Sweat trickling down your cheeks
Bible passages flow under your eyes
Flying feet, dashing hopes
Nobody can break your stride
Keep rushin
Don't stop
Cheering voices from every side
Your legs are tired but they still glide
Your feet jump when you reach the end
Nothing is bigger than your pride.
Maybe I'll Leave a Note - Amory McKeever (IcecreamMan80) 1/18/12
It's quiter talk
I'm fluent in
like hallelujah
when you can't win
just stay down
let go of hope
seeing double
rope a dope
pack it in
blow this town
walk away
retreat again
from debts unpaid
fuel the jet
todays the day
I love my wife
and I love my son
a rearview life
what's done is done
don't look back
what's left behind
is just whiplash
to break your neck
leave you tamed
beast of burden
total wreck
hallow eyed
empty handed
shellshocked pride
given in
to giving up
ten count landed
enoughs enough
no secret chord
or marble arch
there's no victory
just a march
into the mire
souls worn thin
guess I'm history
and mortal sin
for here I halt
laying down sword
so damn tired
of fighting wars
won nothing
but more scars
wounds for salt
to please the lord
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():
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Thanks to Xenphire @ Inkfox for the amazing new sig
“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments
are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
My heartbeat echoes,
like boots crashing against pavement
desperately moving forward, forward, forward
reluctant to look back
the movement grows faster, more anxious, more urgent with every step
as though each were to be my last.
Suddenly, I come to a stop
at the corner of Redemption and despair
I throw my hands into the air and sigh-
it's the end
of Writer's Block
The lions are gone,
in heart and spirit more than face.
See them in a zoo or on a shirt sure;
I say on the podium is their place.
Oh! To long for the blood of the fiercest savannah king,
swing my mane and let loos a roar,
from the heavens freedom ring!
The lions are gone,
their voices no longer there to stir the masses.
The days of pride being the leader of the pride are gone,
we'd rather stick to classes.
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():
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Official Moderator of The [Gutter]
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I am a swan,
flapping wings I don't have,
flying upwards as though there is a current to catch.
I listen to the wind
that doesn't exist,
and follow the currents.
I wish I would be carried
along an eddy,
a rock causing soft ripples.
I am the ugly duckling.
I am motionless.
I am worthless.
I am myself.
This is fiction.
I should be free.
If it is true, I should be free.
It is never true.
I am never myself.
I am.
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my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I don't feel anymore.
The horrors that plague my mind run rampant.
I am empty.
Feeling is relative.
Everything is the same when you've been stopped in time.
Why have I been forced into this place?
Where can I go from here?
How can I escape?
Where are the answers?
Why?
Reflect on all that has been lost.
Reflect on all that has been found.
I am neither.
I am neither here nor there.
I am no one.
I am nothing.
Reflect on this.
Reflect on this emptiness.
Emptiness.
Nothing.
Gone.
2011: Best Mafia Performance (Individual) - Best Newcomer
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
That life with passion and reason will arrive;
Where we drink the moon by gulps
And beg the liquid stars to bathe our communion;
Where by the rights of intimate elation we wage war
On all the fighting hours between our homes;
Where sick with waiting the forms of flesh
Expel the afflictions of longing;
Where a lovers' bed draws out like the sea
And joyous tears are lost in its wash;
Where mouths recite sounds and sensations
That echo throughout mankind's existence;
Where love drips from our hearts
Like the juices of fruits best squeezed;
There and then, enamored by the gift
Of Winter's final smile,
We'll claim the days as our own,
And devour the nights accordingly.
Looking at me slyly, he asked,
"bruh, you comin on the attack"
"Man you know I got your back,
like chiroprac"........ters.
Stillshot blurs,
shout murmurs,
lace back to confer.
Empty inside.
You have to be.
Our pride and our wallets,
are all that we've got;
turn your back on either,
culinary hot snot.
Private Mod Note
():
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Official Moderator of The [Gutter]
Think the MtgStaff is just swell? Join today! You too can be involved in an 8 year grudge and delete nearly 9000 of kpaca's posts!
Homeland (AKA The Circus)
I don't belong here
I hate everything
Everyone
Is it me?
