|
-The Garden of Tears By Izack Soto (me-_____-)
So many god-awful thoughts have streamed through my head,
I didn't know what to choose or what I should of said.
Do I cut myself and hide, to let out my aggression,
or do I tend myself and let go of my only obsession.
It's like someone shoved a cue ball straight down my esophagus,
and told me to breath or slowly perish on my own carelessness.
I'm alone, looking at a deteriorating flower straight in the eye
I'm so god damn oblivious, I never thought you could actually die.
I'm an inanimate life form. I dont think, breathe, move, or feel.
So why can't I stop this desire, it should be a done deal?
Your are an unconscious craving that I couldn't let go.
It's far beyond my restrained mentality. When it stops, even I don't know.
There is some kind of unpenetrabal boundary, that only time can decode,
but I know I cant do it, because I know what lies down that road.
I want our special love forever, but all you can give is butterfly kisses.
Did i ever hurt you, or is it cupids aim, because it always fucking misses.
I'll never know the answer because of your problems, present and past.
You leave me with vague propagandas, thus, everyday feels like my last.
My nightmare wakes me up. I peer into the mirror, It's broken and corrupt.
Even a blind man can see the rage, envy and depression all ready to erupt.
My ankles and wrist look like barcodes of blood,
but the joy of agony ended up being nothing more than a manipulating dud.
Every god damn day, emptyness and loneliness fill me to the core,
and life without your love and tenderness became such a bore.
Aren't you tired of being weak from dreams that you can't see?
I want to unlock your heart to eternal bliss but only you hold the key.
Why couldn't our inner-infatuation blossom like a flower with no fears?
Instead, we're self-destructive and spawned a garden of tears.
|
There was rain and then there was no rain. There was a drying orange peel on the oak folio next to the open window. There was a man in my apartment.
"What could possibly be better than the color green?" I asked.
"Eggnog." He replied.
I shot him in the face. He didn't respond.
|
Sometimes I wish my own death upon others, it was that nice. At any rate, there was a dry downpour in the forest of madness, which is to say it wasn't raining at all. Once I threw a rock at the sun, and keeping its track with my eyes, I lost it in the glare and it came down and hit my cousin the face who bet me I couldn't throw that far.
|
On July 31 2004 16:29 A3iL3r0n wrote:
There was rain and then there was no rain. There was a drying orange peel on the oak folio next to the open window. There was a man in my apartment.
"What could possibly be better than the color green?" I asked.
"Eggnog." He replied.
I shot him in the face. He didn't respond.
ahaha.
|
Roses are red
Violets are blue
One time my nephew
Ran out back
And took a crap
Next to our shed
|
|
|
[QUOTE]On July 31 2004 17:56 SyntaxError wrote:
[QUOTE]On July 31 2004 16:29 A3iL3r0n wrote:
There was rain and then there was no rain. There was a drying orange peel on the oak folio next to the open window. There was a man in my apartment.
"What could possibly be better than the color green?" I asked.
"Eggnog." He replied.
I shot him in the face. He didn't respond.[/QUOTE]
roflmao
Genius.
|
|
|
|
|
im gonna continue the trend and proclaim a3il3r0n's sexiness
|
The snow fell with the levity of a drunken clown giving eulogy for a dead president. Which is to say, I have no idea how the snow fell. Your mom was there as a tawdry slut. It was a costume funeral. She was embarrassed about what she had to wear, and complained for weeks beforewards that it was stupid they had to draw lots for who should wear what. But then, everyone wanted to be Carebears and then it would be a themed funeral which wasn't the idea. She argued that a themed-funeral is a type of costume-funeral, but was corrected correctly in that the theme-funeral is a sub-genre of the costume-funeral and that she should shut up.
|
On August 01 2004 00:06 A3iL3r0n wrote:
The snow fell with the levity of a drunken clown giving eulogy for a dead president. Which is to say, I have no idea how the snow fell.
ROFL keep writing
|
oh shit, i jsut read it, hahah...
|
stimey did gg this thread =]
The worst writing (this is also super funny):
http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/
examples:
The bone-chilling scream split the warm summer night in two, the first half being before the scream when it was fairly balmy and calm and pleasant for those who hadn't heard the scream at all, but not calm or balmy or even very nice for those who did hear the scream, discounting the little period of time during the actual scream itself when your ears might have been hearing it but your brain wasn't reacting yet to let you know.
--Patricia E. Presutti, Lewiston, New York (1986 Winner)
On reflection, Angela perceived that her relationship with Tom had always been rocky, not quite a roller-coaster ride but more like when the toilet-paper roll gets a little squashed so it hangs crooked and every time you pull some off you can hear the rest going bumpity-bumpity in its holder until you go nuts and push it back into shape, a degree of annoyance that Angela had now almost attained.
Rephah Berg, Oakland CA (2002 Winner)
|
He laughed benignly because hadn't heard what was said and didn't care enough to stop the conversation to find out. If time is represented by the ratio of perception divided by infinity, then everyone else engaged in livelier discourse was aging at a faster rate. He wondered aloud what would happen if he bit off his own nose, and then immediately dropped his bowels to draw attention from his commentary faux pas. The dress he was wearing didn't catch much of it, but enough so that he would not be able to return the dress after the party.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
EPT![[image loading]](http://stimey.isgsa.org/abuse/stimey4.jpg)
![[image loading]](http://stimey.isgsa.org/abuse/stimey5.jpg)
