"nascar" poems
I love you doesn't encompass the warmth that spreads through my soul
I love you doesn't realize the need for your friendship
I love you is so generic, so simple, that it really has little at all
I want to say that with you,
the world is at my fingertips,
with you I feel alive,
with you my heart races a nascar driver's and wins.
I love you doesn't amount to much, it's three simple words,
But then again, no words ever do.
Because words are lost in seas of actions, and
picture's speak a 1000 times faster in their 5x7 frames
But it's the look of your eyes,
the caress of your touch, that says I love you,
So much more infinitely than I could ever dream
And I'm left sitting here,
scrawling down syllables,
trying to capture the infinity that is emotion.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
Name: Falen Acon
Residence: San Diego California
Age: 15 (almost 16)
Birthday: Jan 4, 2000 (Capricorn)
School: Don't worry about it!
Grade: 10th (Sophomore)
Class Of: 2018
Favorite Color: Ballet Pink, Gun Metal Gold and Burgundy
Favorite Flower: Wild Flowers, Roses & Sunflowers
Hobbies: Dancing and Poetry
Favorite Food: Pizza
Favorite Drink: Strawberry and Root Beer Soda
Favorite Dessert: Ice Cream (Shakes) (any flavor)
Happy Place (place that makes me happy): Beach or Dance Studio
Career Path: Professional Dancer
Lucky Day: Saturday
Lucky Number: 3
Favorite Number: 7
Friends: Christan Zeal, Elsa Angelica and Drevon Young
Goals: Find true love, Find happiness and Travel World
Favorite Artists: Lana Del Rey, The Weeknd, Drake, PartyNextDoor, Post Malone, ILoveMakonnen, Rae Sremmurd, RDGLDGRN, Kyle, A.$.A.P Rocky, G-Eazy and Zayn Malik
Celebrity Crushes: Zayn Malik, Justin Bieber, RED (from RDGLDGRN) and Steph Curry (GSW)
Favorite NBA Team: Golden State Warriors (GSW)
Favorite NFL Team: North Carolina Panthers
Favorite MLB Team: Chicago Cubs
Favorite College Football Team: LSU Tigers
Favorite Nascar Driver: Kasey Kahne
Future College: Texas State University (TSU) or Something :)
Future Sorority: Delta Sigma Theta (DST) /_\
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
Weaknesses
My weakness is sweets, but don’t get it twisted, no food is found to weaken me. But a sweet personality can, so can a sweet smile, or a sweet touch. Basically sweet people are like sweet candies of different cultures, and I shall be a proud cultural culinary taste-tester, moving races like NASCAR in motion.
My weakness is money. The all mighty dollar isn’t so almighty to me, but what it can do is. I long for the materialistics of life that money can bring, and the attention it can get you from supermodel brides or low-key bed warmers. I like the feeling of being wanted and tolerated regardless of what I’d do and how I’d do it.
My weakness is power, for, if I held the power of a man’s life and spared him, he’d be loyal indefinitely, and that would be enough to satisfy my needs to feel loved. I’d have a friend who felt indebt to me, and that feeling of needing to accommodate would change my view on what was real and what wasn’t.
My weakness is attire, for you see, when I walk into a room, I want to draw the eyes of those watching, hateration rising in their veins and jealousy shown on there face. I want the Black haired beauty with the short red skirt and open-toed stilettoes with the dark purple toe nails and thick hips to come my way and think lustfully of me, is it a crime to desire such reactions?
My weakness is body, for I love a girl who can take care of herself. Long hair, manicured nails, teeth that aren’t begging to be drilled, it’s a weakness I have and can’t seem to fix. But then again, why would I desire to fix it? I’m not asking for perfect like a conceited rejectionist, or wanting more than what I can give like I was lying to myself, I want someone who can keep up with themselves before even attempting to keep up with someone else.
My weakness is *** appeal, because whenever she bites her lip and looks in my eyes, I can see rockets shooting through her glass lenses and aiming at me. But once I smile back, determined face, cute features and as much appeal as I can muster, explosions happen in her body that causes goosebumps to pepper her flesh like shrapnel in a war-zone.
