some writings
1)A risky game
A desolate existence
A lost potential
A remarkable tenacity
A chaotic calm
Why do we follow these paths we've laid out before ourselves? There's something more beautiful out there if only we could surrender.
2)How gracefully redundant we are, slipping back into our old habits that we swore we'd swear off.
3)come slowly sweet slumber
for the bitter morrow will leave
a taste in my mouth i cannot conceive
come closer dear sorrow
let me gaze into thy face
a deeper knowledge with one embrace
come quickly hateful death
my life is vanity
meaningless and fleating
full of insanity
4)Filth
Sitting in my own filth.
Do I fail to recognize it?
Not just recognize it
Because recognition is an easy feat;
But do I feel it?
Do I feel it encrouching over my body?
Filthy and dirty.
Do I want to be clean?
Lying in my own filth
And feeling the shame in which it embodies.
A heaviness that I cannot explain.
I do desire for it to be taken away
But not by my own working to get it done.
Bathing in my own filth.
When I try to get it off
What I don't see is that it is soaking
And seeping into my skin.
The longer I bathe,
The more it sets in.
The more I wash,
The dirtier the soap gets.
So I say to myself, "What's the point?",
As I'm sitting in my own filth.
i couldnt remember what i had posted on here b4 and what i hadnt and im too lazy to look back right now... so dont judge me!
A desolate existence
A lost potential
A remarkable tenacity
A chaotic calm
Why do we follow these paths we've laid out before ourselves? There's something more beautiful out there if only we could surrender.
2)How gracefully redundant we are, slipping back into our old habits that we swore we'd swear off.
3)come slowly sweet slumber
for the bitter morrow will leave
a taste in my mouth i cannot conceive
come closer dear sorrow
let me gaze into thy face
a deeper knowledge with one embrace
come quickly hateful death
my life is vanity
meaningless and fleating
full of insanity
4)Filth
Sitting in my own filth.
Do I fail to recognize it?
Not just recognize it
Because recognition is an easy feat;
But do I feel it?
Do I feel it encrouching over my body?
Filthy and dirty.
Do I want to be clean?
Lying in my own filth
And feeling the shame in which it embodies.
A heaviness that I cannot explain.
I do desire for it to be taken away
But not by my own working to get it done.
Bathing in my own filth.
When I try to get it off
What I don't see is that it is soaking
And seeping into my skin.
The longer I bathe,
The more it sets in.
The more I wash,
The dirtier the soap gets.
So I say to myself, "What's the point?",
As I'm sitting in my own filth.
i couldnt remember what i had posted on here b4 and what i hadnt and im too lazy to look back right now... so dont judge me!