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Gliding in the merry skies, Foraging hundred night kinds, Trapping fast rifts of hills, Make haste as the fairies fade, Eerie mundane grimoire or fragment,
Standing straight on a plateau, Overlooking an arch by the meadow, Gazing into streams of pinwheels, Overshadowed like the ghosts of vinyls;
Vide la catastrofe e la chiamò bellaVide distruzione e la chiamò coscienza. Hai visto una stella collassare Ordinati a numeri primi gli universi incrociati a perfezione,una sterile bellezza
Riding in trees, Falling off treatise, Gendering yearning souls, Trying the caste of cells, Postering high miracles,
I sat like a pigeon with a brain, Curiously wondering about visuals that retain, I spoke no words nor committed deeds; It was all meaningless,
When we finally sleep, The carnival will come. Wind will strip dye from our gowns, The corn will grow wild, And the carnival will come.
The silence is suffocating, Swadling all within my sight. The light outside is deprecating, But I'm not ready for this night. I recall the dream of midday, When the sun embraced grass and stone,
The poet's dead, the song is gone. With dying breath and failing brawn, He whispers a foreboding phrase: "The nights are spent, you waste your days."
Lisa Frank is dead, She's buried in the ground, And with her lies our childhood, Still, without a sound. With every generation, A passing interest dies, Wait a couple decades,
We are all standing single file waiting for our turn to plunge into the deep, dark abyss. At night I wonder, how often do two lives end in perfect unison on opposite sides of the world?
Hickory, dickory, dock. Three mice ran up the clock. The clock struck one, and down two run, mourning the terrible loss.
I rejoice in sharing the earth With someone so lovely as you. I think of your face and I'm filled with mirth; My joy and happiness can't be subdued. But despite this thrum of ecstasy, I carry great trepidation,
Once upon a timeI was turned into a spoon.All because my masterWas acting a buffoon. It started when a witchknocked on the castle door.She said she wanted sheltersome food and nothing more.
I couldn't think of anything I hated more than Nihilism. And Nihilists. And anything that has anything to do with Nihilism. I hated it. It's starting to make sense, though.
People don’t matter.To assumeIs insaneIt trulyWould have no impactIf I were gone, ICan’t believeIMean more than what we are taught to believe.We know that weDie.
there are hundreds of cities and every single oneis filled with thousands upon thousands of people sitting in cow face grinning but also trying real hard not to move because theywill be shot in the heada girl in gaborone cries for a dead pet (she
Here I watch the crowds scatter Vast amounts of doubts gather I've steered my train of thought, trained the brain to block out chatter Town after town, I traded what I had known
Looking down, curling broken feet, through the pungent odour of burnt cotton, My clothes are burned, flesh cavernous and scarred,
I never thought I'd slip this hard.
I'm like a pebble I've never been anything more than something as common as that However, it's that very average, common pebble that the not-so-average shoe kicks around.
Are you really you? Creature of my image seen Tangibly nothing
I left this one blank. There is no freedom. It doesn't stop. NOTHING IS EVER BLACK AND WHITE
The clergy plays their swan song You cry out it's all wrong No one notices over their song Leather skin the casket holds The corpse didn't even get to see twelve years old
I hate myself,I hate my wealth,If I could give,Then I would live,Nothing would be mine,As nothing is divine,
I've tried to make sense of it all, but reasoning fails, which leaves me falling down again, to where I began to misunderstand this life. If the only absolute is the knowledge that there's no truth,
Dead man walking Sentened by the boss Look who's talking Sorry for the loss Dead man walking We'll get there somehow But where are we now? Let's get rolling
I suddenly realized (at five years old) Death applies to me too That children become grown-ups who become grandmas who were the ones who died And I was a children.
Faces passing by bland grey in the corner of my eye To think I see them every day again and again along my way they don't know my name I don't know theirs if one goes missing no one cares
I am passable and passing Neither commended Nor condemned And soon to be concluding
I don’t want to do life today So I think I’ll just lie here I’ll be a Neo-Nietzsche Since life won’t do me either What good is a body That only sees despair It’s not white or phallic
Okay – so there’s this girl at the Back of the class – and she’s always Got her nose in the pages of a book – I mean he’s never even seen her face, That’s how much she’s literally ingrained