My weakness is skin to skin, after all, it’s my right to want to be loved, why not demonstrate it by holding hands? Why not live past the edge and on the tip of existence like birds on a powerline? I am careful enough and she’d be loving enough that no vibes of failing would even cross our way.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Back in my rebel days (yester)
I sported a spelunking bumper sticker
On my 1972 VW pop-up camper van
That read Free Floyd Collins
Totally apolitical well intentioned humor
Concerning one of my pasttimes that surprisingly
Never maimed or killed me
Whilst reporting for an official call for jury duty
The uptight and obviously a **** (did I just say that?)
Prosecutor enquired during jury selection
As to whether any of us prospectives
Had bumper stickers and if so
What they might say
The NRA sticker guy next to me
And the I'd Rather Be Fishin' and NASCAR
Sticker guy next to him
Passed with smugly flying colors
(red needless to say)
While the 72 year old nun
With the Amnesty International sticker
Didn't fair so well
And was promptly burned at the stake
(I kid you)
Needless to say
The long-haired Harvard educated
Native American
With the Doctors Without Borders
And the Remember Wounded Knee
With a not so discreet AIM sticker thrown in to boot
Also got the boot
Pondering the merits of the court stenographer's
Shapely fingers while judiciously confidently awaiting my turn
It never ocurred to me that Mr. Collins might be
So wrongly accused as to have me
Rejected and summarily ejected
From jury duty
A travesty of justice
I say
If for no other reason than I was so looking forward to
Sticking it to the Man
You can imagine my surprise and disappointment
As I wandered down to the Shamrock
To catch Terry O'Leary do a slam
And raise a glass to
Bobby Sands
r~ 22Feb14
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
I’ve been to NASCAR races,
Haunted houses,
Hospital delivery rooms,
and even Marathons.
But I’ve never seen anything faster than the speed at which you left.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 11:52 PM UTC
I was born on a leap year
Right before the Millenium
A family of five in Mexico were stabbed
Six days before I arrived
And in the same month
(But half the days)
That Rusty won the first NASCAR race
In Japan
Call me a Scorpio, I don't mind
I was born in the year of the rat
And the zodiac says that fire's my element
But I always liked my time spent in water
Pearl is to the ancients
What Topaz is today
Though neither value much
To the people on the Boeing 747
Or the Ilyushin Il-76 cargo plane
That killed 349 people
With the force of their collision
When you look up the day
That I came to be known
As another member of the living
They'll tell you all about the fatal, terrible crash
That I was too young to remember or even witness
Being born in the '90's earns me
No extra respect
No reverent awe
No special treatment
I was born too late for the long-haired peace
Disco and drugs
A John Hughes-like high school
And only my parents got away with
Sweat pants and leg warmers
Or turtleneck sweaters
I am just another 96 baby
But they don't make them like us
Anymore
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
Music
Running out of time, nothing left to rhyme,
no longer in my prime, listening to Sublime.
Used to smoke **** slaves I have freed,
red I still bleed, listening to Creed.
I'm all that, I have kicked my cat,
my girl is a brat, listening to Ratt.
Invented a love potion, makes girls frozen,
many things I've broken, listening to Poison.
Buried in the sand, not what I planned,
I need a helping hand, listening to The Steve Miller Band.
Too many cell phones, can never get any loans,
love the show Bones, listening to The Rolling Stones.
Confessing all my sins, playing some violins,
dizzy from the spins, listening to The Thompson Twins.
Standing in the cold, my life is uncontrolled,
just got paroled, listening to Avenged Sevenfold.
Sprayed with mace, kicked in the face,
stuck in this rat race, listening to Three Days Grace.
Working the graveyard shift, lots of sand I must sift,
my life needs a lift, listening to Taylor Swift.
Living in Illinois, tired of hearing noise,
losing all my poise, listening to The Beach Boys.
No hands on the clock, it's me people mock,
dryer stole another sock, listening to Kid Rock.
Music has made me what I am,
loving the hairbands and the glam.
Hard rock is all I know,
how could you not like Ugly Kid Joe.
Heavy metal is where it's at,
all the older bands are bald and fat.
Top forty isn't half bad,
every year it's a different fad.
Disco and grunge had a short stay,
Nirvana and Pearl Jam, get too much air play.
Hip hop and rap has been around to long,
can they even sing a real song.
Nothing will ever beat the eighties,
spandex, hair and all the ***** ladies.
My two favorite songs are Sister Christian,
and Here I go Again,
those songs remind me of way back when.
