LeavesWe walked in the woods, the cat and I, on a blanket of red and orange, half lit in the twilight sun, leaves crunching under our feet, heading in no direction but away. The cold wind whipped past the barren trees, chilling my hands and the tip of my nose. Night would fall soon, but we still followed the trail, two vagabonds, different species, sure, but together at heart. I didn't even know why it was here but the company was nice. Who knows what happened in it's life, maybe it was a half-starved-stray wandering around looking for food, maybe it was tortured by petty devilish children, maybe it was driven out of it's home with a broom-toting hLeaves
Noise envelopes meNoise envelopes me I would think but it's too loud Quiet doesn't help me anyway Color, TV, mind I wish I could escape, just stand up and hide away but I can't and I don't know why Something chained me here. Someone. And I almost have the key, it's just within reach But on second thought a prison bench is kind of comfortable And once I got out, where would I go? It's cold out there, the winds howling. And even feeling the wind across my face, if it was cold, wouldn't feel nearly as good as warm stale air. Right?Noise envelopes me
Rhythms of the clockRhythms of the clock The clock ticked constantly. There was a space between the tick, Mark guessed it was a second, give or take a few milliseconds. Click tick tock, it went in that order, it sounded exactly like that. Only there was that gap, so it was more like click...tick...tock...and it kept going like that, again and again, for forever. Or maybe...it threw in an errant sound every once in a while, like a pock or a crick or a crock. The end-of-class bell rang right on the tock. Mark decided he would see if the clock was a trickster, if it repeated the patternRhythms of the clock
Nobody likes a blurred lineNobody likes a blurred lineNobody likes a blurred line
I see the straight rigid lines on paper, and wallpaper, and the world And when the lines blur People scream, and cry and yell “Nobody likes a blurred line”
And they drag him across the streets on the ground “Nobody likes a blurred line” And they beat him and kill him and spit on his corpse “Nobody likes a blurred line”
And when I sit down and write, I write with nice, pretty, straight lines. Because if i wrote with blurred lines, if I w,r,o.t(E) W(iT7h) Indv9d9inutaly then they would take me too. &nb
Beans
Mesmerized
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I could really go for a radish right now.
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Scolionophobia - Fear of school.
Selenophobia - Fear of the moon.
Sociophobia - Fear of social evaluation.
Somniphobia - Fear of sleep.
these fears are pointless; are you?
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"Tis the curse of the Wordsmith to suffer the flames and embers of the forge of the mind, the product of such labor is art more beautiful then any other on earth; Knowledge." ~R.A.J.
Check out ~IllustratedWall, ~ambrosialin, and ~Krunchette
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