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Literature Text
there's this light in your eyes and I cannot see
beyond the scope of words presented to me.
there's this place I wish I could be
but such this distance is lost at sea.
the mind is a tricky thing
with tubes connecting and ebbing
the spheres in your skull annul and sing
of this intricate spiders spinning webbing.
these words are fake and lack luster
and all I try is to speak through my eyes
the purpling face from all I can muster
an invocation of the invitation to just help them realize.
I don't know if I spin or flee
but I kindof just wish you'd come to me.
a touch or a brush the fingertips dressed in lace
the curved bone lined in flesh of a coming sinner and redeemer
to invoke thee in their common grace
in expression of some sort of reliever
so I can finally feel in place
in this space.
so sing and sigh
we all know why
words lose meaning and all I see
is your screaming eyes staring back at me.
there's much unsaid and left for dead
but I believe in a rebirth
kindled from this hearth
this fire roaring and festering and free
and I know simply we can just be.
beyond the scope of words presented to me.
there's this place I wish I could be
but such this distance is lost at sea.
the mind is a tricky thing
with tubes connecting and ebbing
the spheres in your skull annul and sing
of this intricate spiders spinning webbing.
these words are fake and lack luster
and all I try is to speak through my eyes
the purpling face from all I can muster
an invocation of the invitation to just help them realize.
I don't know if I spin or flee
but I kindof just wish you'd come to me.
a touch or a brush the fingertips dressed in lace
the curved bone lined in flesh of a coming sinner and redeemer
to invoke thee in their common grace
in expression of some sort of reliever
so I can finally feel in place
in this space.
so sing and sigh
we all know why
words lose meaning and all I see
is your screaming eyes staring back at me.
there's much unsaid and left for dead
but I believe in a rebirth
kindled from this hearth
this fire roaring and festering and free
and I know simply we can just be.
Literature
Breaking the Schedual
Wake up, Shower, brush teeth, get dressed, make breakfast, bring mom food; she won't get up, wake up Sophie, feed her, get her ready (be quiet, we don't want to wake up dad), pack our lunches, take the back door (dad was hung-over in the front room), take Sophie to grade school, go to high school, Math, Science, Religion (what a bunch of crap), Lunch, Art, leave as fast as possible, pick up Sophie; mom never will, take her home (we can use the front door, dad's already at the bar), make supper, help Sophie with her homework, put her to bed, do own homework (in my room; dad comes home at eleven), go to bed, let Sophie crawl into my bed (anothe
Literature
Unease
The world will face its early end
When scorn becomes the new trend
The remaining hope is our sense
Only we can save the world from its absence
Literature
Heroshipping...
Pokemon fan fiction short
Heroshipping
Skit
“Who the hell is this kid?” Ray asked as a general question, starring down at the red headed boy in front of him who glared back with emerald green eyes.
“Why don’t you try asking me what my name is?” He demanded.
“Oi! They make them so feisty now a days.” John commented to one in particular, “Especially the short ones.”
“I thought we were supposed to be meeting someone who belongs to a shipping that the author just found out about.” Cody said, “It can’t be this kid, can it?”
“Colosseumshipping is the only
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