"repercussions" poems
I still reference you in conversations.
I still smell your flannels.
I wonder how soft your hair is today.
I kiss the walls of the shower just to hear the same pop our lips would make.
I wish I had endless pictures of your collar bones and eyes.
I wish I had endless access to your thighs and chest and that dot on your neck.
When I *** I say your name.
Your voice recordings aren't the same. I want you to call and put me to sleep with your breath and I want this all without the repercussions.
I want you to be my friend.
And I want the benefit of you being my lover again.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 4:02 AM UTC
There’s a pain in my heart
that’s slowly tearing me apart
because I saw what they did to you.
Visualizing your pain
the agony you went through
I too
am now
suffering.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
You can't confess your feelings then leave me on the curb,
Then pick me up when you want me, boy you have the nerve,
To treat me like ******* trash, and walk around all high and mighty,
Saying how much you hate me and and that my tears were most likely,
The repercussions of your actions because, oh how much I miss you,
Well bull ******* **** without you I feel new,
And now you're at my door step, begging for me back,
Well I'm sorry there bud, I'm done doing laps around the track,
For one stupid boy, who just couldn't treat me right,
You're really just not worth the ******* constant fight.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
What truly is the definition of righteousness?
Is it determined by act or by mind?
They say a good man fights for justice, peace, and prosperity.
But then, can a man of such moral truly remain so
if he turns to violence as an answer?
Does his intent to create marvels render him of moral status
though his methods may empower death and promote war?
Oh, this man is peaceful himself,
taking letters instead of bullets to battle
but his lyrics dislodge society in a manner not all approve
and so begins combat.
Can this soul carry such holy title,
if the repercussions of his strung together words are strung up necks?
Or is the good man the one who turns away from the world's fight
to be his own embodiment of ethical beauty?
For the one who remains silent causes no direct pain;
he himself is passive and tranquil
and moves to inspire such conduct in others without commanding it.
But his silence encourages fierce vehemency and wildness.
Does this fact not taint his name?
The first man had pure intent,
but with his tongue he spit sparks
which others used to ignite a fire and burn the world.
The second did not fight himself
but his chosen hush could never end the blood rain,
and so his lack of sharp verbosity allowed knives to flash and blood to spill.
So I will ask again,
what determines morality?
Though this time with a grounding response;
morals define morality.
Each man's mind renders his own flawless ideal individually,
and so one's perfection will always be another's monstrosity.
In truth? There are no good men,
or at least not one to all.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
Malice ripples
lying low, under
penetrating nightlife strobe.
Repercussions?
None to show.
Limp bodies
'getting loose'
In truth,
injected with poison;
a slow-acting noose.
Repulsive actions of the
vile & depraved
****
endorsed at raves.
Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 4:56 AM UTC
I have always been weary
of putting names in my poems
in fear that I will never be able to take
my confessions back
but when is a good day to tell you
that I have loved you in every lifetime
In the past we were entangled in each other
One life we were shooting stars
another we laid lazily in fields of wildflowers
a love too strong to explain through words
so we didn’t speak
instead you embodied the beauty of spring
a way to remind us of those April days
when nothing existed outside of each other
We hid our love behind buttercups and daisies
maybe that’s why I love to bring you flowers
to feel the flicker of a spark we shared
in a lifetime so long ago
In another lifetime we read quietly together
over coffee in smoky French cafe’s
we underlined passages
that we would read each other in secret
our love withstanding a time
when it was criminal to look at one another
with the type of love we shared
I don’t know if I have ever loved you loudly
there are no muscle memories
of me shouting your name from rooftops
or unapologetically holding your hand
without fear of repercussions
—even now I don’t know how to form the words
“I love you”
without looking around to see who’s listening
even after all this time I love you in secret
I still can’t put your name in my poems
but i promise in one of our lifetimes
I’ll write your name in every poem
and tell you that I’m in love with you out loud
someday the words
won’t feel stuck in my throat
but I hope that’s in a lifetime sooner than later
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 10:02 AM UTC
It was an AR15 that the kid used.
A gun that, in this free world, men can indulge and abuse.
