Self ExplanatoryGross or not, fact is fact. Truth is truth.
Bullshit is Physics and AP Psychology.
That is all.
Insomnia is...Feet propped on her desk, sweater pulled tight across her chest, she types frantically, fingers swimming breaststroke and even across liquid keys. There's stuff on her mind, anxious fluff and bittersweet memories that she needs to spit out, copy paste from an all too malleable desktop to a more reliable one. She's worried that someone might walk in, open her door without knocking-which she hates with a passion for good reason-and see her spilt soul pooling on the floor beneath her chair, but she's more worried that she won't get everything out before it dissipates, slips thru tight fingers completely.Insomnia is...
It's the whole "tack the jel
So closeAnd maybe she's more afraid of losing you when she's just so close to having you.So close
But then again, she's never been one to feel like she needs someone else to complete her. Everyone else just thinks she's completely confused. And wrong, but they leave that out in their heart to hearts because they don't want to argue with someone as hard headed as her. No, they know she'd be making a big mistake by walking away.
But honestly, she can't see the line between right and wrong anymore and doesn't really care enough to try and find it. So, what she plans to do it blindfold herself, take a running start and jump as far as s
ConfusedHe’s one of those guys that don’t like to stand out. He’s also one of those guys that don’t ever want to blend in. Yeah, he has a tough time finding any happy medium in that situation. He doesn’t want to be a jock—he could never tackle his way into stardom or have an entire team relying on his throwing abilities. At the same time, he doesn’t want to fade into the background either.Confused
He wants to stand out in an extraordinary way without getting too much credit or attention. He wants to be needed without having his face on cereal boxes and a charity in his name when he dies from cancer later on in
Two Minute timed writingSometimes she catches you staring—wants to ask why but doesn’t. She's shy and reserved. Others either respect her for, or hate her for her shyness. She shrugs their oppinoins off, pretends not to hear.Two Minute timed writing
But she thinks about you sometimes—wonders what you’re doing and if you’d ever be happier doing whatever you’re doing with her on your arm. She wonders but would never ask. She’s too little in comparison to you, oh king of the high school. Atop your throne, seated high above your peers on the shoulders of those golden students you peer down at everyone else, all others are below you in ranks and
Just Let Me Go"Just Let Me Go"Just Let Me Go
I thought it was over, I thought that it was the nightmare’s end. Blinded by false words And masks of painted smiles I lead you from the path ahead To the spiral fall of your demise. In a world of puppeteers, It’s not I that pull the strings. So how can I be blamed For what fate had already chosen to commence?
I’m sorry….
Why must I bleed from scars When it’s you that bear them? Why must your face haunt my dreams When these eyes aren’t sleeping? Why must I pay For the mistake
Brendon Urie| Take the good with the bad. Open wide, drain your glass and swallow every last drop. Feel the burn and know that somewhere, someone has got it much worse than you and remember that you're sane, healthy, and (sometimes) happy. Yeah. Drain it all and smile while your throat scream for mercy. You like it. You like it all. And yeah, I write. |
And np
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