How do I say goodbye to a ghost
Why does it continue to haunt me
Even after you drifted away
Sometimes I see it
Floating with my stolen heart in its hands
It passes through me
Without a flicker or a ripple
Like I'm not even here
Even if I shut my eyes
I can still see it
It still torments me
You said you would leave
Why does the specter still remain
Could it be that it's not yours
Perhaps it's the phantom of who I was
The last remains of myself, broken
Ethereal being becoming undone
For it's not my heart that burdens it
It's looking for the previous owner
It will pervade over my life
Until it returns the heart
To it's rightful owner
Come back to me if only to receive it
Cold, blue and dead
It never was what I wanted
But its what I am left with
If I get lost
I’d forever remain Anonymous
So it’s true...
There is a rainbow at the end of a storm.
It might have taken months sometimes years, but it’s finally here.
gather round, as it is the season of stress:
as it nears may and june and
corners the wisps of summer that sting the air.
the scent of freedom and flights,
so close yet never close enough.
gather round, and watch as the silken spring leaves
(or, the strands of your hair)
turn inch by inch into summer screams of green
(or, the jealously burning inside you--
when you see someone smarter
see their right answer
see their paper; green and ticked and better.)
gather round, for it is almost over.
and you have worked hard- you have
(or, you have tried to)
and often that is enough.
the season of stress will fade soon,
summer will always come.
summer sings in sun-kissed skin and lazy leaves
and blithe birds and timely trees;
gather round, to hear summer's sound.
final exams are rough but we can be tougher. the worst is over.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Could you please stop existing?”
“No one really loves you. I mean, they do, but only if it’s beneficial to them.”
“**** yourself. Begone. For good. Nobody needs you, after all.”
“I thought I’ve loved my self well enough? Which part of me is still not good enough!?”
“Who cares? No one cares about you. They need you to stop existing. Go die and begone. For good.”
Alas, that’s how she ends her complete existence. For good.
You read what you read. Misinterpret it for all I care.
I found a cure for head lice and nits,
This'll really thrill you to bits,
Pour coca-cola on infested heads,
Happy hoppies shall soon be dead,
But don't give the cola to your kids,
They'll all get intestinal nits!
To all the parents and teachers of kids,
Happy hoppies cured, no more nits!
Now didn't that thrill you to bits?
A verse written by Navajo the Nit!
— The End —