#1
These are not lyrics. I wrote this. Its about myself. I don't like myself, but that's okay with me. After I wrote this I felt a whole lot better. So there it is. I'm not depressed, none of what I wrote is necessarily true. For example, I never liked Chris Carabba sexually. I hope I didn't break any rules, since this is like, only my 2nd (?) piece this week. Some things are true however. I'm lonely at night. I listen to music before going to bed. I like DC. My parents are awesome. I have a crappy social life. Me and my family used to live in an apartment but we are in a rented house now.


----------------------------------------------------------------

Things to avoid, destroy, cower from.
How you cure yourself.
Help yourself to the disjunction
Die alreadly.

Some people were eating high carb Some were eating low carb Some forewent dairy Some ate vegetables...

I started out in an apartment that began with a rooftop and an invitation. The concrete had to deal with cold weather and all it entails (I copied this from a construction website). Forgive my narrative, but I wished for this building to collapse every day. Of my childhood: My parents were wonderful. Bread for breakfast. All the time. There were tokens from reltives. And when I was young I thought I could become rich from their hides.

I'm the heartless cynic I am now.

I used to stand naked in the window overlooking the adjoining building (It was an apartment, remember?). And my, oh my, It was wonderful. I would have jumped of that ledge had the window not been locked by my ever so faithful mother who never smothered me.

I was in the balcony listening to the "best new music" that I hated. Hencewhy I only got into real music at...age 13? Needless to say, I loved Dashboard Confessional. Chris Carraba was my first real boy crush.

Oh, what a coincidence, I just thought I saw the bottom half of him holding his guitar in a webpage.

I'm typing this on Notepad, by the way.

I have a couple of friends addicted to mediafire. Oh wait, I have no friends. And if you're beginning to think I'm a spoiled bitch, well you're wrong. But I admit, I get lonely sometimes. I listen to Bright Eyes all night to keep me company.
And I get everything I want.
You hear that? I can get everything I ****ing want!
Happy-child-opening-present-under-Christmas-tree happy. He's doing it illegally too. The thrill plus the reaping of the corn. Crime never pays.

But it just feels so good. I think I do that.

Show me the way, Jesus, 'cause here it's all **** your way to the top.

I hate the streets and everyone on it. But I want to get better.

These are the things to avoid, destroy, cower from.
How you cure yourself.
Help yourself to the disjunction
Die alreadly.

When my family moved out if this (I'm realizing I'm faking my history, as if history was never faked, with the proper facts, of course) apartment, we rented a nice-y little cozy-boy house by a garbage creek. I realize I could just call it a creek, but that would be way too romantic and reminds me of Old Yeller. The garbage creek never smelled though, because I stayed indoors most of the time, and only in the mornings.

"So how's the dog?" I asked my mom. She said it was fine, as everything is. She hates therapists, doctors, carpenters, air-conditioning cleaners, or any sort of repairman, whether it be human or machine. She suffers from mild depression and middle-age boredom. She's kind of lesbian. It runs in the family.

My dad: he's alive. He's the breadwinner. I don't know what he really does for a living, but I can assume it's something morally justified, as if anything can be justified, with the proper facts of course.

Of course, none of this is true. My mom isn't depressed. My dad doesn't run an illegal smuggling business (I sound pretentious). We're all one big happy ****ing family!

I'm lying, yes I lie all the time. Truth is subjective, after all. "One man’s food is another man’s poison."

In my case, it's acne. ****-uppedness that leaves me immoblized in bed, washing my face and picking at scars that jests at another man's wound. In YOUR case, why are you even reading this, Mr. Mother****er? Why do you care?
You do care, hencewhy you're reading this. I'd rather be hated than igonred 'cause at least someone cares, y'know? So go, ahead, pretend nothing ever happened.

History is subjective, after all.

Things to avoid, destroy, cower from.
How you cure yourself.
Help yourself to the disjunction
Die alreadly.


