CD player of silence,rooms once full of melodiesnow drowned out by quiet,what was once the soundof a thousand singing giants,reduced to nothingbutdeafening,hollow,silence.
there are some things i want to see.there are some things i want for me.i want change,in fact i could go as far as to sayi need changebecause staying like this won't let me bethe best version of myselfi want love.this never will be something i needthis is something i wanti want love because i need to be able to wake upwith a smile and and think everything's okayi want support,it's almost like it's something i live offis it a need if i want it more than air?i want someone to who i can tell all my worries
i remember a boy,a beautiful thing,he had everything going for him,but no matter how happy or joyful he seemed,there was something,i knowbecause in his eyes it gleamed,so i asked this boy"what's hidden in your sighs?"and he simply replied"my plain brown eyes."this made me laugh,but it cause me to think,this is why is happiness tends to sink?but it is not truecan he not see,
i know i'm a cowardi'm frantic and naivebut i miss you.you were my yellowyou made my days idyllic.it wasn't amorousit was sweet and quaint.until we got a glimpse at thetruth,and i had to go away.so thank you,my ethereal beauty.but my fear got thebest of memy words were insubstantialcompared to my
Take a hold nowOn the silver handles here,Six silver handles,One for each of his old pals.Take holdAnd lift him down the stairs.Put him on the rollersOver the floor of the hearse.Take him on the last haul,To the cold straight house.The level even house,To the last house of all.The dead say nothingAnd the dead know muchAnd the dead hold under their tonguesA locked-up story.
I am not the black cat.There were four of us;my grandmother,a black cat,a myth,and I.My grandmother oftentold us a myth.When you are ill, she said,if a black catcomes and sits on your bedit means that youwill die soon.I was only six,seriously ill.Our black cat
He wakes, who never thought to wake again,Who held the end was Death. He opens eyesSlowly, to one long livid oozing plainClosed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;And waits; and once in timeless sick surmiseThrough the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speckOf moveless horror; an Immortal OneCleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a flyFast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.I thought when love for you died, I should die.It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.