Could I be mistaken?
No.
Never.
But can I really leave?
I'm forever tethered
to the souls of my friends
my family
my enemies
I can run
but nothing works
I find myself back
Back again in this hell
I'm not content
and I never will be
but I have to stay
I am never alone
Strings, ropes, and knives
Keep me here.
As the old water runs
and the new enters
Will I ever be remembered?
For my deeds?
For my mistakes?
No.
I've harmed to many
so I'll fade into the past
with the old generation
who will be forgotten
by a generation that will be forgotten
by another generation
Black white stripes on her dress,
And this young woman is depressed,
She has forgotten, oh,
The sound of kindness and she knows she's old.
She's cold and running out of time,
Because a loving touch is hard to find.
She waits naive, and believes,
Someone still cares.
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():
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Pure, in its general form, is acting with selfless intentions whilst living a life of proactive, correct and logical choices where blame is nonexistent and there replaced with gratitude.
Join the Pure Alliance! For fun, making friends, and the purification of your soul!
Every *TBD*, right here, we discuss cute things over some healthy green tea.
Purple veins stuck in a half-folded throb-step,
delicious and nutritious for a brunch or a breakfast,
pulses repulsed at the pallor's frozen whiteness,
the hunter does hunger for a sharp red liquid,
Slice it. Ice it, keep it refrigerated.
Price it. Dice it, cut it up and separate it
Wise up. Control it, keep it at arm's length -
that bright red liquid is the only thing we're starving
for. To the quick, just a nick, watch it spilling.
A little taste of home - to the bone! - running faster.
Our embrace a disgrace - always running home to master,
but only he has so many donors that are willing ...
Purple veins stuck in a half-folded throb-step,
delicious and nutritious for a brunch or a breakfast,
pulses repulsed at the pallor's frozen whiteness,
the hunter does hunger for a sharp red liquid.
Give up humanity for ecstacy, breathless,
cadavers gone madder, blood-stained, deathless.
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
YOU BECOME ACCUSTOMED TO THE SHOUTING. You learn to deal with it, to shrug off whatever emotion within you wishes to trigger from such sonorous tirades. Sometimes words go missing and you mentally... the blanks. Sometimes you miss them altogether. You become an illusionist, your mind the only audience, your performance angled on making reason of sounds that may or may not be there. Repetition haunts your conversations. Repetition haunts your conversations. The question "what?" becomes your waving white banner. All the while, you're assured that the loss is temporary, that your hearing will return with time, that patience should be your utmost comfort. And you wait....
The waiting's the worst. They've instilled hope in you. HOPE. They, the professional healers, who seem uncertain how to approach the situation. You want to know, more than anything, MORE THAN ANYTHING, what has happened, what will happen, what the prognosis is and what batch of emotions you should begin dealing with. WHAT, indeed. But that look in their... it's telling you that they DON'T know, that they don't know. And there reside your thoughts, dwelling on what may or may not be. It's an excruciating experience and it all started with a common slip.
The accident was a simple one: a q-tip poised toward releasing a clog shot its way through the cochlea. It all started with a common slip... ended with a deaf right ear. The pain came first. They told you it would subside within days. Silence came almost simultaneously. They told you that would retreat as well. THEY TOLD YOU. And what right does anyone have to make such a claim when they truly don't know?
Sweat trickling down your cheeks
Bible passages flow under your eyes
Flying feet, dashing hopes
Nobody can break your stride
Keep rushin
Don't stop
Cheering voices from every side
Your legs are tired but they still glide
Your feet jump when you reach the end
Nothing is bigger than your pride.