Country, well that will always ****
rednecks, Nascar, hunting and a giant truck.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
To the
Easy-sleazy
speedy
speed-balling'
speed-demon
drivers.
There isn't a
circuit
that will
race you
to my bed room.
I don't endorse
NASCAR.
But if you
can drive
twenty five.
There is
a road
that will
get you there
eventually.
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 1:19 PM UTC
.it's called pronoun usage focused upon the experience of claustrophobia, or rather, the lack of... hence: one thinks in order for one to be... unus, cogito, unus se, per ergo; these people went after grammar... not a good idea; i've had my doubts... but... i also have my... rigid beyond religious orthodoxy credos... infringed upon denials! grammar is one of them!
well...
if we're going to go about our
verbiage as we've done...
pronouns...
sorry...
i have to do this...
or rather...
one has to resort to this...
one must think / hinge on such
matters...
one must execute such...
"inconveniences"...
one must, press on such
matters...
just so, one is able...
to counter the trans- pronoun usage...
with a royal,
pronoun usage;
happy?!
go on... two is able...
two think...
figure it out... tow along;
as a Nascar wreck...
because started thinking...
is pluralism intact
pluralism... on the basis of
an isolated instance of
a disfranchised base within
the confines of He... or She?
no?
well... the royal pronoun
intervention...
as one would expect...
or rather, as one would hope so...
hello?!
i think the lunatics have run
the asylum long enough...
their supposed asylum,
formerly known as society?
not good enough...
call the guys in the white coats
that... everyone seems to fear.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 8:22 PM UTC
I am going so quickly on job applications, I have lost count how many I have applied to.
I am going way too fast in this process.
I am treating this like NASCAR.
Going 200 mph a hour a Daytona.
With one goal in mind a job.
So for once in my life I hope to slow down the process.
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 10:38 AM UTC
We stumbled up the stairs, two drunken fools ~
too high and loose of care, to my tiny apartment.
You fumbled with the keys and I stood, laughing
as you dropped them, not once, but three times
before you finally got the door opened.
Once inside, you pulled out your bowl
and I hurried into the kitchen to get beer.
Upon returning, Nascar screeched from the tv screen
as I tripped over your hiking boots, falling into your lap,
beer sloshing about us and herb scattering about.
You began tickling me in that cousinly way
we always played in our youth. You knew
each spot to make me twist and turn, scream and yelp.
But neither of us expected the kiss.
Lips searching, tongues darting, teeth nibbling ~
I ripped at your tank top, pulling it over your head
and buried my head in your chest, stroking
strong muscles, ******* your *******
You grabbed my ******* kneading them fiercely,
your fingers twisting and tugging at my *******
as you bit into the side of my neck. Moans
escaped us as you pulled me down onto the couch.
I gazed up into the mirrors of your eyes,
so like mine, searching your face for a sign:
Should we? Can we? Will anyone else find out
our secret taboo? Your lips erased the questions.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 7:23 AM UTC
Sing me songs
about Nascar Nation
I don't care about
your beach vacation
I want to hear
about trucks and whisky
Not when Taylor
Swift got frisky
Give me songs
that make me cry
not songs about
a cheating guy
Let me hear
about girls and guns
about going fishing
about having fun
sing me songs of old...
sing me solid gold
songs where tales were told
just sing me songs...my heart can hold.....
Give me songs
about redneck weddings
about lonely highways
and where I'm heading
I don't care
about sand and sunshine
I just need to hear
'bout the life that is mine
Sing me songs about
Trucks and racing
I don't care about
who's book facing
Let me hear
some Charlie Daniels
going hunting
with Springer spaniels
Sing me songs
that touch my heart
songs I'll sing
when we're apart
I don't care
about fields of flowers
or about your
secret powers
sing me songs of old...
sing me solid gold
songs where tales were told
just sing me songs...my heart can hold.....
Sing me songs
like those long ago
about broken hearts
and tales of woe
Sing me songs
that i'll remember
way past december
sing me songs of old...
sing me solid gold
songs where tales were told
just sing me songs...my heart can hold.....
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
Leading sounds of spring
Are now preceding the season.
Scattered platoons of yardmen
clunk aluminum ladders
that thunk debris littered roof gutters,
bang a size range of galvanized nails
into an exterior catalogue of materials
needing attentive appending.
