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IdeasType type type
type type type.
There's ideas about
but I don't know exactly
what to write this time.
I'm stuck. This time I
Have ran out of ideas
And I write nothing.
The things I write may
Not make full sense to you
But they will to me.
I hit the keyboard
Slowly writing all these words
To submit something.
I hear the sound of
Nothing but my fingers on
the keyboard, typing.
Type type type
type type type.
AuraStare at it, almost.
Concentrate a different part of your eyesight into the object. Eventually, it will show itself to you. The coloured glow on everything object, living or inanimate. For some people, it will take some training. For others, its instant, like turning on a switch.
I'm the latter. I didn't know a point in time when I didn't see them. Of course, a younger version of myself didn't understand what these colours were, or why I could see them around my teachers when I was bored, when their endless talking was replaced by my pure curiousity.
That's problem what started this whole thing off. My curiousity, my desire to know things, my need to look into it more, to understand it. I found a book at the library and borrowed it. I must've had it for 3 months, renewing it each time, before I eventually bought it, regardless of the strange look from my father.
He didn't understand. Neither of them do.
That doesn't matter. What matters is that I know
MotherDo you feeling lonely, Mother?
Loneliness is the feeling of being lonely.
I am never alone, because, I have you.
Not in body, but in spirit.
And sometimes, Mother, I feel so alone
Dad, he left you, you told me,
When you told him that you had me
So now, I don’t have you or him and
I’m so alone.
Is it lonely in heaven?
Or did you find Grandma and Granddad
Up there with you,
Are you reunited with them?
I miss them, even though I never really
And I miss you too, Mother,
I wish you didn’t have to leave me
Today, I’m getting married, Mother
And I wish you were here with me
I no longer feel lonely, Mother,
But I miss you all the same.
My baby’s 18 today, Mother
And she’s asking about you
I told her you were up in heaven,
With the angels, not with me.
Tonight I’m going to die, Mother,
My wife she’s crying too.
But inside of me, I’m happy, Mother,
Because I’m coming to see you.
You're not sorryI sat in my room, gently strumming on my guitar singing softly a song I knew all too well. After all, it fit perfectly to how I was feeling right now.
All this time I was wasting
Hoping you would come around
I've been giving out chances every time
And all you do is let me down
And it's taking me this long
Baby but I figured you out
And you're thinking we'll be fine again
But not this time around
I rested my head on my guitar, I named it Peach, because of Princess Peach. It was Matt's idea.
I knew that it would've come to this eventually but it just hurt so much. I really did love him, once. But he's changed and he just keeps shouting at me, saying I've interrupted his 'gaming time'.
Each night I've cried myself to sleep or not slept at all because I'm so scared of being alone. I've been with Matt for 3 years now but it's over between us and I never thought that would happen.
You don't have to call anymore
I won't pick up the phone
This is the last straw
Don't want to hurt any
Like, why do we use 'like' so much?It's, like part of our language now.
At the very least, you might hear it in part of a conversation. For example: "And she was like, and I was like, and she was like" etc. This is one of the many of the ways that young people (including myself) especially, use the word like in the incorrect way.
But why do we use 'like' so much? It comes from being a filler, something we put in as a form of a pause. Similarly to how we might use "um" or "erm". "It is not a lazy use of language, that is a common fallacy among non-linguists," says John Ayto, editor of the Oxford Dictionary of Modern Slang. "We all use fillers because we can't keep up highly-monitored, highly-grammatical language all the time. We all have to pause and think." 
A study by Language Log found that the biggest users of the word like is not by young people at all - it is in fact by middle aged men. 
The study looked into how often particular people said the word like in a conversation. T
There's going to be a murderThere's going to be a murder in town today
And everyone's decided to go.
No one knows who or how or even when
But they all want to know.
There's going to be a murder in town today
And everyone is on their toes.
Who will kill and who will be killed?
They'll all be at the show.
There's going to be a murder in town today
And everyone wants to see
Which of us will die and which of us will cry.
So will you go with me?
UntamedLost in the reality
In between molecules of dust
I grasp and search for solid ground
But I'm transparent
All the complexity
All possibilities of existence
Pour into me in one moment
And mindlessly fill my mind
I dissolve instantly
The corporeal shell crumbles
Until the last drop
Of my sanity flows away
Lost in the world
I see all but myself
I am everything plugged in
I am space-time untamed
ScarsSee the sharpness of my tongue-nib
As the metallic taste in my mouth draws out
A barking cough, forced out
By the dirty nicotine lining my lungs.
