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Contributed by
ExodusOnWeezer
on
Tuesday, 9th November 2004 @ 02:31:56 PM in AEST
Topic:
DarkPoetry
|
This town
It doesn't feel much
Your head
Bounced as is, such
It's wicked
The way it always turns around
So disastrous
The way you never hear a sound
Wretched is the whirlwind
Tainted pieces begin to fly
A tempest of disaster
But, it's a glorious way to die
The chair
Picked up like a needle from the stack
Tossed up into blissfulness
Crash through the sky, bend and crack
Shattered pieces
Tossed against the floor
Pick them up
Right as you stepped through the door
And step away
Move right back through
Reverse the emptiness
The emptiness that has replaced you
For this town doesn't feel much
And not that it should
Your chance was thrown to pieces
We all knew you would
Copyright ©
ExodusOnWeezer
... [
2004-11-09 14:31:56]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Home
(User Rating: 1 )
by deathdrop on
Tuesday, 9th November 2004 @ 03:28:04 PM AEST
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Info | Send
a Message)
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interesting...
and a little odd if i may say so.
good rhyme.
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Re: Home
(User Rating: 1 )
by Tinkerbell13 on
Sunday, 16th January 2005 @ 12:00:00 PM AEST
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a Message)
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I HAVE TO SAY IVE NEVER READ ANYTHING LIKE IT BUT IT SURE SEEMS LIKE U KNOW WHAT U R TALKIN ABOUT AND OVERALL ITS GOOD
-TINKERBELL13 |
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