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My wounds will never heal. Just like they never have
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Your shaking hands Am I too fragile to touch,
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But this is worth my living soul:
The very light of my being
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Bleeding knuckles
Have been pounding on these walls
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Bleeding knuckles
Have been pounding on these walls
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Loving mother masochist,
Bless me with your touch.
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It's the days like these
Where I look out the window
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You know me I'm the one that always answers
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It was the feeling of the earth Breaking away beneath my feet
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Today I smiled before I knew
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I wept the night found out you were gone I screamed your name at the top of my lungs.
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I wonder what's playing I'll turn on my head
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Part I: [Apology] I make too many mistakes,
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I have conquered consciousness br
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If the people have truely seen me for who I am, how is it that none know exactly what I am worth? Many times I have been mistaken for a chi
by emo the hero
0 lines, 3 comments,
on Nov 22 12:16 PM 2006
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Am I just a representation that students need not the mind of an educator to learn, knowing that only the mind, concrete and abstrac
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What to think of the world when the world thinks nothing of you...
What to do when everything you love is slipping away
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All those things I say to try and make you smile
Time flies by so fast
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Welcome to my mind:
If you want to die I suggest you take a right.
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Part I: [Apology]
I make too many mistakes,
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Part I: [Sweeter Dreams]
Goodnight mother,
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Love is a game of capture the flag: my heart is the flag, and you always win.
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The little "hello’s I used to leave you,
On the phone when I knew you were asleep,
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Step outside and look at the skies
Something you never imagined is about to happen here.
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To be alone is to be crowded with thoughts,
and being surrounded makes me wish I were lost.
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Mercurous skies,
Red and rusted,
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if i could touch the sky
i would reach for a star
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On the sidelines of a darkened alleyway,
Against a wall cast with shadows
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I'm a chick.
This chick kicks dick.
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My angel queen
So much more beautiful than any other angel's dream:
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Here on this day I swear to you,
I will keep you forever because our love is true.
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Why must the day dread the nightfall?
Why must hours pace and never rush?
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Aye, lads and lasses gather all around,'Tis the day in the month of March the Irish come to town.Leprechauns, four leaf clovers, and cherished pots of g
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He was a man,
No ordinary man:
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