See the blade of stubbornness
That slices across my cheek bone;
An amalgamation of all the times you pushed me.
See the residue in my eyes,
The remnants of all those times you forced me
And I forced myself not to cry;
Those tears condensed into a thick blinding syrup
That colours all things red.
See the crinkle in my nose,
The wrinkles on my heart
As I remember how you didn't love me. (Don't love me).
See the burns on my psalms
And fingerprints singed off
By all the times you called me nothing.
See the manacles, the barnacles
The mutations and tumours.
See the invisible scars of the Battle of Us.
MyselfThe jar of tears has fallen to pieces, lost are the memories from within the creases.
They've all abandoned me, my silent friends, our bonds have withered beyond their ends.
So predictable this scene truly was, the girl who fell from not a single cause.
Twas my own fault, for I banished all help, rotted to pieces within myself.
Though alas a mark has been etched within stones, "My soul lives forever without my bones."
Never Quite There They walk. It's numbing, the monotonous step, step, step. But they can't stop; not now, not ever. Driven on by fear and pain, all they can do is keep the rhythm and not break rank.
There's no stopping for food. They don't need it, but if they did, there would be no time. Night, day, twilight, dawn, it doesn't matter; they can't stop moving. Phantom whispers of the wind caress their faces, and still they walk. If anyone looks at them, they are unseen; eyes pass through them as if they don't exist. As if their troubles, their pains, their desperation, don't exist. Like the burden of traveling without end is not real.
Cursed: that's what they are. Forever forced to stumble along, shouldering their rifles and hoisting up ammunition belts, waiting for orders that will never come. Still they trudge along, thinking, "Just one more hill."
Once, they felt love, grief, fear; anything anyone
DifferentI see them on the streets
I am just like them
I feel the same as they do
I am the same
But I chose this
To be different
I saw their cruelty
And I could not bear it
I don't think they can either
Silent BoyThere once was a child,
Who never spoke a word.
He never changed his face,
Never cried when he got hurt.
Those dearest to him stood away,
They didn't know what to do.
And since they treated him in silence,
Silence became the only thing he knew.
As the years passed and he grew
He still remained the same,
Never speaking to anyone
And for that, no one ever came.
He was always picked on,
Someone always had something to say;
Either 'you are dead inside',
Or 'your life is wasted away'.
Through all the insults, the words,
The bruises, and the pain,
He tolerated it all, turned away,
He remained silent, he never changed.
His life kept getting worse.
He was no longer shown love,
He was just another silent boy
Who only deserved another shove.
No one ever showed sympathy.
No one saw that he was torn.
No one ever saw him as a person.
To them, he wasn't even born.
But he did learn how to feel,
The dormant feelings finally awoke.
The agony he felt towards their words,
The pain from the hits and words
DisappearWishing to disappear
never to existed in their mind
no reason to cheer
this is why I was designed
there's a cloud over me and its raining knives
all smiles are faked
no one hears his cry's
as he sits there shivers and shakes
doesn't even try to reach out because there's nothing there
only my own numb stare
no desire to fight the devils wrenches
would anyone notice if I could disappear
because Im starting to feel warm in these trenches
would they even shed a tear?
Sick of the acting
let me compost with the dirt
live????..... ill think Ill be passing
lets make sure this hurts
still wishing to disappear
lets seal this coffin with a drop of blood and a tear
Money, money, moneyMoney, money, money.
I laugh even though I don't find it funny.
How stressed I am because of my lack of money.
How much my life actually depends upon it.
How much the fate of my future actually rests upon it.
How easily you can lose friends because of the lust for it.
How friends can become enemies just because of the hunt for it.
My stress levels increase to the point where I have had enough of it.
I bury my woeful head because I know it is impossible to run from it.
Although I will always need money, I will never have any love for it.
Without money would there be such a thing as rich and poor?
Will the streets still be filled with homeless people and whores?
Will there be any volatile countries wanting to wage a war?
Will there be any destitute and desperate individuals breaking the law?
Will there be any ambitious individuals wanting to break through the door?
What kind of future will this world have in store?
Will there be any reason for living in this world anymore?
Money comes, m
Soul SistersWe're so close, You and I.
Nothing can keep us apart.
When we're not singing together,
eating lunch together,
But all those hugs
We do together
Had us labeled as 'lesbian'
Yet they hold hands,
Kiss each other
And they're not labeled that way?
I guess it's because they're
And we're just
Is it so strange to have one
Friend that is like a sister to you
That you can spend every moment together?
Without having to be labeled as 'Lesbian' or 'Gay'?
Keep in Touch!
Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More