A boy who saw him load his gun,
the gunman saw and simply said run,
A word that made the child flee for his life,
just before waves of bullets came upon the school,
The kid looked on and asked himself
why is life so cruel.
How many more people have to die,
before its ****** metal, not tears, that your children cry.
This free world, rife with argument by silly politicians
Men that make decisions, without experience of the repercussions.
This gunman was not a delinquent, he was a child.
Born of your failed systems, born of your sick traditions.
A boy who without second thought, took up his assault rifle
and headed into war with the children that learned ambition with him,
emotion and sudden movement that made them all feel just that little bit stifled.
This free world is one with a core of rights,
A doubled edged dagger,
a topic of discussion that makes the average fat man want to fight.
‘Over my cold dead body’ he said.
LET ME HAVE MY GUN
Because whilst others use it for fun,
the protection I have outweighs the fact
that when a 19 year old comes to school,
all the other kids have to run.
It’s ridiculous, heck its thoroughly imbecilic,
How children have to be careful of the education system,
not because of a
nationwide test
but a,
nationwide threat
of grown men,
looking to prove their ego,
men that can’t go against the party line
that fail to realise that life is more important
than the next donation
than the dollar sign.
You want protection? That’s completely fine.
Just don’t use the bodies of your children
as meat shields and pretend everything’s fine.
Don’t say you’ll do something as if something will change
because nothing will change unless it does.
This free world is not filled with love but truly its filled with hate,
A bloodlust so dense, even children’s blood cannot sate it’s thirst.
Until it's more than just a child hurt, but a country with a bullet wound
Caused by people, who love guns so much but blame it on the loons.
Your pain, I cannot prove.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 6:46 AM UTC
Long days seem so much longer.
Distance does not make the heart grow fonder.
You’ve conquered the empire of my subconscious.
Your crusade so short,
Yet I hope your reign continues for eons.
We’re far past passive flatteries,
Instead, we fill each other’s hearts with vows.
You mean them now,
But what about a few months?
What if you decide I’m not what you want?
The torment I am slowly approaching,
Consumes my distant soul.
I can hear the sounds of futuristic loathing,
From when you decide this love has taken it’s toll.
So tell me.
How can I pay this inevitable toll?
How can I save us from Cupid’s malicious tyranny?
His arrow is too far lodged within me,
I cannot remove it.
I can only push it farther and farther
Into my heart until it falls out of my back.
But this arrow, trenchant.
Cupid, the sharpest of marksmen.
Yet colorblind, he is.
He sees not what colors his targets represent.
He draws his bow for the pure love of marksmanship.
Sometimes, yet not often,
He will hit the intended target.
But the odds are scarce.
His subjects are often punctured,
And connected to one whom reciprocated Fate’s desire.
Yet this time…
This time…
Cupid must have hit a target of Fate’s approval.
For thrice he has missed.
This time He and Fate are in sync.
This wound may stretch over time,
But the arrow shall remain firmly lodged within my *****
***** and immovable.
Until you kick it through my backside.
But until then,
I can only endure.
I can only be woo wounded.
I can only survive,
Another ambush of the militant called Cupid.
But I will do it for you,
For by you,
I’ve been so divinely seduced.
Wooed by your lips.
Not by your kiss,
But by the music,
Which your mandibles so express.
I desire not to seal this wound,
But to evade its’ repercussions.
For I have endured a similar wound thrice.
He is winged as if an angel,
Yet Was Lucifer not once an angel as well?
Cupid is an impostor.
A spy of Agony, himself.
He prays on the young, the old, the strong, and the weak.
He cares not who he obliterates in his crusades.
He is a bloodthirsty heathen.
He makes scoundrels of Saints,
And Harlots of Housewives.
Saint Valentine is no Saint.
He is Satan’s nightmare.
At first, his arrows are ecstasy,
But like a cancer,
His poison-saturated arrows
Seep deep within every crevice of your body.
They consume you as if enriched with ******
And eventually rot within your *****
Until it is nothing but dust and a memory.
One day I will assassinate Fate’s Malicious militant,
The one we call Cupid.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC
You don't seem to think with Reason;
root Chakra so loud and gratifying.
So very much louder,
and as if that makes it right,
and as if it makes up for
all that lack of self control:
You don't seem to think with Reason,
your root Chakra is your puppeteer.