--------------------------------------------------------
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian
#2
Well, you know, I thought it was a good read, if you can find the motivation you might be able to expand into a novella or something dude, even if most of it was lies, thats all that stories are, right? But you make it real... you said it yourself that it made you feel better after writing it, I think you should take hold of your gift and use it if nothing else makes you feel better.
#3
hmm too long for my taste.
you should turn it into a song.
it would sound betetr in my opinion,
good job on it.
i like teh way you portarayed youself and you "life" in this
#4
Things to avoid, destroy, cower from.
How you cure yourself.
Help yourself to the disjunction
Die alreadly. *already

Some people were eating high carb Some were eating low carb Some forewent dairy Some ate vegetables...
this would benefit from being split into 4 lines.
more on that later.


I started out in an apartment that began with a rooftop and an invitation. The concrete had to deal with cold weather and all it entails (I copied this from a construction website). Forgive my narrative, but I wished for this building to collapse every day. Of my childhood: My parents were wonderful. Bread for breakfast. All the time. There were tokens from reltives. *relatives And when I was young I thought I could become rich from their hides.

I'm the heartless cynic I am now.

I used to stand naked in the window overlooking the adjoining building (It was an apartment, remember?). And my, oh my, It was wonderful. I would have jumped of that ledge had the window not been locked by my ever so faithful mother who never smothered me.

I was in the balcony listening to the "best new music" that I hated. Hencewhy I only got into real music at...age 13? Needless to say, I loved Dashboard Confessional. Chris Carraba was my first real boy crush.

Oh, what a coincidence, I just thought I saw the bottom half of him holding his guitar in a webpage.

I'm typing this on Notepad, by the way.

I have a couple of friends addicted to mediafire. Oh wait, I have no friends. And if you're beginning to think I'm a spoiled bitch, well you're wrong. But I admit, I get lonely sometimes. I listen to Bright Eyes all night to keep me company.
And I get everything I want.
You hear that? I can get everything I ****ing want!
the explicative might work better between every and thing.
and fucking looks better on the page than ****ing, imho.

Happy-child-opening-present-under-Christmas-tree happy. He's doing it illegally too. The thrill plus the reaping of the corn. Crime never pays.

But it just feels so good. I think I do that.

Show me the way, Jesus, 'cause here it's all **** your way to the top.

I hate the streets and everyone on it. But I want to get better.
plural/singular shift from streets to it.

These are the things to avoid, destroy, cower from.
How you cure yourself.
Help yourself to the disjunction
Die alreadly. *already

When my family moved out if this (I'm realizing I'm faking my history, as if history was never faked, with the proper facts, of course) apartment, we rented a nice-y little cozy-boy house by a garbage creek. I realize I could just call it a creek, but that would be way too romantic and reminds me of Old Yeller. The garbage creek never smelled though, because I stayed indoors most of the time, and only in the mornings.

"So how's the dog?" I asked my mom. She said it was fine, as everything is. She hates therapists, doctors, carpenters, air-conditioning cleaners, or any sort of repairman, whether it be human or machine. She suffers from mild depression and middle-age boredom. She's kind of lesbian. It runs in the family.

My dad: he's alive. He's the breadwinner. I don't know what he really does for a living, but I can assume it's something morally justified, as if anything can be justified, with the proper facts of course.

Of course, none of this is true. My mom isn't depressed. My dad doesn't run an illegal smuggling business (I sound pretentious). We're all one big happy ****ing family!

I'm lying, yes I lie all the time. Truth is subjective, after all. "One man’s food is another man’s poison."

In my case, it's acne. ****-uppedness that leaves me immoblized *immobilized in bed, washing my face and picking at scars that jests at another man's wound. In YOUR case, why are you even reading this, Mr. Mother****er? Why do you care?
You do care, hencewhy you're reading this. I'd rather be hated than igonred *ignored 'cause at least someone cares, y'know? So go, ahead, pretend nothing ever happened.

History is subjective, after all.

Things to avoid, destroy, cower from.
How you cure yourself.
Help yourself to the disjunction
Die alreadly.


amusing, but mildly annoying read.
partially because of the tone,
sounding entries in the diary
of a nuisance child.
and partially from the
change in layout from short lines
to long.

you might try blocking this
more in the style of a poem
and see how it reads.
Meadows
Quote by Jackal58
I release my inner liberal every morning when I take a shit.
Quote by SK8RDUDE411
I wont be like those jerks who dedicate their beliefs to logic and reaosn.
#5
A good read, you could try and turn this into a short story or something, put it in chapters, make it about a your '****ty' childhood and maybe put some romance in it, I think that would make for a good story.
DC rule!
#6
Quote by SomeoneYouKnew
Things to avoid, destroy, cower from.
How you cure yourself.
Help yourself to the disjunction
Die alreadly. *already

Some people were eating high carb Some were eating low carb Some forewent dairy Some ate vegetables...
this would benefit from being split into 4 lines.
more on that later.


I started out in an apartment that began with a rooftop and an invitation. The concrete had to deal with cold weather and all it entails (I copied this from a construction website). Forgive my narrative, but I wished for this building to collapse every day. Of my childhood: My parents were wonderful. Bread for breakfast. All the time. There were tokens from reltives. *relatives And when I was young I thought I could become rich from their hides.

I'm the heartless cynic I am now.

I used to stand naked in the window overlooking the adjoining building (It was an apartment, remember?). And my, oh my, It was wonderful. I would have jumped of that ledge had the window not been locked by my ever so faithful mother who never smothered me.

I was in the balcony listening to the "best new music" that I hated. Hencewhy I only got into real music at...age 13? Needless to say, I loved Dashboard Confessional. Chris Carraba was my first real boy crush.

Oh, what a coincidence, I just thought I saw the bottom half of him holding his guitar in a webpage.

I'm typing this on Notepad, by the way.

I have a couple of friends addicted to mediafire. Oh wait, I have no friends. And if you're beginning to think I'm a spoiled bitch, well you're wrong. But I admit, I get lonely sometimes. I listen to Bright Eyes all night to keep me company.
And I get everything I want.
You hear that? I can get everything I ****ing want!
the explicative might work better between every and thing.
and fucking looks better on the page than ****ing, imho.

Happy-child-opening-present-under-Christmas-tree happy. He's doing it illegally too. The thrill plus the reaping of the corn. Crime never pays.

But it just feels so good. I think I do that.

Show me the way, Jesus, 'cause here it's all **** your way to the top.

I hate the streets and everyone on it. But I want to get better.
plural/singular shift from streets to it.

These are the things to avoid, destroy, cower from.
How you cure yourself.
Help yourself to the disjunction
Die alreadly. *already

When my family moved out if this (I'm realizing I'm faking my history, as if history was never faked, with the proper facts, of course) apartment, we rented a nice-y little cozy-boy house by a garbage creek. I realize I could just call it a creek, but that would be way too romantic and reminds me of Old Yeller. The garbage creek never smelled though, because I stayed indoors most of the time, and only in the mornings.

"So how's the dog?" I asked my mom. She said it was fine, as everything is. She hates therapists, doctors, carpenters, air-conditioning cleaners, or any sort of repairman, whether it be human or machine. She suffers from mild depression and middle-age boredom. She's kind of lesbian. It runs in the family.

My dad: he's alive. He's the breadwinner. I don't know what he really does for a living, but I can assume it's something morally justified, as if anything can be justified, with the proper facts of course.

Of course, none of this is true. My mom isn't depressed. My dad doesn't run an illegal smuggling business (I sound pretentious). We're all one big happy ****ing family!

I'm lying, yes I lie all the time. Truth is subjective, after all. "One man’s food is another man’s poison."

In my case, it's acne. ****-uppedness that leaves me immoblized *immobilized in bed, washing my face and picking at scars that jests at another man's wound. In YOUR case, why are you even reading this, Mr. Mother****er? Why do you care?
You do care, hencewhy you're reading this. I'd rather be hated than igonred *ignored 'cause at least someone cares, y'know? So go, ahead, pretend nothing ever happened.

History is subjective, after all.

Things to avoid, destroy, cower from.
How you cure yourself.
Help yourself to the disjunction
Die alreadly.


amusing, but mildly annoying read.
partially because of the tone,
sounding entries in the diary
of a nuisance child.
and partially from the
change in layout from short lines
to long.

you might try blocking this
more in the style of a poem
and see how it reads.


ahh ultimate-guitar censors those f words haha
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian
#7
Quote by Laces Out Danny
ahh ultimate-guitar censors those f words haha


****, **** **** **** ****. =] I think not.

Anyway, I liked it.

EDIT: Oh I guess they do. At least I can still say shit. And ****. And Ass. Assface. **** sucker. Shitbird. Bird shit.


Stop me when I've gone too far.