The leaf blowers, the leaf blowers
exhausting NASCAR level roars
attempting to push back
last fall/winter into their calendared slots.
And the first nice day Harleys
rumble distantly along the gorge road below.
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 2:50 PM UTC
I'm sorry that I am inadequate
I am sorry that I am absolutely confident
I'm sorry that I'm happy
I'm sorry that you're miserable more than half the time
I'm sorry that you only start loving me once you've broken my heart and I have left
I am sorry that I am not rich or possess glamorous material
I am sorry that these are the type of people that you would settle for
I am sorry that where I come from there is no ego, smallness or bigotry
or watch dogs to keep stars in check so they're humble for there is no extreme self-ansorbtion
I'm am sorry that you cannot feel and I am not there to heal once your conscience starts to breathe
I am sorry that I have failures and dysfunctions
I am sorry that you feel small and inadequate when I achieve
I am sorry that when you are angry; everyone around you must be just as angry
I am sorry for the weakness in you to hurt others because you are constantly hurting and cannot contain it
I am sorry that I am not perfect and may not be everything you have ever dreamed
I am sorry that I have to be crucified for the mistakes and faults of previous lovers
I am sorry that I don't have a *** appetite when I am feeling down and low
I am sorry for being direct and sincere
I am sorry that there are certain things that I do not feel anymore, pains that just cut the broken pieces of my heart
I am sorry that wars have turned me into a recluse and gave me no choice but to grow
I am sorry that I resonate to vibrations that radiate positive energy
I am sorry that I found solace in solitude and understanding myself
I am sorry that womankind has been scarred by men who had failed to understand the feminine energy within themselves
I am sorry that I am to blame for your emotional instabilities
I am sorry that you cannot run as fast as the best athlete
I am sorry that I cannot drive as fast as the best Nascar driver for I do not have a car
I apologize for low tolerance for ******** lies and fakeness
I am sorry for my emotional scars
I am sorry for intelligence when it cannot reach you
I am sorry that you cannot understand how wounded I am, if you did you'd stop trying to hurt me for you'd only be hurting yourself
And lastly I apologize that you lack self esteem to realize the magnanimous potential within you
but see it is self-esteem, work that you do on yourself with the support of those who serve goodness and your best interests
I am sorry that the world is filled with the filth of hell
but what the heck I cannot be sorry for searching for heaven in the circumstance.... So I'm not sorry for divinity.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 9:34 AM UTC
Beer bellies in sun,
Green grass in a fast circle
Squaring like trailers.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
On Saturday
any Saturday
every Saturday
multi-themed pedestrian parades
pour down commercial corridors
celebrating a holiday known as
WEEKEND.
Middle school queens throw
exaggerated waves
from backseat upholstery tops
in imaginary convertibles marking
the current flow route between
Foot Locker and Game Stop.
Marching throngs display
personal banners on
plastic handled brand bags
drawing peer clusters,
human petaled floats,
vying for ribbons
passing devoutly interested
sideline spectators
now feeling a bit empty
without score cards.
Hippos, thin men, package jugglers
stroll along the branching avenues
labeled in chest advertisements
including everything from
Magnetic Health to Jesus.
No mega-city floatilian
compares to the mall regalia
in a midsize hometown
duck-n-spend.
Though it may be
a little short on free candy
it is still sponsored in part
by Macy's.
Interlocked peddler palaces
reign as shopping centers,
though shopping is the least
of the reasons to be here;
not unlike people going to
a hockey match
are not going to watch hockey,
or partakers in Nascar
don't actually go for racing.
Truth is,
we are all hoping
to see a collision,
Haves with Have Nots,
Lovers with Haters,
Colored Hairs with High & Tights
Refined with Undefined
Talkers with Solitaries
Personal Loathing with Itself.
Unanimously, they all come
for the curiosity of encounter
incalculable, anxious, wanted
or unwanted.
