The Death of GrayA bottle of Riesling.The Death of Gray
Send.
An elderly women with white, buzzed hair and an eye patch is watching me from across the road. She smiles and I can see she was missing a tooth and the gap has since been filled with gold.
Send.
I crave a visit to a planet called Nalextracon. It exists eight hundred million miles past the fourth moon of Usamus, and is a very lovely color teal. I enjoy the ultra violet flowers that bloom at night in the second spring of the fourth sunrise. It reminds me of the prostitute’s lips name Kocaine Kori I met at the iHop on 4th street in Nevada. She tasted like Vanill
In the windVibrating in the wind,In the wind
So apparent and crisp is the memory of his hair Drifting like a mockery
of the ocean’s waves Tangling soft whispers Into something Forgotten years ago
Fingers recede Reluctant to remember A time so engrained in each tip
And still, the wind breathes In and out And his hair dances With a secret it holds So tirelessly
Still, the fingers recede the hair’s dance subsides And not even an echo of a name Is cared to be remembered
However, the air still sings
ClarificationAnd I grind my teeth Pulling further into a mindset So familiar far behind From everything I find in myself To be realClarification
and I collapse
And I cling cry don’t care
At least that’s what I have to tell myself So I can sleep at night breathe And nothing else matters
And I can no longer function Trembling inside Ice cold exterior And I say a brief words And a curious ear clings to them But I leave it vacant
I want to clarify simply But I’m afraid And you have to see this
Center StageShe enters, stage right. Someone in the crowd coughs. Below her bare feet is a translucent glass stage. Her toes, slightly muddy from the outside, muck up the shine and leave dirty memories from each step. She would appear to be gliding, if it weren’t for the rope attached to her slender waist. It tugged at her every attempt to reach center stage where a single chair and table awaited.Center Stage
The table, illuminated by a stained glass lamp, was home to a solitary book. In this book rested a statement—an answer—which the girl sought so desperately to read.
The rope tugged at her waist, disenchanting
Found him
Questionable
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¤ I'm sorry for my english... but I'm french ^^¤
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What if your entire reason for trying in this world was ripped away from you without warning and you were left cold, dry, and lonely in the middle of nowhere in a place you really don't want to be?
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"Who were you before you became you?"
So much work with senior project.
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What if your entire reason for trying in this world was ripped away from you without warning and you were left cold, dry, and lonely in the middle of nowhere in a place you really don't want to be?
--
"Who were you before you became you?"
--
What if your entire reason for trying in this world was ripped away from you without warning and you were left cold, dry, and lonely in the middle of nowhere in a place you really don't want to be?
--
"Who were you before you became you?"
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