| Yes yes, let's all have an environmental head on our shoulders... |
| Yes yes, let's all have an environmental head on our shoulders... |


.This is the diary of a madman..
Today I saw her eyes again.
My Sarah had beautiful eyes. I remember them as if she were still looking at me, as if the occasional blur in my peripherals is actually her, and not just a lamp with a chunky shade. Not just a curtain swaying in the breeze. As if at any moment she'll come back from the kitchen, holding a bread knife in her hand and smiling; 'We're all out of jam honey, I'm sorry. I'll get some on my way back from work'.
That's how crazy I am, I quite often reply to her. 'It's okay Sarah.' I smile, before I remember that she's gone, and she's never coming back. T


Savour the tasteThe taste of blood stemmed from a paper cut, The smell from the butcher's shop at the corner of her street. The fire from the T.V screen and the sunset - Well, the sunset from a dusty postcard.Savour the taste
The girl came from a magazine, selling perfume and
Pearls while the boy was just a memory away. He was the bad boy at the back of the classroom,
The first kiss, first love, without the anguish;
And they lived in a world that didn't exist,
A world of paper cuts and postcards. A world Of happiness and the first romance. Their lives for the writer's.


WhiteOneWhite
White was the colour of my childhood.
I never met my mother, but my father I knew through a pane of glass. He was a tall and handsome man, or so I was informed when I was passed my clean sheets through the gap in my door. Informed is probably the wrong word. The women who worked at the other side of the wall, feeding us, clothing us, occasionally laying a hand against the glass in a gesture almost motherly, well they always said it. Handsome, rich, the most intelligent man alive Hes almost perfect!
For years this was the focus of my thoughts. Why was this man almost perfect?


Must be a clicheLove isMust be a cliche
Love is a blindfold.
All I can see is hearts and roses And you.
Love is excitement. Its the first touch and kiss And brush of the hand.
Love is a chore. We work at it and struggle And savour the reward.
Love is jealousy. Its knowing your smiles
Arent just mine.
It's hating it.
Love is poetry. So apparently it makes no sense Unless youre a poet.
| My latest attempts at something great. |
| I am 17, live in a terraced house in wales, am studying English Literature, History, R.E and ICT and when I ''grow up'' I want to be a journalist but I don't know why :] |
| 57%
36%
7%
|
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Music? On dA? My word!
Have a listen here [link]
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The gallery:
[link]
If you do me a favour too?
And give mine a look in if you're interested :]
No worries if you're not :]
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Believe in what I am because it's all I have today, and tomorrow who knows where we'll be (8)
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"Why go to heaven when the cute, hawt, and sexy guys are in hell?" Me and my sister :jrockstar11385:
AVATAR MADE BY [link]
Thank you :] I think :]
Still alive though right? Xoxo
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Believe in what I am because it's all I have today, and tomorrow who knows where we'll be (8)
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"Why go to heaven when the cute, hawt, and sexy guys are in hell?" Me and my sister :jrockstar11385:
AVATAR MADE BY [link]
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Everyone is a puppet--it's how tight the strings are tied that affects you.
You laugh because I'm different. I laugh because you're all the same.
A friend will bail you out of jail. A best friend will be sitting by you, saying, "Damn! That was fun."
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Believe in what I am because it's all I have today, and tomorrow who knows where we'll be (8)
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a melting pot of truth and fiction
Believe me
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Believe in what I am because it's all I have today, and tomorrow who knows where we'll be (8)
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