CreepyLoner

I drowned Aphrodite a long time ago. I wonder when her body will resurface Pale blue and bloated, Or when her ghost will haunt the shore of my vast and empty beach.

I'd like to think of myself as something unique. I'd like to believe there are differences between us, more than people think. But, there are so little people who are really different. So little. I'd like to say maybe I'm just a wandering thinker who'd like to conquer the world. Or the stranger no one knows about. Or a hero no one believes in. But in reality I will never be any of those, no matter how I try to storytell myself into it. I am you, her, him, they, we, us. You are me, him, her, us, we, they. Sometimes I feel the need to go ahead and shut it all out. The green world, the blue oceans, the gray streets and buildings. The grayscale

The hypocrits multiply. We all do. And then we all see that we are each hypocrits. We stop to think about it a bit. Why stop now, we say. Nothing sells anymore but sex and controversy. No one can be normal or prudent. We have to have our celebrities in spandex dresses, or nothing at all Our commercials have to include innuendo or it's not aired. We take our political and religious advice from movie stars and musicians whose songs are only pornographic poetry. Like being taught to drive a car from the Amish. We spit on ourselves. We spit and wonder why no one likes their own image "She looks beautiful, add some more make up." "

A damaged body Swallowed by disease Calls for help Cause for help Crooked hands Crooked ribs Cannot stand Cannot walk In turned out It all turned out Just fine Because a broken body When most would fold Has a will so Godly And a perfect soul Many tests of strength for one who lacks muscle. Going lengths against all attacks Against the odds, they stack He's back. Again and again And with a brush of wind A sleight of hand It's gone. He's gone. Beacon of light, a mark of God An immobile frame but a moving soul You met your purpose well.

the world is filled with agony. A brother, a sister are holding hands over the barely breathing body of their father. In tears, they witness his exit. A pair of lovers are seperated by something Just like that, they witness the end of years that were; years that never came. A mother buries a son. Raised from whom, to crip, to school, to rebellion and with nothing to show but an empty room and half a decade of sorrow follows. The world is filled with agony. You search for someone to be with, only to see them part whether it be in peace, in hatred, in death. You gain friends along the way, to lose them later on Those that raised you

You get to a point sometimes. You're standing still, sitting or lying You become completely aware of time's movement slipping with each hour of sleep, with each minute of watching tv or even each second of becoming aware of all it's slippery movements. Your age, no matter how young, seems old. Nothing seems to be in place, there seems to be so much to do with no time or no way to do any of it. Where you are and where you want to be are continents apart And you seem to grasp how quickly your opportunities disappear, or how they have disappeared. Every step here Each leap there A stumble or even an obstacle in the way And you ca

 The night was especially still that evening. I had never recalled the surroundings to be so tranquil on my routine walks as it was then. I remember thinking that the fields had frozen even though the weather was fair. As I strolled down my usual path, I remember getting the strange feeling of being stared at. All I could do is shrug it off, not to let my imagination get the best of me. At the time, there were these hills nearly a mile from my house. I always knew I was getting close to home when I came across these hills. Flowers grew all over them, making them such a pleasure to look at. All of the vibrant colors swaying in the occasional b

The world is made of dirt. The ground is dirt, plants grow from dirt and the people are dirt. Life is about shit. You work for it, you are given it or you are it, sometimes all three. The way you know that you're life is right, the way you know you are doing the right thing, is what you get in return: being a door mat. You strive to live and love so you don't die alone and in hopes to live a "happy" life. Every day we earn new baggage, new garbage to carry with the rest of our days. The worst part about this planet is that it's all backwards. Generocity begets betrayal, kindness is returned by being taken advantage o

I am not fearless. No one is fearless. We are all afraid of our selves. Our lives. It's all there and all not there. It's known and not known. It's predictable but only to the second. You control it yet you don't. Things take control from you, like a theif you can't see to stop. Across time, across the centuries, every culture has atleast one group that tried to foretell whats to come. Because they were afraid, the people were afraid. Anxious. And we say we're fearless, no monsters nor men scare us. We got it. But we shake when we think of our next day. Our next month. Our next year. Because we are afraid.

Shimmer with sin, tremble within, where to begin Dancing with sin, smiling withing, I can begin Dying to sin, thrashing within, I can't begin Lying in sin, dying within, it will begin Dressed in red, cold as lead, better in bed Passion of red, heart like lead, aim for the bed Rejection is red, embracing the lead, weeping in bed Soaking in red, head filled with lead, lifeless in bed Make it a gun, make it for fun Make it and run, staying for none Like it or not, taking that shot Reach for it, reach for it, Not quite there yet. Poison, poison. Poison in her hair. Casing, lacing, who really cares? It's all over with. Won't be the