Playing with Fire,
One gets ******* burnt.
What did you expect? Then again,
you don't seem to think with Reason.
Unbalanced Root Chakra;
so very loud and gratifying,
leaves you cracked and empty;
hollow. Wallowing. I know
this is hard to swallow,
but, do you follow?
You bring it on yourself!
You called it down, summoned it!
You played with Root Chakra Fire
and we're all still getting burnt.
You might have saved yourself,
but I am still enduring it;
Each time I think of Love,
Pain instead comes to Mind
because that is how those I have Loved have treated me.
"You're such a good person", they've said.
Hah! That's either ******** or just insincere,
'cause they've sure as **** shown me
what it is they thought I deserved:
Reap the words of one you've broken down.
Behold the Wrath you've ******* sewn about!
Dark Actions propagate dark Feelings;
Face the repercussions of your Actions:
This is a Reflection of you!
This is a Reflection of what you have done!
This is no appeal to Guilt;
for what good would that do?
--
I guess we must think differently, and that's fine.
I guess I am just so offended
'cause I hold *** with reverence;
To me, *** ******* means something,
and I thought of *** as an extension and expression of our Love and
not just another ******* Addiction.
Turns out it was just another ******* Addiction
and you got your ******* fix,
but where's mine?
You've become just another ******* Addiction
that I am now forced to quit
cold-turkey.
Just another addiction.
(I was) Just another addiction.
(You are) Just another addiction.
Just another ******* Addiction after all.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
The day I lost my Angel,
I traded my love in for something of repugnance,
And I by no means even put up a struggle
I never even spoke, Not even showing a single expression.
I just raised my arms towering to the sky above
I just gave up
I ceased to distinguish who I was.
I became nothing, a soul I hadnt ever met or knew.
I had loved you, A feeling that you out grew.
A love I never knew.
I never once considered the repercussions of my emotions
Or my thoughts.
It’s strange how a single ripple in the sea
Can work to transform everyone and everything it comes in contact with.
Never leaving any inclination of its presence
Or its effect apon the vision that is cast into the waters of prospect.
Now I have nobody left,
No one and nothing at all.
Nothing in my heart or in my soul.
The graceful love I showed you.
But who am I to say.
I am just a guy at heaven’s gate
With broken wings.
Hoping that today is the day I may get in.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 4:01 PM UTC
My words are not my own,
Nor do they belong to my totem frog
Which hippity hops
His way trough my life,
Guiding me towards a metamorphosis,
From drunkard
To enlightened.
He (I) sure am taking his time,
But should/could this journey be rushed?
My poems are not the caw of the crow and/or raven,
She does not sing a song so beautiful that I am moved to purge it least it take up too much of the spare space I have inside of me.
She is my spirit guide,
Turn this way, choose that one (with the pretty smile which makes you ever so nervous),
Do not wear that ridiculous outfit,
Don't even think of-
Too late, now live with the repercussions, idiot.
A ****** of voices.
My muse tickles my lust and embraces my love
But is neither.
She/he dons many faces none of which I have ever seen.
Whimsical ***** ******* of emotional release
I do not know you!
I write your words as they come into my head.
Or I would,
If I could keep up with your maniacal laughter;
You spew nonsense rapid fire, child slaying zombies with Cheetos stained fingers,
And with all the elegance therein.
Yet,
I am thankful indeed.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Excuse me for my hurt,
I know you mean well,
And you want to inspire,
And uplift me,
But language is a fickle art.
One that can make the difference,
Composing tone and the words themselves.
And there is no greater insecurity
Than the one called Me.
Since the very beginning,
I have been openly listening,
Engaging in thoughtful discussion -
The subject of You, the percussion.
I immediately spotted possible repercussions.
I wanted, and I still do,
To know your essence,
But healthy exchanges
Involve equality,
And I don't want to be left hanging,
Feeling like I'm lesser.
I crave knowing the rest of your essence,
But have you no interest
In knowing the same?
Are our minds connected
Of the same fibers
Or are we what we weave,
Being different in how we perceive,
A lifetime of individual strings?
