Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Shootout

Tweaking needed.

Please, I beg of thee: comment my stuff.

---------------------------

I'm all up in your bases,
killing your men,
'cause I'm a super sonic playa
and it had to be done

I got me a ride,
shootin' down fiddy
t'ain't be miles
as me bro's packin' twenty

Me dog's in the side,
tongue in the sun
if you shoot him, mothafucker
be the last thing you done!

t'millimeter in hand,
is a straight niner son
mess with me bitch
and I'll show ya my gun

up against the wall
at the end of the street
gimme a reason -
jus' t'give you some heat!

I'm cleanin' me gun now
and dancin' in blood.
Die you SOB,
so we can get this race done

San Andreas may be over
but WoW's just begun!

*gun shot/tire screech*

*flippant wave*
Bye now, WG calls.

-----

Its a rap.

Tell me what you think, pl0x.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Piano keys

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Piano Keys

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

-----------

I was bored as HELL in L&L today.
Nothing to do there.
Nothing.
N-O-T-H-I-N-G! >.<

Saturday, August 1, 2009

The world is a stage - you are an extra.

((Make the most of it...))
By Duckie.

Life's too short for living,
gotta leave your mark now,
life's an open stage
with your fifteen minutes of fame,
the curtain closes on you
and you're left in the dark.

did you see anybody in the bright light?
could you keep your eyes on the crowd?
did you remember your lines?
Were you perfect?
*brief pause*
Well nobody's perfect! ((is okay to mildly shout this))

Life's too short for living,
gotta leave your mark now,
life's an open stage
with your fifteen minutes of fame,
the curtain closes on you
and you're left in the dark.

Dark tunnels; there's no air,
stride down there
light the bloody thing yourself
life goes on
leaving you behind
as it has forever
no-one can hear you screamin' in the dark.

Life's too short for living,
gotta leave your mark now,
life's an open stage
with your fifteen minutes of fame,
the curtain closes on you
and you're left in the dark.

and no-one can hear you
life goes on ((drawn out note))
no-one can hear you
gotta leave your mark.
no-one can hear you
so shout it out loud ((do so))
Cause everybody's asking for an encore!

Rainy Days

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Rainy Days

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

Rest in Peace

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Rest in Peace

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

On a side note: Suicide.

When you've reached the lowest of points in your life, with nobody to turn to, no friends, hatred in the eyes of everybody around you, every day. Your parents don't want anything to do with you, despise your presence in their clean, nice household, where you, the failure are a blemish, a taint, a despicable mark on their upstanding reputation, one that they can't scrub out, no matter how hard they try. When you have sat planning what differences you could have made, what your life should have been, your second chances and the faults of your ill-begotten life. All the problems that have plagued you - depression, cheating, lies, manipulation, attempted murder, rape, assault, the list of attacks against you going on and on, year after year, beginning all the way down in your youth. When you have drunk dry every bottle, every schnaps, every vodka, rum and cola - and finally, staring down the barrel of a gun against your mouth, temple, throat, heart... wondering why you can't pull the trigger? Its not cowardice that stops you, its bravery. Cowardice is running away from your problems, ending it, without giving you a chance to look back over your life, past the mistakes and falsehoods and see the truth, the opportunities that arose from an accident, new lessons from a mistake.

Cowardice is pulling the trigger. Bravery is dropping the gun

New Year...for what?

I used to have people commission a rant...why? because they needed one, perhaps; or maybe a fight had erupted with their parentals/guardians/teachers/friends - who knows?

In any case, New Years spurned some thoughts ((and a very morbid discussion)) and since I was entreated to stay out of it:-

---------------------

"Life sucks, and it will never get better. It will change, but it will never get better."

Once upon a time, I used to say that too. Every night I'd be drinking my sorrows away, or at least attempting too. Its a little hard to when alcohol just burns going down and does next to nothing else. Ranting and raving, these people, my friends, have entreated me to leave them to their depression spurned on by the New Year.

"Happy New Year" - a text message that they despise, brings them no joy and forces their thoughts lower into the ground. Another year, each as bad as the last, and apparently steadily getting worse.

"Happy Birthday!" - another year gone, where they imagine everything that has gone wrong, where they have failed. How can they be happy if they do not truly believe themselves capable of it?

"Merry Christmas!" - These people, that I kept company with, on Christmas, the holiest of days, the epitome of Christianity and a family time of love and giving - traps these people. Love no longer fills the air, but tension, tempers stretched close to breaking, stress mounts with each passing moment, and all stuck in the middle is the poor person, weighed down by the guilt, ((even if they had nothing to do with it)) that this is his/her doing.

These kids, young folk, trapped in their minds with the thoughts of their problems, failings and misgivings, does them no good. It does nobody any good. Their families can only sit and watch as they waste away, with no idea to what ails them. How can they? A teenager or young adult is not the sort that will say "This is my problem, but I wish to brood over it, please leave me be." No. Their suffering is palpable, and yet parents, friends, society immediately denounce them as attention seeking and emotionally unstable.

The masses ignore the problem, expecting it to go away, but to what point? They ignore the people, fellow citizens, who don't just harbour issues but real, full-blooded questions about what the use is of life.

For so long, they batter away, convincing themselves that they're a failure, or correct to the point of shattering at a negative vibe. These people, YOUR fellow humans, need help. They need it, require it, crave for it - however subconciously, but in this world, they firmly believe that they aren't going to get it.

Besides, whats the point?

How will you be remembered?

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: How will you be remembered?

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.