In secret,
dreamers hold royal hopes
praying to Aeropostale gods
pleading favor with credit cards
and a bump in popularity
that if so anointed
the purest of this parade's followers
would be next week's
Grand Marshall.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
children play with lots of toys
that help them find their passion -
or what isn’t their passion -
a little girl may dress up dolls
and find a love of fashion design
or a little boy may play with cars
and dream about driving nascar.
alternatively
a little girl may play a game of operation
and decide she never wants to be a doctor
or a little boy may play on a sports team
and realize he never wants to be an athlete.
me? i’m not the little girl
finding her dreams or dislikes.
i’m the one being used by boys
to find what they don’t like in a girl.
i’m not a person to them, i’m a toy.
they use what they like,
critique my flaws,
and return me saying
i’m just not what they really wanted.
no concern for my emotions,
only worried about using me
until i’ve served my purpose
of helping them find
what they don’t want in a girl
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 3:54 AM UTC
The caramel corn has taken on a subtle hint of hand sanitizer.
It is enough to **** all the germs.
A kernel escapes and the search party is unsuccessful.
The tile in the bathroom reminds me of other jobs.
Janitorial work,
cleaning up after others.
The tiles in my store were larger and dirtier.
I can't think,
this headache is raging a war.
Aided by my cube neighbors fan.
I snore at night and dream of helicopters.
Things usually come back around to bite you,
like a snake
or NASCAR.
America,
the Land of the Free.
I have lied so much that
it comes out as the truth.
A rusty swing set sits in the backyard,
choked by weeds and broken furniture.
The overstuffed purple couch
has seen better days.
Tonight,
it will sleep alone.
When I am feeling down I count the ceiling tiles,
getting lost at fourteen.
Fifteen is a liar.
What would happen if the stars did re-align?
Just for one day,
the cost of beer wouldn't be so high.
Then again,
the liquor store on Jefferson sells Tallies for $1.19.
Let's not be greedy.
I will buy two of them to make sure that when I sleep tonight,
it is soundly.
The phone keeps ringing with complaints.
People are more interested in their neighbors
than the fire.
Forget about this poem.
It is better if you just skim this literary travesty.
There is no substance.
This new day is failing
and it will soon be cleansed.
Forgive me Father,
for I have sinned.
Please,
watch over those I care most about.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
The fan whirling next to my bed
Sounds like Nascar racing in my head
Images in Negative
Not Alive Or Dead
In another room the T.V. transmogrifies
And ceases to be what is seen &
into a medium for
DogoDs GodoG eaters to commune with me
Instead
They whisper other's secrets - They instigate Ill will
They tale of truths and curses _ so convincing so bold
Be still and carefully listen
They are feasting on my soul
Dec 31, 2009
Dec 31, 2009 at 9:22 PM UTC
I don't care what anyone thinks
but i don't want to offend
so i'll leave it at:
My Family
MyChurch
Love
God
Poetry
Beautiful Women
Love Making
Different Positions
Hidden Vacations
Expensive Restaurants
My Cars
NASCAR
My Boats
Scuba Diving
My House
New Orleans Saints
My Toys
Golf
My Game Room
Poker with Freinds
Old School Music
Strip Clubs
Drug Free
Actually i'm always happy and don't know the word complain
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
Do not weep for our dear friend
Think of him this night
In terms that he would really love
Nascar turned him "right"
We lost a friend we loved today
Our family down by one
Remember Al in your own way
He's now a star, a blazing sun
A father, granddad, brother
A friend to all who crossed his path
A man to share a story with
A man to share a laugh
A green, white, checkers finish
Is the way our friend lived his time
He was a mentor to so many
I'm glad that his path did cross mine
I will toast his life in honour
Break out the port and praise his name
For I am proud I knew him
And I hope you all feel the same
We all share many stories
Of our time with our dear friend
And though we're hurt so by his passing
The tales we tell will never end
A hangover on drambuie
A trip to watch a race
Each story shared is special
Each story has it's place
Remember now our friend Al
How he'd laugh and tell a joke
He'd not want us to weep for him
But, to go and sneak a smoke.....
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
Why try when ya can buy?
I made like seventy comments.
Yeah he donated tweenty bucks and has more
points than I.
Respect dont come with the side of a card.
It's not totally broke.
But to demolish it were trying hard.
Mr Robbins can you just please keep your
mouth shut.
we'll buy ya a case of wild turkey
you drunk *** pain in the but.
Point and poetry really dont mix.
what is this nascar?
Nothing that some strong drinks cant fix.
The doors are locked lets semd in a spy
to see whats going on in that joint.
Hey i just won at beer pong
did that get a point?