The only Person I should keep in my life,
Making me feel inferior and uninteresting,
Is Me -
And I shall escape that fate,
With unconditional love, and positivity.
I am deeply interested,
In knowing MySelf, loving MySelf,
And to You, who has shown limited interest
In simply knowing me,
You, I choose as a direction of my Purity,
You, unaltered and true,
You, and Me, Alone -
It all, once again,
Always begins with You.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 4:42 AM UTC
Cradling and pacifying,
A gift for enabling narcissism,
Wiping tears and standing strong
Even as the bellows break my spirit.
Never rising
Without repercussions,
Manipulations and invalidations,
Demands for constant zombification.
Fingers inching for cherished blades
Obedience taste bitter.
I should have learned to be docile,
To know when to wither.
Instead I was born with poison
Pumping through my veins,
Chaos in my brain,
And wear wrath as a crown.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 12:46 AM UTC
Beauty out in the open, light falls on linoleum tiles like heel-worn stones
Windows to a sunny world sit at the end of locker-lined tunnels, beckoning beyond fluorescent mazes
Clotted with conversation, upperclassmen stroll like the elderly
Young blood doge or cling to the sides, scared of the critical runway that is us
Windows to a sunny world sit at the end of locker-lined tunnels, beckoning beyond fluorescent mazes
Eyes from all sides, thinking nothing yet are supplied by our own thoughts
Young blood doge or cling to the sides, scared of the critical runway that is us
Finding refuge in educational terrariums, an ecosystem that saves me from the weight
Eyes from all sides, thinking nothing yet are supplied by our own thoughts
Finding solace in stairwells, sealed off by doors and hold awkward opportunities
Finding refuge in educational terrariums, an ecosystem that saves me from the weight
Clanging like a child’s cry releases stress like floodgates, another trip into the shark tank
Finding solace in stairwells, sealed off by doors and hold awkward opportunities
Open doors that are actually closed; they are like aquariums – no tapping on the glass please.
Clanging like a child’s cry releases stress like floodgates, another trip into the shark tank
The longer I stay the more I wish to leave, away from substituted confrontations
Open doors that are actually closed; they are like aquariums – no tapping on the glass please.
Prejudice like heavy rain beats at my skin and soaks my clothes - but I know it was I who brought the downpour
The longer I stay the more I wish to leave, away from substituted confrontations
Must comparisons be so obvious when I walk alone, unprotected? They are lucky to have such equals to act as parents; they hold each other’s hands to keep from drowning
Prejudice like heavy rain beats at my skin and soaks my clothes – but I know it was I who brought the downpour
They pull like vultures at flesh; I am not allowed to wrap myself in hurricanes while out in the open
Must comparisons be so obvious when I walk alone, unprotected? They are lucky to have such equals to act as parents; they hold each other’s hands to keep from drowning
Ignorance is bliss, they say, and truth that is here – the less you know the less hate you bear the weight of.
They pull like vultures at flesh; I am not allowed to wrap myself in hurricanes while out in the open
Look down, one foot – and then the other!
Ignorance is bliss they say, and truth that is here – the less you know the less hate you bear the weight of.
Anger and sadness, guilt and fear turn like Viewmaster slides lit up by the sun
Or am I on my own here? Each boy's path runs along each other like long-exposure stars, leaving streaks between the darkness.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 10:48 PM UTC
A kiss in the blue black dark
Inhibitions lost to drink
But slowly returning
Almost sober, but not quite
Forehead to forehead
Nose to nose
Chin to chin
Mouth to mouth
Resuscitation from this
Dream
Sparks fly between the two
But there are repercussions for that
Hands of another were held so tightly
Lips of another were made slightly wet
With a kiss unorthodox, taboo
Another's ******* pressed to his chest
While trying to make out another's eyes in the dark
A whispered goodnight
An event unregretted
A secret?
Lips that burned for more
But shushed
And feelings unrestrained.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC
.
He doesn't realise...
The weight of his actions and words that pummel her to the ground.
Beating her down for every time she rises up to undo his ropes with which she's bound.
He doesn't see...
Past the darkened lenses that she dons.
She wears them,
not to shield her pride that was wrongfully taken,
but to protect him from the repercussions that would come with accusatory speculations.
