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Open your eyes.long have they waited for you to wake.One hundred years ago, they saw light.Don't you think they deserve to again?  
​churchyard blackberriesteeth burst purple sweetnessno tiger needed   
The lightning strikes on society, Society split into two.  Zues’s bolt creates a divide that has never been so vast. A divide bigger than Mount Olympus,
The lightning strikes on society, Society split into two.  Zues’s bolt creates a divide that has never been so vast. A divide bigger than Mount Olympus,
Trying to relax on the night shift I put up the sign, it says we’re closed tonight, nice and bright But they keep knocking at the door Can’t they read the sign?
My mind is a labyrinth. I am trapped in an endless cycle of fear. I am so afraid. I know what I must do… I must leave the garden, The only place world I have ever known. I must leave His grace.
My mind is a labyrinth. I am trapped in an endless cyle of fear. I am so afraid.  I know what I must do . . . I must leave the garden, The only place world I have ever known. I must leave His grace.
My chest rises and falls.  Rises and falls. I’m still breathing, but to him I’m nothing at all. Days and days past,  I’m forgotten and betrayed.
The moving force was slow and steadyWith wheels that groaned "Are we there already?"The complex grinned with sandy windows,"Say goodbye to your driver, fellows.I've come to wrench her from your seats
The fairness isn't really fairThere’s nothing real with all your flair You can't reclaim love with who was your pair Because who was special is now wi
Dear Happiness,   Why do you cease to exist and yet are eternally present at the same time?   What is the reason that you are far away
Dear Beautiful, How can I say that I lived enough if I didn't know who you was You entered my life like a tour bus So I chased you and this time it'll be the two of us This is a new year and a new me
God drifts his fingers Through Spider nest clouds as their Creatures scatter down. Scurrying feet and Panic induced webs trickle
I was caught between a rock and a hard place. The ancient cliché was literal. I was in the dust storm and the moon seemed tiny. 18 was the number and it seemed it would stay that way. 22 was the catch; I was ready for release.
My love For thunderclouds And rainy nights Is like my love For you   Cold and depressing.  
Love is a four-letter word Accompanied by a hashtag before it And an idyllic image of feet and hands and sun and sand shortly after Love is a catchy little tune
Ravenous, uncouth fillled with rage On a low-lit night sprawled and lost Stands a king to be, panicked, distraught Soaring with disgust at fates new page   The new king he must be, a king this dawn
A ring of ire, a plate of golden hue, Black streams of pain and worry just for you. A flame so bright it blinds the mind from truth Beneath the mask, you are decaying youth.
What happened to us? It used to be all about waving, gallantly streaming, nice, shiny patriotic ideals, but now it's all about grabbing. We grab fame, power, people, countries.
"Never again" History's a cruel mystery But how clever a pen Cinema's sentiment's more cinnamon-sweet We're amateur janitors just been sent in to sweep Epilogue for a demagogue when we set him asleep
What causes the waves to destroy themselves and dismember as they touch the sea shore?Is it the commonality of the reality that in actuality... the waves are temporary?
My world was small, but you showed me   Wings built to carry all that I am. Are you aware of my changring heart? Melting away and molding into something new. In this moment,
I stopped looking for monsters under the bedWhen I came to see they lived in my headWhoever tells of a monster that hidesNever had one to abide besideOh, full of scorpions is my mind
To crave action and to think of stars To cry diction and to sing of words To silently speak the happenings Of Carl's good and dead grandmama   To eat passion and to write of moons
Poetry was Othera phenomenon,I went to uncoverthis peculiar lexicon  
Nowadays most people think that if you have money you have power They’re not wrong You do have power You have the power of gaining fake friends You have the power to open alluring doors to negativity
The happiest absolute of life to live, would be to start the work, unnamed, in death, But confused above this harsh world, I'd died a worker with the riches. That everything you wouldn't lose,
Pretty Little Lady, with your roses and your scars, Pretty Little Lady, with your eyes as bright as stars, Pretty Little Lady, with your bruises and your laugh, Pretty Little Lady,
In the direction of which my heart relies, I find my own warmths life support To embrace the endless swirling sky, my towers never err and fall short
Here lays a story to be told of Angels and Mermaids and Knights (with strange names) and royalty of princesses and princes the same, and none of which were servant’s saviors but all of them killed her further.
The last glimpse of Amber and burgundy, After the bombing and the raid, As his flesh is kissed and licked away  By pincers of roiling flame.
Ordinary. Is what we are without all the excess Is what the world looks like day to day
If I Lose Myself... Gabriel Reyes   I am no ideal person But I am exemplary. If I lose Myself... I have lost everything.  
It all began on a windy day, When I held my carved heart on a plate, And that was when she tapped her heels, Afraid of the fact I was hollow.   I held my carved heart on a plate,
I've learned many things In the eighteen years of my life, Many of them being rather disconcerting. Perhaps to you, But not so much to me.
Black sleek wings tinted with blood Death dark eyes devoid of love
So there I was, awaiting joyous as the hour drew more near us When the man would come and join us, my dear love and his Lenore. I crossed the room, nervously pacing, playing with my dress’s lacing,
Traps entangle the young soldiers’ feet. They march carefully forward, Hoping to avoid being caught in the scheme.   The trenches of which they follow, Are the source of the younger generation’s,
I do not think that they will sing for me, My loves, my Muses, my Fates Three. Whose voice is oft forgotten? Bleached white, coal black, rust red from ill use. Will they not speak? Hearken! I feel them -- now,
‘Tis sweet thither sun, atop th’ wavèd sea. Lone candle in darkness, from whence it hath risen.
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