Revenge: it's a dream of flames fueled by scorched remains that are lit to a torch and brought back upon the one who burned you.
I talk about writing and write so much because aside from music, it__ the only thing giving me peace and reason and purpose. Everyone is looking for answers but I don__ have them and I__ not the answer, but I feel like if I could see the face of God, I__ be better, healed__bsolved. I feel like a bastard and like I__ pushing a Ponzi scheme every time someone comes to me for guidance and I push them to the __ight_ path when I__ just as lost as they are. And it makes me feel like shit every time someone wants to look up to me, or when people call me strong or brave or amazing or want to tell me how __reat_ I am. And then, the next moment, I__ fine, until the next tide of emotion comes again. I__ just a person who__ had a lot of time to think__ flawed and fucked-up person.
Crushed Black Velvet
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I talk about writing and write so much because aside from music, it__ the only thing giving me peace and reason and purpose. Everyone is looking for answers but I don__ have them and I__ not the answer, but I feel like if I could see the face of God, I__ be better, healed__bsolved. I feel like a bastard and like I__ pushing a Ponzi scheme every time someone comes to me for guidance and I push them to the __ight_ path when I__ just as lost as they are. And it makes me feel like shit every time someone wants to look up to me, or when people call me strong or brave or amazing or want to tell me how __reat_ I am. And then, the next moment, I__ fine, until the next tide of emotion comes again. I__ just a person who__ had a lot of time to think__ flawed and fucked-up person.
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When life is a horror....Don't look like a ghost!
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more.
Love is an exorcism of angels.
Bill suited the action to the word, getting up and leaning over the handlebars and pumping the pedals at a lunatic rate. Looking at Bill's back, which was amazingly broad for a boy of eleven-going-on-twelve, watching it work under the duffel coat, the shoulders slanting first one way and then the other as he shifted his weight from one pedal to the other, Richie suddenly became sure that they were invulnerable...they would live forever and ever.
This isn__ how things were supposed to happen. I was supposed to be me. Not this.