He doesn't know...
Of the soaked pillow that accompanied her.
The rivulets of tears...
She had quietly shed without a whimper.
He doesn't hear...
The silent altercation between the treasure that beats in her chest and the thing that thinks in her head.
The struggle that ensues when the mind tries to rescind what the heart had wholly given and carelessly said.
He doesn't care...
To think of the devastating waves that come.
Only to erode the last bastion of hope she nurtures...
This frail wall that she prays for nightly.
Just so that it would hold up through another day's endeavour.
He doesn't feel...
The need for empathy.
For he thinks that he's god with one devout follower.
He commands her loyalty with his deluded testaments
and his fists as sceptre.
She doesn't live...
To see future suns.
For her day finally set when it all came down.
The wall she had feebly held together with her life...
Easily gave way when he came at her armed with a knife.
.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
We overpay to over-eat,
then we feverously attempt
to burn this excess.
To hide our gluttony,
we pay for the gym,
burning precious electricity.
To fit the mold,
of celebrities we pay to idolize,
we desperately lust for perfection.
This vicious cycle,
of over-indulgence combined with
expensive repercussions fuels our desire
to appear modest.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
So I'm a "fly" white guy,
with "Jet" black tendencies,
Try to be a nice guy,
But somehow end up the enemy.
I'll treat you like a princess,
But I'm a fort,
You can't get into me.
It makes no sense to me.
How did this knight in shining armor,
Get slain by the dragon?
So once upon a time,
I was a hero,
Now I'm a has-been.
Last in the castle for I belong with the Pagans,
Slaying distressed damsels,
Giving hell to the angels
With strangers wrapped in mangers,
Destined for greatness.
Trapped within this labyrinth of my cranium.
But when it comes to blame,
My pigmentation begins to change,
But this time it's not my shame.
'Cause you play the same game
That the dames did before you.
You're no different.
You're not worth a fortune.
Fortunately, you revealed your horns for me.
It's torturing how for me it ended horribly,
and you moved on to the same dude you ******* before me.
Love's supposed to be patient,
Love's supposed to be kind,
Instead it's a battlefield
Filled with landmines.
You say it's false,
that nice guys finish last?
Well clarify why I'm starin',
At taillights from my past.
They say when you have everything,
You give nothing back.
So I guess that explains
Why your feelings for me lack.
You're like "You're a white guy,
That tends to be black.
Well how in the hell
Can I get used to that?"
That's ********
You're afraid of commitment.
That's why you had to end it,
Before it could begin with.
You're a cynical, sinister,
Hypocritical minister,
Angelic sinner sent to incriminate innocence.
Evil's equivalent,
Yet as sweet as carcinogens.
If heartbreak were a game,
Girl, you would be winnin' it.
If my soul were a food,
You would've finished it.
I had a confident conscience,
but girl you diminished it.
Listen kid,
I get you're immature and ****
But don't go and slander my name
When you used to worship it.
Love's supposed to be patient,
Love's supposed to be kind,
Instead it's a battlefield
Filled with landmines.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 2:23 AM UTC
I know you’re trying to forget
The lonely words we spilled
With no discussion of repercussions;
Phrases that clung to our skin
And dirtied our souls.
I don’t know if I regret it,
But the memory lingers.
You told me that you would kiss
My lips, my neck, my hips
And that you longed for the touch
Of my gentle fingertips.
We overwhelmed ourselves;
A ****** of desire with no way out.
We were the Apocalypse.
We retreated to our own lives,
Our own beds, our own friends.
I asked how you felt, where we stood now;
And you left me to wonder
Alone.
No matter how many showers I take,
I can’t cleanse myself
Of the hold you gained on me
With your gilded words late that night.
I know you’re trying to forget.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
I never wonder what it would be like for me to not have my disease
But I do wonder what it would be like to be someone without it
What it would be like to not miss school to see a doctor whose specialty my classmates can't even spell
What it would be like not to take a pill every morning
What it would be like to not face the repercussions of not taking my pill one morning
What it would be like not to pay for the Synthroid
What it would be like to not know anything about it
I think it would be quite ordinary
I think I would be weaker for it
not being able to endure the symptoms
I think I would have less initiative
Not having to take my pill for myself at a young age
I think I would be less curious
Not wanting to know more about myself
I think I'm better off for it
I know more about myself
I know more about the world around me
I know more about perseverance
I know more about medicine
I know more about budgeting
I know more about individuality
I would never want for me to not have my disease
I'm a better person for it
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 9:10 PM UTC
The words hurt,
The heart hurts.
