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To feel or exist Is to know without a doubt That you're in the depths.
I cant be held because I am an empty space and even on the better days when I become this stack of brittle bones I wont let you hold me you know my lungs collapse each morning
I want to create BE Become the current Ethereal reality No authentic fakery Forget time spent Live in dreams Read in books So in reach I want to act DO
Smoking Cigs while listening to post-punk. What a way to die. Sipping poisonous punch, staring at neon stars, observing couples symblozing the synths Did I accept or reject the lie Honeslty I am not sure
Let me hold you. Let me hold you, expressed the flowing river. Let me lead you around the twists and bends. Let me expose you to the eb and flow of my waters path.
It is life. Subtract the living. But it's not death.
We come to exist before that unknown
I am alive I am here I interact with thousands of people They know I am "here"... What if I am gone "physically"? Will people still say I existed? Will people be able to prove my existance?
I'm living in a world that doesn't exist! A world that is fragile, a world that's a game; It can always start over. No one ever dies to stay dead, But to be reincarnated a few seconds later.
Some people tell me that I have a way with words, That I have a way with birds, or a way with nerds. But whether I'm chirping or burping, whether I'm running or cunning, can I just ask you something?
Old kids as an society will eventually take about 30 prescriptions pills, but as humans we suffer from greed. Our greed complains for more life, but to have had life is enough. Our greed stems from fear, the fear of being casket sharp and gray.
i want to go out with a bang. when i die, my name will be on the front page paper. there will be no hospital bed, no whirring machines or antiseptic smells. those who say that any life is better than no life
The wistful wind blows It reminds me of peace Never ending ongoing tranquility Things that are hard to achieve In this society which never sleeps
Under Pressure. Listen to Bowie: Fill my ears with the sound of his sweet fears. Under Pressure. I used to be so carefree A beautiful Sun-child Of the Earth. But now I don’t recognize me.