iamtheawesomeme1118

There is no inspiration When there is no image, but without the words where is the image? A thought inspired by sight A sight explained by thought but what is one without the other? Without the thought the picture has no meaning There is no 1,000 words. Without the picture there is no thought there is no lasting image. What inspires each, I wonder When one cannot survive without the other. How can thought be conceived if there is nothing to think of. What is there to see if there is nothing to say. What is an image without any words nothing but what you've seen. What are words without an image nothing but mindless babble. For there

Cold, and getting colder. I've waited oh so long. The frigid time, growing bolder. It almost sings a song. To hear the crackling of ice on rivers, or the snapping of dead tree branches. Oh, how I love these cold, cold winters. Warm, but not enough, Though I've yet to catch a cold. This time, often called rough, but I find it never gets old. To smell the burning wood, or a warm cup of cocoa. Oh, I do adore this time of year. Never have I felt more alive Then I have around this time. When it seems nothing will thrive, Then at its end, just like that, everything is at its prime. Though I wish to hold it close, to feel the cold against my sk

Pluck the petals, one by one. Lost in darkness; I, the only one. Once i bloomed so joyously, but now, my tune isn't quite as marry. For love?      For none? For love?      For none? Isn't this what you do with the petals? Scars to adorn my one true heart, Like breaks upon a flowers stem. Like the moment you tore me apart, i rip petals off of them. For love?      For none? For love?      For none? A childish game with no affect.. Twist and pull the petals off, break apart thr stem. twist and pull my fate, break apart my heart. this is nothing but a mere repercussion, a way to erase the pain. Broken flowers, the petals scattered. Brok

Dance my mary makers, play my symphony. All you sweet partakers, come and play with me! I the happy child.    I the lonely one.       I only want a friend,          or all you all to frightened? Staring as i fall asleep, the music starts to play. Of all these dolls of which i keep, the truth of which the melodys speak. Love is torn, not once but three times.    First to start the story,       second a death for climax,          third and last as the marvelous finale. run to hide from children? oh what a twist of fate! perhaps you'd be forgiven, if it weren't to late! Twins that run about, a knife to press your hope, but what of