Listen to my life song.
Basically... This is the first time this app has opened in weeks because sometimes my phone goes haywire and doesn't like to work for me. I just wasted ten seconds of your life. Carry on..
Could you imagine how charming the world would be if everyone were just.. Nice. If everyone quit judging people and complimented that person instead.
There's a bottle full of tears in her dresser drawer. There's a lifetime of regrets knocking at her door. There's a glimmer of hope she chooses to ignore.
Summer's here. I've waited all year. For sunsets and bonfires, Roadtrips and burnt tires. Long days out on the lake, And staying away from those who act fake.
It's like a dream, a movie in my head. It's like a toxin, turning my feet into lead. It's like a train wreck, a cold and bitter feeling. It's like a roller coaster, that keeps my head reeling.
Now that you're gone, It's like I've been let out of my cage. Now that you're gone, It's as if the whole wide world is my stage.
I'm sorry for my inadequacy and my failure as a friend. I just wish all of our pain and sorrow would come to an end. It isn't worth it, the pain and the strife.
It's a curious thing... A down right puzzle. How they encourage you to speak.. But slap on a muzzle. "Read. Read young ones." they drill in our heads.
You're with Casanova now. His words, a sweet poison on your lips. You're with Casanova now. His hands, dangerously low on your hips. You're with Casanova now.
I have this best friend. She's gorgeous you see, But for some reason, She doesn't see herself like me. She's witty and funny, And a writer to boot. She's blonde and she's punny.
To me, mornings are magic. There's just something so charismatic about the way sun beams stream through my window. The way fresh breakfast aromas float through the house.
I guess I'll drift now. Into dreamland, into paradise. But as I relinquish my thoughts and my sorrows.. I can't help but wish for tomorrow.
Can you feel me on the breeze. Can you see me in the trees. Can you taste me on the air. Do you even wish I was there. Do the waves there remind you of me. And everything we were supposed to be?.
Thanks for believing in me. Thanks for noticing everything I could be. Thanks for the honesty. Even in the travesty..
You give me that hummingbird heartbeat. You give me that garden of butterflies in the pit of my stomach. You give me life and you give me light. So tell me darling, why must we always fight?.
You could come with me you know. Slip the surly bonds of earth and just drift. We could be time travelers you know. Out in the open, out in the rift. We could stay together you know.
"I like the way you destroy things, it's a good technique, you gotta spark that can't be taught." - Where the Wild Things Are.
She thrusted her lantern out into the dark street, she had snuck out before.. But only because of the rebellion inside of her; this time, she had reason.
It was like a dream. It was calm, it was blue. It was inviting, it was true. But then a storm blew in... And it tore up the coast. The one thing I cared for. The one thing I loved most..
Ingredients: - A blank canvas - Inner chaos - Internal monologue - Dreams - Art supplies Instructions: 1st) place canvas in front of a window with a view.
He sealed it with a kiss. And she finally found bliss..
Fingertips in paint. Footsteps in rain. Scars on hearts. Everything's art..
All I want is to fall asleep in your arms. On a pillow of blue bonnets. And a blanket of stars..
"It's nice here ya know. We don't have to leave." I rolled my eyes and chuckled to myself, my sister and I had always been dreamers. "You know they're already looking for us, Lucy...
You're like an unimaginable gift. A pretty package. Shiny and new. But when I get to the core... When I really open you up... To my pleasant surprise, You're rugged. And rough..
I've always been a dreamer. Which is rather odd considering the fact that I'm also an insomniac, constantly falling into the crevice of slightly asleep, but not capable of dreaming.
I'm not much of a writer. Or a storyteller. Not a novelist, a journalist, or even a poet. But I do have plenty of stories to tell. I just have a feeling you'll never know it. "Know what?" you ask.