Were all about exposer so get your beads.
Avoid the restrooms at the Pub.
look in the red light district of hello
cause everyone's got needs.
I gotta point for logging in and one for
coloring within the lines.
And got no license for like
few thousand dollars in unpaid fines.
Heres a point for me.
And heres a point for you.
With the middle finger a few
fellow poets did point and said they were threw.
Yet here i stay slightly sober
happy to stir the ****
That i refuse to play the game.
Hey how many points do i get to quit?
Drinks are always on the house at HPs
number one joint.
And if ya waste time getting anry with
me then ya really didnt get the point$
Mar 17, 2010
Mar 17, 2010 at 8:39 AM UTC
And so I ate the dope again
hard know where to begin
it was great
Made love started off in the shower
Was all awkward just picture a rope bridge
then I had to go *** again
what's become of me
I don't know
mr. Wrong
I guess
everything right I never do
Mr nascar I guess
Yup going in circles
f***** up I don't care
70 and I'm swerve
the car can't walk straight all the way there but ...
least I made sure you're back home
that's the kicker
I was just hiding in the closet
After you head-butted me in the face
calling the cops and I ate the dope again
I supposedly sabotage you
hey it's all good
my car breaks down I'll just walk
she don't see
that I love her
do anything for ever
Ever since I met her.
it seems that she notices me
yet it's just cuz I'm there
She says I'm the one
but not the one you're thinking of
I'm the one that did it
everything that's her past becomes me
it's crazy it happened so fast
I'm guessing three years now
I'm hiding in the closet
just got my nose smashed
yes I'm still complaining
that s*** hurt
just as much my fault
we both lovingly provoke
till death do us part
I don't see that I love her
and I still do
I see that I need to leave her
I know it's something I won't do
I see her come out sometimes
it makes me sad
that beautiful little girl in there
now something else
it's not her
maybe
this is the monster in me speaking
Maybe I am the one that's insane
I can't tell right from wrong or anything anymore
all I know is that ive seen her
and that seems alright with me
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 2:44 AM UTC
This cigarette burns slowly
I watch the ashes fall to the ground
Nursing a martini as if I'm in a NASCAR race
The sound of summer explodes
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
They say that they hate you
Because you won't stop cutting
But life
Is getting complicated
And you're twisting
And turning
Out of relationships faster
Than a Nascar left turn
You spin out
Angry
You get stuck in the grass
Hitting the wall
The reality of it
Is
Your heart
Metaphors aside
You had one too many crushes
Way too fast
You never took it slow
Too fast
Too furious
Now you're burnt out
Slash
Blood
Drip
Drip
Blank stare
Look up
The mirror
It should've cracked by now
You're
Ugly
You smile
Walk over to the mirror
Who are you?
you start laughing
You hear your mom call your name
She's wondering
Why you're laughing so hard
You yell
Nothing
Just thought of something really funny
She yells back
What?
You say
You wouldn't get it
She says
Dinner's gonna be ready soon
Don't let it get cold again
Or you're grounded
that word echoes in your head
Grounded
Grounded
Grounded
you open your eyes
That's right
The song...
The intro
You approach the mirror
Scenes of you breaking it
In sync
You stare at the broken mirror
Your mother rushes upstairs
Shakes the door
Pounding
Yelling your name
Are you okay in there
Are you
Her voice fades away
End of passion play
Crumbling away
I'm your source of self-destruction
you grab a piece of the mirror
Veins that pump with tear
******* dark with fear
You slash your wrists
Your moms screams your name
Your father runs upstairs
Leading on your death's destruction
you cut again
Taste me you will see
you lick your blood from your wrists
More is all you need
you keep cutting more and more
Dedicated to
Your father breaks open the door
And your mother gasps
your eyes begin to glow
How I'm killing you
your reflection disappears
Come crawling faster
darkness begins to creep from the mirror and moves its way towards your father
Obey your Master
it starts to choke the life out of your father and he slowly starts to die
Your life burns faster
you stare at your mother... then look at your father and say
Obey your Master
Master
you wake up in bed
your heart is racing
Your dad knocks on the door
And says
Are you coming down to eat?
your eyes glow
Yes father
you walk passed the mirror
no reflection
I'm coming down
To eat
Master
Master
Mwahahahahaha
Ha
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC