Poll: I couldn't change the color of the one in code
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View poll results: I couldn't change the color of the one in code
6 43%
White/Black (deponding on what UG style your using)
8 57%
Voters: 14.

Now, Now Child, please don't fret
Go play on your styrafoam slide
Next to the synthetic swing set
Open your porcelain eyes

You never knew who you were
'Cause you never left from here
And You never found yourself
'Cause you never left me

Dressing up a window's paine
With welcome mats, fun, and games
Just to throw it all
To cast it all away

You never knew who you were
'Cause you never left from here
And You never found yourself
'Cause you never left me

Now, Now Child, don't be scared
go to sleep in your marshmallow bed
Next to the silicate statue
Soon apples will turn deep red,
And you will walk out into the world
Unknown and Undefined

You never knew who you were
'Cause you never left from here

You never left,
never knew
all because,

Your childhood was a facade.


there once was a girl who ate flashbulbs because
she liked the taste of the light they inspired.
i found obsession in her peacock feathers,
charred by young machine gun fire.
she was a ceiling fan turned up to eighteen,
spraying deafening white noise through ebony teeth.
i followed hollywood down her throat, where
tangible sounds could no longer be reached.

pollock could have painted a more realistic picture,
but she was beautiful, coloured with whiskey and wine,
with her lips sutured shut and her eyes locked on mine.
it was just me and her, her and me and my hand,
my hand in the blades of that drunk ceiling fan.
but the red carpet had the sharpest of teeth,
and my skin started falling apart at the seams.
but she wouldn't turn off! she was always turned on.
and i could no longer feel your body's heat.

so i did what i had to to get my skin back:
stretched it into a canvas and painted it black.
and i put it back on, wore it like tattered rags,
and i covered her mouth with my darkened hands
'til she'd suffocated on the taste of acrylic.

and the coma ships got there a little too late.
i had torn her apart, piece by piece, blade by blade.
i'd made love to you there, where the evidence laid
as a twisted reward, as a sick accolade.
but that's where they found the strangled remains
of the ceiling fan i'd torn apart blade by blade.

From the same mouth as a eulogy

Breached from Augustine climbs.
Clasped palms systematically perforate
pin-holes, for presbyter masses.

Wanting to glide my fingers across your thighs in
church, and
waiting for the whisper to-stop.
She moves like the sea;
a perception so inclined to continue with tides.
It’s nothing but a sentiment, a shallow
measurement of adulation;
the concentration of raindrops in a puddle
as a sign of unification;
I’m only here because she is.

I balance the looks to my sides, once left to
pretend that life is falling from the sky, twice right to
catch a glimpse and smile at
some lady sharing lemon sherbets to pass the time.
For me existence is a chequer board of
nights and days, where
destiny with humans for pieces plays;
I'm sure its just a way to be touched,
yet I still cant reason why I’m here,
I wasn’t looking for saviour here behind this soapbox,
but she found me anyway.

[U][B]So here's  your crown, princess.[/B][/U]

       These origamists have scissor hands and fire fingernails, but
       you match them up pretty well; well I am sure as hell
       that destruction prevails whenever you're around
       And trying to make things  pretty. Yes, you do
       get the crown. But you wear it upside

       d  d  d  d  d     down.    d  d  d  d  d 
        o  o  o  o  o            o  o  o  o  o         
         w  w  w  w  w          w  w  w  w  w
          n  n n  n   n        n  n  n  n  n
          And it all converges to the point 
          where I have no other choices but 
          to keep my focus on the infinitely 
          small.        Like          the...

       ...shadow of a shadow. The one small and tiny line 
       that's paler, weaker than it's very own source.
       The result of a result, the ending operation
       that ultimately leads you to your solution: 
       E. Error. And no, there's nothing wrong 
       with the calculator. You should have 
       read that small booklet that came
       with it. You would have realized
       that love is one thing can't be
       mathematically solved. And the 
       problem is that at this very
       precise instant, the one
       moment we either spend
       writing or speaking, 
       it's never-ending.
       you are keeping 
       your cape on
       Your route
       down to 
       Zero ; 
       0 ; 
fucking lame.

either my pieces are all really bad,
or they get paired up with bad ones.

i hope it's the latter

I just want to sleep forever.

Quote by circular.parade
You guys crushed us up last time. it's just even now. You're good kylie.


haha in both rounds, MY group has lost!
i understand last round, cause my last piece
wasn't really very good, but this time, i thought
that the piece i used, people would really like!

i guess i was just wrong...

either that or you and steve wrote pieces
that were too good to be going against mine.


I just want to sleep forever.

i'm going to vote for green, just because i thought
that the piece that i used was actually pretty good.

I just want to sleep forever.

Originally posted by Knife2aGunFight
We're all different, we have different tastes. People hate people that are different, these people are racist. Racist against the scene. Scensist.....Sceneracist,........ Rascenesist.
Didn't liek the white ones to much but Fascade was pretty sick, so green.
Soon you will sit on the bench
of those who deny I have my soul
You sell a dream you create
Condemned by what you condemned before
Smooth are the words you sing down and high
Underground is your joy your laws