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If I am
one
of the three ages of man
can
anyone tell me
which one
of the three ages of man
I am.
Art
HE HAS SKIN THAT FEELS LIKE A CANVAS, AND IT MAKES ME WANT TO PAINT HIM AL NIGHT. ANGER AND TRAGEDY ALWAYS MAKE THE BEST PAINTINGS AND I GUESS THAT'S WHY I CALL HIM A WORK OF ART
Tell me then ,
why they're fated together? The pen and the ink ?

The ink lies meek
With the pen it doth speak.
soaked in spirits powerful
Moulding mundane to artful.
That's why they're fated together !

Silent fingers woven around
Through the pen's lips my poetry's bound
Mere words nothing but mute
Breathes life my ink absolute.
That's  why they're fated together !
The pen and the ink are bound by each other to tell stories for times endless!
If you're not sure something is right for you anymore, end it.
Leave.
Whether it's a relationship, home, your job or the person you've become —
Just leave.
Nothing leads you down the right path better than missing something,
Or not missing it at all.
Warm waxy drips
Waxing eloquently
Of the candle’s luminosity
Of generosity
In decreasing the ignominy
of ignorance

Let not the candle wax
Wane
For she will be in pain
If her efforts go vain

Of letting the photons flow
Creating an incandescent glow
Shaping an ambience
perfect for alliance


For lovers holding hands
Across candle stands
Stealing kisses
With rapturous bliss

She melts at the core
Letting the wick to the fore
Barely lasting the night
She lives a life giving light


A lesson in grace
Is her existence
As she burns at a pace
With death in her embrace
Despite every massacre of yourself,
you are still ******* here.
Doesn't that count for anything?
An idea I'm going to add to
In my home town
in the country/by the sea
near the shore/by the tree's
there was a place/I used to run
where I would laugh/where I had fun
I was five/I felt free
I used to chase the bumble bee's
We had a farm/we had a barn
there were chickens/there were kittens
I used to watch them play with yarn
I had pet dogs/I had pet frogs
I used to carve my name on logs
in my home town
in the country/by the sea
near the shore/by the tree's
I loved the wind/I loved the breeze
I loved the sky/I loved the sea
I jumped so high/ I touched the sky
when I was young/when I ran free
Sometimes I wish for someone to tell me that I'm okay
Or at least that I would be,
On a different day.

Because some days, I feel like I identify too much
With a shriveling flower
Too late to be saved, too bent and crushed

But nobody wants to tell me that
Maybe they don't care. I don't blame them.
I don't deserve to be saved. But that doesn't change the facts.

Maybe the reason most depressed people
Become killers of the monster that has now become themselves
Is because it already feels like death; dying.
Like holding onto the edge of a cliff that you know you're going to fall off of.
But there's your family, your friends, all the people you love, begging you not to let go.
Even though you know. You know
Eventually you'll slip, and they'll hate you for it.

Don't let me slip.
Don't stand there and beg, hold onto me.
*Please?
idk i might delete this dont look at me
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