

The Man on the BikeThe cool humid air is somewhat refreshing. I brush my bangs out of my face and stare at my reflection in the puddle below me. The full moon is the only light that illuminates my broken face. I spit out some warm thick substance; blood. The puddle clouds red as if poisoned. Memories of violence and pain shoot through my mind. The red reflection stares at me. I shake my head; thick drops of rain water mixed with sweat fall slowly and heavily to the ground; or are they tears? My chest feels heavy and breathing is difficult. I fall to the cold wet ground. The headlight of my motorbike shines brightly in my eyes. I see nothing. A deep low noise riThe Man on the Bike


ForsakenDrifting beyond the reach of time Living off sorrow long forgotten Fighting thoughts of sick lament Why do I live this way?Forsaken
Contorting minds of lost souls fine Corrupting feelings of ideas rotten Defending bitter flesh never content Why do I think this way?
I don't understand I can't comprehend Where am I to go? What am I to be?
Remembering youthful days long past Walking in the rain with eyes wet Kissing you under cloudy sky Why do I feel this way?
Hating the die that has been cast Destroying the world I haven't m
Cheers.
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"...Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams..."
~W.B. Yeats
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~infernosilver
"total fucking doom"
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"Where the spirit does not work with the hand, there is no art." -- Leonardo da Vinci.
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