Like steps descending from the heavens
The rain poured down on her
Disguising the tears that streamed past her smile
The smile she always wore
And she started to climb those steps
But behind her eyes she wrote tragedies no one ever read
She sang a dirge no one ever heard
And whispered of butterflies just beneath her wrists
She held the blade close and kissed it
Fly and be free she said as they spread their crimson wings
But somehow I know that she’s
Still climbing















Devious Comments
Comments
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Your inner child has been eating paste again <SUSHI FORTUNE>
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So often we don't struggle to improve conditions
We struggle for the right to say we improved conditions
Somewhere a man stands, walks across the room, and breaks his nose against the door
Somewhere these people are keeping records
And writing a book
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So often we don't struggle to improve conditions
We struggle for the right to say we improved conditions
Somewhere a man stands, walks across the room, and breaks his nose against the door
Somewhere these people are keeping records
And writing a book
Good additions/changes by the way. It does flow better now. Except 'dirge'. I just think that word is funny. Makes me laugh everytime. So for me, it doesn't quite fit, but for everyone i'm sure its great. Don't change it just cause of me.
Good job man.
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Whats worse? Apathy or Ignorance
.......don't know, don't care
Your monologues are always a hoot
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Somewhere a man stands, walks across the room, and breaks his nose against the door.
Somewhere these people are keeping records and writing a book.
And as we turn the pages we call out the sounds of nothing.
The sounds of a vanishing alphabet...
--
I held a fallen star and it wept for me, dying
I feel the fallen stars encircle me now as they cry
Feeling surrounded so bored with mortality I decay
Thats probably the nicest complement on my writing ive ever received
Thanks again for reading!
--
Somewhere a man stands, walks across the room, and breaks his nose against the door.
Somewhere these people are keeping records and writing a book.
And as we turn the pages we call out the sounds of nothing.
The sounds of a vanishing alphabet...
--
I held a fallen star and it wept for me, dying
I feel the fallen stars encircle me now as they cry
Feeling surrounded so bored with mortality I decay
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