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My ChildhoodYo, I see clothing yonder. Water flying over grey fluffy clouds,My Childhood
Seated upon soft wrinkled skin,
Lying dead on the gummed up floor.
Colourless beings, Seeing non-existent meaning, Rapping their way to the Bible. Cursing the potatoes of my ancestors. The Welsh are persecuted by education, And Proctails write the law.
Babies flowing from spasticated chavs, And learning mentors never die. Large-scale dinner ladies
Chase me from my home, For the simple crime Of keeping myself alive.
Stretch out your arm, yonder. Bra straps
by ~sophiearnold
Lament To John ProctorI am sitting in a chair, Located next to speciality and asswipe,Lament To John Proctor
And I'm very, very bored. Do I care about Ben Jonson? I think not. He is the worst person ever, Including Pete Wentz. Now we've moved on to apostrophes, The source of all evil. Apparently Shakespeare was a sexist twat. I can see out the window. Never has drowning in petrol seemed so appealing. I prefer my red rope of love to this lesson. I write all over the walls with my
Amniotic fluid. I need a frog. His son is dead. He was seven years old. Ben Jonson is saying farewell to Ben Jonson, &
by ~sophiearnold
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An endless love with a blue flame to ignite it
Softness inside the stone
Bright-eyed tears
And a gentle madness all wrapped up in white light!
~FireHeart the Brave Winged~
TALK TO ME~
haha gd times.
do your new earphones fit?
hehe [:
HOW ARE YOURS??
[:
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