Broken UpBroken up. Fucked up. Mixed up. Had enough.Broken Up
Get me out of this town, I want to sneer at their faces. Take me out of this place, I’m going to burn this thing down.
We’ve broken up. You’ve fucked up. I’m mixed up. I’ve had enough.
My head tells me you’ve changed, My heart keeps saying you’re the same. I guess I’ll never know the truth from lies, Like the rest of your victims, the other guys
Now that we’ve broken up, You should know you’ve fucked up. And after si
The Meaning of LifeI'm staring down the barrelThe Meaning of Life
of a water bottle trying to find the
meaning of life
I search the darkness of my home, finally
no longer alone but still lonely
What am I doing here? in my heart in my mind I wonder
Have I wasted my time? the bottle lies empty, the darkness stares back at me
And out of the gloom behind the glare I can see her face, perfect, and beautiful
her chest rises, falls, rhythmically, peacefully and I no longer wonder about the meaning of life
Industrial RevolutionHard halogen lights pierce the night sky like lances from behind the hill of concrete rubble and scrap metal before us. The echoes of clanking metal, grinding gears, and creaking plastic surround us; we hear the sounds of servos winding in their sockets and pistons firing inside of our chests instead of breath. Like a swarm of carrion birds moving in for the kill, we mount hill of slag and stone and charge down into the blinding sea of light and noise, our hands coming alive, and pouring lightning and fire down into the unknown. Fire meets fire in the air, passing without notice or hesitation, and suddenly we are being torn apart, our arms anIndustrial Revolution
The Timid Voice of CreationI am the dancing fingertips, and the timid voice of creation I wonder if my voice will be heard over the pounding surf I hear the ocean of voices, each of them crying to rise above all others I see the violence of that place, and each crashing wave destroys my hope I want a purpose, I want a place; but not here, not like this I am the dancing fingertips, and the timid voice of creationThe Timid Voice of Creation
I pretend that I am not scared, but fear has stopped still my beating heart I feel as if I were pushed, herded into that gaping mouth of chaos I touch the cold, surging torrent of water, and feel violated &
The Unexpected
Neutral
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My boyfriend eats grass
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