manuscriptx
New Member
There is just cause over an immoral act. Written pages of room temperature; tendered resignations speak of a little known quiet on the home front. The last breath is calling from a stone out of water when there is plenty to go around even if it had stayed damp throughout the winter. Seems like old timer's thoughts running around my mind. Three pleasures are similarly aligned and compared to look like one of the shadow bears. From outcast to steely jaw and pathos of terror shredding together what little else there was to make from the silence; the giggling nervousness and laughter. Abide by the rule so you too will follow without there being any mistakes. The law will only allow us to topple crowns off of aging men staring at their strangers of hope and bewilderedness. When everything comes calling and defines what a human being is supposed to look like; it will be summed up in just one word or song; something clueless yet pretty arrogant; something desired and yet so severed and touching the hope for a helpless, belittled scullion; a servant of anger whose payment came with a warning about words and deeds; a pleasure setup to invite violence.
When she sat down to type out her thought; it wasn't for anyone to wonder about her distance from abnormality. She was very tired and deserving of an environment where she could just be. It angered someone so much that she could get away with almost anything conventional as long as it sounded brilliant. I didn't know who she was or why she was there. I thought I laughed at manic depression. I didn't know why I was drawn into the darkness and through her confusion only one man in her previous life called her a throwaway prize. Something that no one could ever want; no one would ever yield to as a queen; a seemingly dying warrior princess you would fight to save from disaster.
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The Silence ( pictoral poem )
When she sat down to type out her thought; it wasn't for anyone to wonder about her distance from abnormality. She was very tired and deserving of an environment where she could just be. It angered someone so much that she could get away with almost anything conventional as long as it sounded brilliant. I didn't know who she was or why she was there. I thought I laughed at manic depression. I didn't know why I was drawn into the darkness and through her confusion only one man in her previous life called her a throwaway prize. Something that no one could ever want; no one would ever yield to as a queen; a seemingly dying warrior princess you would fight to save from disaster.
_______________________________________________________________
The Silence ( pictoral poem )