My mind is clouded..
I love him,
He's so dear to me.
Like a fire that burns brightly..
Now..
All I see,
Is a dimming light.
Repercussions he says,
Overboard on decision.
To him,
It's just another day without me.
I love you..
I am sorry.
If the repercussions become poison..
Then it ends..
As Valkyrie,
I suspend my feelings.
The bond of wolf and mate.
To go over..
Everything..
To think this decision through.
To plea for sanity,
Would just give you pleasure.
No cope,
No way out.
You are on your own..
My love...
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
I feel so lost and I have misplaced a part of me
Looking for answers in the rubble of emotional debris
How do you rebuild hard earned confidence
Smashed and swept, leaving no remnants
How do you stand on battered knees
And put on an expression that shows no crease
How do you recover something you barely just found
Something that exists neither above or below ground
Try not to limp because the world doesn't really want to know
If you braved through where thistles and thorns grow
They don't really care; In fact they might grow tired
Of the same dirge I insist on having repeated
I'm feeling the repercussions and myself I do blame
For expecting of you nothing less of the same
Only thing I can do is what I do best
Is to revel in overwhelming grief and fallen crest
Be annoyingly frail and exceedingly feeble
Soon may regret because some may deem it intolerable
Get up and chin up or I'll have more to lose
Still retaining the gift of breath I so choose
Pleading into thin air to quell the pain
As I try to piece myself all over again
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
It is my conviction
That life began inside of a dimly lit corridor.
Not with a flash of brilliant light,
Inside of the creator's grand hall.
Not even in the decency of a simple room,
No.
It was an accident that happened when the Gods tripped over their robes,
Simply walking
On their way to the heavenly mess hall for coffee and a drag,
Shaking the proverbial gold dust off of their feet
So that it slipped through the cracks in the marble
And crystallized in random little patterns,
Wherever they happened to step.
Beauty, some are bold enough to call it.
And I'll find it on my face sometimes,
Those golden remnants,
When the weather is warm and I've eaten a little less that day.
I will linger in my mirror to see where they've landed
As I whisper sweet nothings to myself,
Wishing I were worthy of these repercussions of
The Great Biochemical Accident.
But once in a while,
Someone will come along who tells me that I'm wrong.
Once in a while,
Somebody has enough gall,
Somebody has enough, call it grace,
To peel those golden freckles from my face,
And to hold them gently in their palm,
Perceiving them to be precious.
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 8:40 AM UTC
Some people think I make rash decisions
Like I'm not aware
They tell me I should be more careful
I shouldn't assume such positions
That I should use more precision
But am I the only one aware of the time we have here
And how important it is to live without limitations
I don't want to be old and look back in regret and fear
I don't know the repercussions of what I may do
And who I may hurt, may end up hating me too
But sometimes I'd rather have that than never knew
And it's sad, really sad to look back
And see all of your mistakes piling up in stack
And saying hey, things would be different if I hadn't have ****** up so bad
But sometimes funny things happen in life, and can lead you to the right people
And if that's the case than maybe the others were wrong
Maybe life is more than just a sad song
When everybody's all bent from the throng
The song can take a variety of pitches and tones
It's the sound of opportunity that I'm trying to hone
It's hard to keep a clean slate when you're all caught up brunettes and blondes
And alcohol in the name of the yesteryear
All caught up in love and song and you can't seem to grasp the time like it's sifting through an hourglass
Just trying to enjoy my time here, so please don't hold my decisions too seriously
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
*The mind is comfortably numb
Unaware of the repercussions
Holding guard at the gates of Eris
Invoking the discord with intensity
Gazing endlessly at dull perceptions
Anarchy is just a breath away
Holding our breath just to stave away
But the cries of horror are unheard
The mind is comfortably numb*
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 8:16 AM UTC