountains. Whats a thought without someone to pass it
d
o
w
Now what's a promise when it's not kept? Is it anything at all? Is it as absent as the air is in outer space? Looks so real but as soon as you breathe it in, no breath is heard, no
w
i
s
h
e
safe.

There's 365 days in a year,
all dependent of the orbit of this sphere.
As we spin round and round,
stuck to the ground, we are unaware of seconds slipping by.
Just someone saying 'Hi' could have made your day,
if you listened.
The world is sliver glistened, as millions of waves
go by and by in the 365 days.
Ah, most everyone likes the birthdays, even if they
are just closer to death, they are times to celebrate-
it's your special date.
So many children in this world, most simply fade to nothing when they die, no one else to remember them except those that said goodbye.
Others may appear in news, or whatever you please, but we all share the common things,
a will to live if it's to live happily.

And honestly, I was born on Mothers day, and it's different every year, todays my birthday, and I'm glad that it's appeared. But sometimes I wonder if and my brother were my mothers gift or curse,
after all, pregnancy HURTS!

****-ay, ****-ay, look at the date, look at the date!
Celebrate, Celebrate,
*Do you think they'll get a piece of cake? I might have made one mistake, the frosting looks off fully lumpy..