My Mafia Stats - My Helpdesk
G Omnath, Locus of Mana U Arcum Dagsson BUG The Mimeoplasm GW Gaddock Teeg X Karn, Silver Golem
Here in the sticks, for fun
we spit
into AC condensing vents
smoke jagged, hand-rolled spliffs
and trudge the rotting thickets
Here, in the sticks, from fear
we hide
away from social gatherings
the cannibals of industry
and our own poor, pulled pangs of guilt
Here, in the sticks, with pride
we drive
our chevy pickup trucks
through mud and dusty
fields, carbon addicted fools
Here, in the sticks, smiling
we love
our cousins, just a little
too much-- so they say
(a rural "urban legend")
Here, in the sticks, sunburned
we swim
in fecal flowered rivers
let our cattle wonder if
aliens have come to sodomize
Here, in the sticks, surrounded
we eat
violet-oozing mushrooms,
and wish that we were millionaires
or anywhere but here
This is a Shivan Ampersand
It's quiter talk
I'm fluent in
like hallelujah
when you can't win
just stay down
let go of hope
seeing double
rope a dope
pack it in
blow this town
walk away
retreat again
from debts unpaid
fuel the jet
todays the day
I love my wife
and I love my son
a rearview life
what's done is done
don't look back
what's left behind
is just whiplash
to break your neck
leave you tamed
beast of burden
total wreck
hallow eyed
empty handed
shellshocked pride
given in
to giving up
ten count landed
enoughs enough
no secret chord
or marble arch
there's no victory
just a march
into the mire
souls worn thin
guess I'm history
and mortal sin
for here I halt
laying down sword
so damn tired
of fighting wars
won nothing
but more scars
wounds for salt
to please the lord
Thanks to Xenphire @ Inkfox for the amazing new sig
“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments
are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
like boots crashing against pavement
desperately moving forward, forward, forward
reluctant to look back
the movement grows faster, more anxious, more urgent with every step
as though each were to be my last.
Suddenly, I come to a stop
at the corner of Redemption and despair
I throw my hands into the air and sigh-
it's the end
of Writer's Block
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
The lions are gone,
in heart and spirit more than face.
See them in a zoo or on a shirt sure;
I say on the podium is their place.
Oh! To long for the blood of the fiercest savannah king,
swing my mane and let loos a roar,
from the heavens freedom ring!
The lions are gone,
their voices no longer there to stir the masses.
The days of pride being the leader of the pride are gone,
we'd rather stick to classes.
drink deep
the night has no restraint
but for harmony in thought
echo, pale shadows!
the soul of winter dances
resonant melody
the heavens open in anticipation
the stars gaze downwards
to a plane of near-existence
shrouded by deep clouds
cold respite
the snow speaks in tongues
of forgotten elders
to unborn elders
in a timeless instant
Hearts, boxes, bags
all laid on the table
liquid, dark, drive
the secret forest of desire.
talk, hot, sweat
everything gone
scumbag
Want Higher Level Card Evaluation? Visit Diestoremoval.com
A place with no winters.
Or was it winners?
Eh. Can't spell too well.
Welcome to my home-
A place with long days.
Or was it long dazed?
Eh. Can't see the difference.
Welcome to my home-
The place where I think.
or was it drink?
Eh. Same thing.
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
I am a swan,
flapping wings I don't have,
flying upwards as though there is a current to catch.
I listen to the wind
that doesn't exist,
and follow the currents.
I wish I would be carried
along an eddy,
a rock causing soft ripples.
I am the ugly duckling.
I am motionless.
I am worthless.
I am myself.
This is fiction.
I should be free.
If it is true, I should be free.
It is never true.
I am never myself.
I am.
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Our lips is the frailest line
For careless whispers
To dangle on a moment
Of ecstacy and terror
Today, I put maui rib sauce
on a cucumber sandwich.
Today, I spit in the faces
of sadists, demons, kings;
Come at me, culture!
I've got an honest smile
and more love than a hundred
of your infomericials.
Howl, ye winds!
I've got bards holding me up,
You see this, gods?
Your domains are shattered.
Let come what may!
The horrors that plague my mind run rampant.
I am empty.
Feeling is relative.
Everything is the same when you've been stopped in time.
Why have I been forced into this place?
Where can I go from here?
How can I escape?
Where are the answers?
Why?
Reflect on all that has been lost.
Reflect on all that has been found.
I am neither.
I am neither here nor there.
I am no one.
I am nothing.
Reflect on this.
Reflect on this emptiness.
Emptiness.
Nothing.
Gone.
