thexdecemberist

Opened the window, And as the cold air hit. The snow touched me, As the birds passed by above. The inspiration came, And strangled my love, When I could not get the pen to write, And felt sick after eating too much strawberry jam. With coldness that doesn’t rise, And steal my beautiful imagery, turning it into a speeding disaster. The text message, And smell of apples, Cars and rain, Soaking shoes. Dead eyes and thundering minds, Oh the minds! I couldn’t tie them, unless I had a rope, But even then they would rumble, on. Lights and lights, oh what life, With all the lights, Moving, They don’t crack ju

The rain has far away cleaned our lips of words, perfectly, Of every remaining one, As moths have broken into our dreams far way back, When he found himself not playing the game he was there, way far back. Honesty mightn't help now. But hope is dead, so; Often, when weather (or climate) has no more some effect, on anything. Still rain be the favorite musical of Your-self, you, with additional dazzle you stare. Then, every day is Like a day made for banana fishlet, Or fish.

Fall and cry, players They are only verses. Don’t worry, players They’re beautiful, But they're only verses All poets are but small boys, That never made it. They don’t write poems on mirrors With mascara pens. They lay during nights, With a sore neck, Small black notebook, And blindly They write, Until-due to lack- of- sleep- Their heads collapse. They are done with. Forever over. Over like Dover. They are poets, They are poets. They! Are poets. And you, as we sit here, Are one of us. Rid yourself of pain, players! Poems are but verses. Throw away your weapons, players! Throw away your boundari

Tegan and Sarah, look at you Is this honesty becoming a passion Or a drug As it has both effects But breaking out Is obviously less honest Useless Unbiased objective and straight But it has no eyes And it is a lie When eyes hurt and choose I know it’s come Airless toohot toocold toolate Gives ideal condition Decision between the centuries Decision between the lines (Freedom in the middle of them all) Which is hurtful; there is no between the lines, as there is NO BETWEEN the lines. And if there is, which there isn’t, why would it matter? (Fools only cry) you; because why would LINES- EVER MATTER? ! Shouts. The hol