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Human Labeler "Oh my God she's so fat!"
"Look at her hair!"
"God does what the fuck is she wearing?"
That's all that's said nowadays.
Guidelines that the world must follow.
Where do we draw the line?
When will we stop labeling those who are different
and not in our clique?
The labels that we give others,
may hurt them more than you think.
Be the ArtistWith colors we paint the world.
With pencils we write the story.
With pens we sketch the imagination.
Imagine beyond your neighborhood.
Imagine beyond your country.
Imagine beyond your world.
Paint the sky purple,
draw rainbow birds flying through the sky.
Color the grass orange,
water it with flames.
Do anything, nothing, or everything.
Create. Destroy. Discover.
Change the world,
one piece of artwork at a time.
Pill Popped LoveLily
"I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up." I repeated to myself over and over.
My whole body was shaking.
I just now realized what I had done.
Ended my life.
Not yet actually but give me ten more minutes and I'll be dead.
Funny how the world will label me one last time, the final time.
I wonder how long it will take for people to find me, find me lifeless.
Find me Dead. Dead. Dead.
It's starting to sink in.
I'll be gone forever. Dead. Dead. Dead.
No Heaven or Hell for me to enter.
I don't believe in any of that shit anyway.
If there was a God he would've helped me, stopped me.
He wouldn't have let me die.
Seven minutes left.
I wish I had said goodbye to everyone.
It is the least they deserve.
"But would they even care.
No. Not my parents. Not my friends. Not anyone. Not even-"
-I would care.
How did he find me?
I sped off from school, went to my house, grabbed the pills, and drove directly to bridge.
I wasn't going to jump, I just want to see the world one last time befo
Beginning We EndHim, in the very beginning:
He is eighteen when he gets his death sentence. Unlike most death sentences, this one isn't going to send him to the guillotine or maybe the noose. Instead, it's handed to him by a doctor with very clean hands in a stark white room probably very similar to the one he'll end up dying in. And it's not the type of death sentence carried out by an impassive executor. He's essentially going to kill himself. He is dying from the inside out.
He mumbles something at the doctor, and suddenly he is on the street, a white piece of paper fisted and crumped in his hands. He's grateful it has the prescription written on it in sloppy medical scrawl, because he sure as hell can't recall half or more of the conversation he just had. All that's left are words like, "terminal" and "life-expectancy" and "5-10 years". He kicks viciously at the curb, wonders how the world can be ending on a day when the sky is blue and the clouds are full and the air is sweet.
The sun plants taun
Hide, hide, hideHide, hide, hide
Underneath my smile
My world is breaking
Hide, hide, hide
Until I fear death no longer
Since I've already died a thousand times
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger"
Hide, hide, hide
While my arms are getting slid
What doesn't kill you
Makes you wish it did.
NO NAME GIRLNO NAME GIRL
She's the beautiful girl with no name,
Yet she lives in solitude and shame,
Burdened by desolation and sorrow,
Hardened by no cares for tomorrow,
Once she was a child spoiled rotten,
Now she's simply a woman forgotten,
Humble now in every possible way,
All because the world had to get its say,
And with all that, it left her far behind,
Remnants of an abandoned heart to find,
She can't bring herself to lofty dreams,
It's her against fears and worries it seems,
But these are merely my thoughts I know,
Wonders I have each day with her shy hello,
Today is different I'll try to get her to speak,
Yet days have passed, it's been over a week,
And I'm wondering why have I not seen her,
Rarely have I missed her, did something occur?
I guess she was enjoying a deserved vacation,
I missed her nonetheless for any occasion,
So I asked a colleague about no name girl,
Her reply, "Didn't you hear? She left this world."
My heart sunk, for she committed suicide,
I suppose from it all she cou
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attrition
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
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