

sweet lady of the unknownI wonder what you're like? What is it like to kiss you? I imagine a total feeling of emptiness consumes anyone who even attempts such a bold move.sweet lady of the unknown
You cannot be understood, and quite frankly you're beyond the confinds of the human mind. You cannot be explained, nor can you be understood by anyone. You can merely be experienced. but by your nature, no one will ever live to tell of the experience. and by your nature everyone's curiosity will eventually be cured, and they will know for a brief moment what you are like.
In that final moment, as life is fading from my body, I


MatthewcharlestaylorEverytime I walk up these stairs that lead from my front door to the bed where I sleep, I do it... shit, I don't know how I do it; quite frankly I'm suprised I do it all. With each step up each stair my legs become a little bit heavier, and my ankles a bit weaker until I feel like giving up, leaning back, and falling with every hope that I break my neck in a terrible fall. That's all this experience has been, right? Just a terrible fall.Matthewcharlestaylor
Everytime I walk up these stairs that lead from my front door to the bed where I sleep, I do it still with a pinch of hope in the back of my mind. Hope is the second thing t


RhysEverytime I walk up these stairs, that lead to your house from my car, I do it with hope! Hope that the words I've choked back for months might slowly and subtly creep out. One at a time, gently and sweetly finding their way to your ear as a delicate, soft tune; ever so pleasing and never cheap or fleating.Rhys
Everytime I walk up these stairs, that lead to your house from my car, I do it with hope! Hope that when one door closes another door opens and that soon, as I ring the doorbell, you'll let me in. (which is of course a metaphor). In plain words I mean to say "I'm asking you, will you let me in? I could think of noth
Invizz.

3 AM on the Coast of MaineThe gray sky blended into the dull blue Atlantic, pressing a bitter blanket of icy fog against the rocky coast of Maine. Jack Frost nibbled at the tops of my ears as Father Time crept slowly past. Despite these destractions, it was Mother Nature whose eyes met my own, gazing back at me from the eternal deep. Although I saw not a sail nor a ship in sight, the persistant glow from the Portland Headlamp droned on, spilling color into the grayscale landscape. The aged lighthouse stood strong against the ranks of furious war torn waves. The icy vapor was3 AM on the Coast of Maine
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Ninja-Pirates - all the glory of both!
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