what's wrong with me?I stood in front of the mirrorStaring at my reflectionI asked itWhat's wrong with me?Why do I think the way I do?Why am I the way I am?What's wrong with me?Why do I do the things I do?Why can't I say certain words?Why am I the way I am?What's wrong with me?I kept throwing questions at my reflectionBut it didn't answer meIt just kept staring at meI gave up and went to bedAs I drifted off to sleepI heard a whisper sayingEverything
you're my disaster boyyour fingertips are as cold as the polar ice capsbut i could feel them melting with the global warmingwe both know is staged.your eyes are the insanitycaused by the turn of a millenniumand they're as starved as the supermarket's shelves.your lips taste like the fires predicted four years ago in junebut we both knew that satan wasn't going to destroy the earth then'cause i had my lips on his and his hands were on me.your promises are as safe as the billowing black smokeflying up from the twin towers struck down by a flying machinewe both know wasn't part of a conspiracy.
Mislead LoveA professional lover in jeansA stripper in a suitAn alcoholic anonymous with a waterAn eight year old with a whiskey bottleThe first born child abused by the babyThe baby pampered by the overjoyed newlywedsThere is no reasonAnd there is no rhymeAs to why those peopleAre where they standThey possibly hold onWay too tight to what theyChoose to avoidAnd what they try to haveMislead love can break aLively heartAnd drive it to doUnspeakable things
Envy, Danger, HeartbreakI wish you could see how lost I am.How screwed up my thoughts are when I see you.When I see her...in your arms.I'm listening to songs about lost romance,And broken hearts shattered by solid love.And somehow they remind me of her...not you.My sight goes earthly green when I see you,And when I see you holding her in your arms.The jealousy almost kills me inside.Back when you knew me you knew I wasn't jealous,No matter how much you hung around other girls.That was then and now jealousy consumes me.You used to know me so well,And for some reason it seemed like you didn't think so.But you knew me then...you don't know me now.I changed after that morning into a monster,And I hardly recognize myself in the mirror,With my eyes narrowed and lined in heavy black snakes.I stand taller, with my back straight, and my head up,But don't be fooled, silly friends, I'm just afraid,And I've become a warrior walking to face her death.I'm just another girl in this crowd of kids,And yo
Fuck you, Martin van BurenVampires and Witches; Murder and Sex. It seems that the only thing that comes from these new writers is more stuff to disdain and satire. What character is, physically, has now become the whole point of a story. The plot revolves around nothing except whatever the character is, if the character is anything to begin with. Characters are simply tools used by actors to tell the story; when the plot needs to change, the characters progress in nature. Characters change only when plots do; but the inverse is never true. That the plots change because of the characters. But the two are so close that it seems that either may be substituted as true.The stories which we are fed, the very ones which the public enjoys and holds closer than any sacred text, are the atrocities of literature which should be spat upon. Good books are burned at the stake by the public; bad ones by the writers. Indeed, we have put ourselves into an otiose with walls made of the Great Books so that no progress can be mad
the finish lineTrying to get to the finish lineBut things keep getting in the wayPeople keep needing meBy the time I reach the finish lineI'm old and barely walkingNeeding the help of a caneJust as I'm a few inches awayFrom the finish lineI fall to my death
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