CourtThere are two lines. The fast line.Court
The slow line.
The fast line. Moves quickly with many attendants. Lots of Help. I see white faces on white clothes. They're greeted with a smile. They speak words i know.
The slow line. Stranded, nearly still. One snappy worker with Too many qustions to swallow. Brown faces in torn and second-hand clothes. They're greeted with tired patience. They speak things i cannot hear.
Last week, i was in the fast line. My eyeliner perfectly straight. My leather stilettos creaking. My
Street AngelHe stands in the rain in the middle of the street The drops fall on his outstretched palms He beckons to me from the middle of the street And he laughs like a five year old in the first shower of spring.Street Angel
He says that coffee and alcohol are for losers And always takes a shower with a raincoat on He’ll convince you that the sky is actually red, when you know it’s blue And you will never really understand.
If you ask, he’ll say that you are beautiful and you are loved. If you ask, he’ll say it’s not full, it’s not empty, but he just needs another cup. If you care, he’ll te
The Story of MeMy face is a portrait that only you drew. My life is a song that nobody knew. My hope is the star that everyone booed. This is the Story of Me.The Story of Me
My joy is a tumor inside in my brain. It spreads and it grows but it never brings pain. I’m lost in the light and I’ve no one to blame. This is the Story of Me.
My wish is a bird that flies high in the sky. My mind is a movie that could make children cry. My voice will live on long after I die. This is the Story of Me.
My thoughts are just words waiting to be said. My soul is a book yearning to be read.
For September 11thI have come to taste the sweetness of the earth But all that fills my mouth is the bitterness of your hate The saltiness from tears of hundreds lost Guilt is tattooed beneath my skin With burning ink of blood spilled On our backs we carry the lashings of torment The weight of death is upon us And I must cry out To break the silence of mourningFor September 11th
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“Because stories are like mirrors... When they go dark and the glass is obscured, it’s maybe for a reason. Polish them and you might not want to accept the person looking back at you as yourself.” –Somewhere to be Flying by Charles de Lint
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Lanton Entertainment ~ [link]
Forum ~ [link]
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Lanton Entertainment ~ [link]
Forum ~ [link]
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The truth is...this...will you accept the truth if it comes?
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"No more Slurpee breaks for hamsters like last time."
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