The Circus Grotesque Pt 2
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NadirThey say that poetry is the natural language of the soul Every man is a poet Every man has a soul Not everyone knows IambicNadir
Where the bridge met the barley was where it ended And it never came again and I would say to him “georgie boy I think this is it” and he would say to me “Yeah, I think it is too. You’ve been a great friend” and because he was too modest to ostentate poetically like the rest of us would, I’d say some daft brilliance quoted ad infinitum at graduations barmitsvahs yearbooks it was everything, and it’d impress the guys that didn’t matter but georgi
by ~Neuropathy
We Live Here: 1I did once walk before the glow of the Brilliant Neodeath in the shadows of unthought. I was pre-wrapped and preshrunk in MTV, television glory and I had a chance to walk through the world to see it as the ad execs in Hollywood had made it to be seen. I was living a perpetual insurance commercial, and it felt great. It was an Eden of commercialism and I sucked it up like the leach that I was and named it good. That is what separates me from the posers and plastics down in the bordellos around the grimy ends: I admit that I was not born here. I didn’t come to this life because it was what I knew, no. I was living a happy, white, suburban lifeWe Live Here: 1
by ~Neuropathy
On AltruismThe last time I tried giving to charity, I was met with apathy.On Altruism
The girl looked at me with nothing eyes. And it wasn’t even that her eyes were cold, no, I know this as a common tactic for the manic collectioneer: fear.
So, had it been an angry glare or stare, I might have kicked in a guilty 10. We all know how kindness ends, and the trends of Santa Claus bell-ringers and donor boxes with Lithuanian poster boys predict that the gift of money gets given not only to the driven, but to those who ask nicely.
No, this girl sat in front of the grocery store. I say, she sat in front of the grocery store and gave
by ~Neuropathy
Random Favourites
Brain Deadby `gilad
Through the ThornsI ask you for so little, it's not my fault you're afraid of walking through the thorns. I wanted to forgive you, but how can i forgive when you refuse to forget? You turn around, face away, walk out again, fade out again, what am I to do? I want you to come back to me. I want you to move on. Just let it go, let it go.Through the Thorns
Why is this so hard for you, so hard to understand? You're suspicious, you still doubt what's in my heart is in my heart, I'd never lie to you.
You're the one who's there in tears. This is my question, just give me
by ~Narmowens-Axe
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ssh.. you didn't see a thing.
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It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. Here, nobody touches you. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.
Thank you for the fav! ^_^
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- Demus Viemore
:: Feed-My-Hunger! -Productions ::
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"GUARD ZEE APPLES" >:<
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It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. Here, nobody touches you. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.
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