{мы, тьма}
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
Where we drink the moon by gulps
And beg the liquid stars to bathe our communion;
Where by the rights of intimate elation we wage war
On all the fighting hours between our homes;
Where sick with waiting the forms of flesh
Expel the afflictions of longing;
Where a lovers' bed draws out like the sea
And joyous tears are lost in its wash;
Where mouths recite sounds and sensations
That echo throughout mankind's existence;
Where love drips from our hearts
Like the juices of fruits best squeezed;
There and then, enamored by the gift
Of Winter's final smile,
We'll claim the days as our own,
And devour the nights accordingly.
Looking at me slyly, he asked,
"bruh, you comin on the attack"
"Man you know I got your back,
like chiroprac"........ters.
Stillshot blurs,
shout murmurs,
lace back to confer.
Empty inside.
You have to be.
Our pride and our wallets,
are all that we've got;
turn your back on either,
culinary hot snot.
I don't belong here
I hate everything
Everyone
Is it me?
Could I be mistaken?
No.
Never.
But can I really leave?
I'm forever tethered
to the souls of my friends
my family
my enemies
I can run
but nothing works
I find myself back
Back again in this hell
I'm not content
and I never will be
but I have to stay
I am never alone
Strings, ropes, and knives
Keep me here.
As the old water runs
and the new enters
Will I ever be remembered?
For my deeds?
For my mistakes?
No.
I've harmed to many
so I'll fade into the past
with the old generation
who will be forgotten
by a generation that will be forgotten
by another generation
scumbag
Want Higher Level Card Evaluation? Visit Diestoremoval.com
Toss me into a corner
Thinking, "I'm tired."
You lift everything
In a desperate search for
Me, a poor sock.
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
You let me go,
now set me free.
Left me alone,
so leave me be.
You've been gone for all these years,
why won't you go away?
Black white stripes on her dress,
And this young woman is depressed,
She has forgotten, oh,
The sound of kindness and she knows she's old.
She's cold and running out of time,
Because a loving touch is hard to find.
She waits naive, and believes,
Someone still cares.
Join the Pure Alliance! For fun, making friends, and the purification of your soul!
Every *TBD*, right here, we discuss cute things over some healthy green tea.
Purple veins stuck in a half-folded throb-step,
delicious and nutritious for a brunch or a breakfast,
pulses repulsed at the pallor's frozen whiteness,
the hunter does hunger for a sharp red liquid,
Slice it. Ice it, keep it refrigerated.
Price it. Dice it, cut it up and separate it
Wise up. Control it, keep it at arm's length -
that bright red liquid is the only thing we're starving
for. To the quick, just a nick, watch it spilling.
A little taste of home - to the bone! - running faster.
Our embrace a disgrace - always running home to master,
but only he has so many donors that are willing ...
Purple veins stuck in a half-folded throb-step,
delicious and nutritious for a brunch or a breakfast,
pulses repulsed at the pallor's frozen whiteness,
the hunter does hunger for a sharp red liquid.
Give up humanity for ecstacy, breathless,
cadavers gone madder, blood-stained, deathless.
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
The dust of a fading nebula;
The lust of an aging god;
And the crust of a waning world.
You deserve the cream of my rage-
The light of this stage!
Were I half so great;
As the solar winds of fate,
I would bathe in a cosmic lake;
And wait for it all to break.
(EDIT: had to correct a line break)
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
The waiting's the worst. They've instilled hope in you. HOPE. They, the professional healers, who seem uncertain how to approach the situation. You want to know, more than anything, MORE THAN ANYTHING, what has happened, what will happen, what the prognosis is and what batch of emotions you should begin dealing with. WHAT, indeed. But that look in their... it's telling you that they DON'T know, that they don't know. And there reside your thoughts, dwelling on what may or may not be. It's an excruciating experience and it all started with a common slip.
The accident was a simple one: a q-tip poised toward releasing a clog shot its way through the cochlea. It all started with a common slip... ended with a deaf right ear. The pain came first. They told you it would subside within days. Silence came almost simultaneously. They told you that would retreat as well. THEY TOLD YOU. And what right does anyone have to make such a claim when they truly don't know?
(pt. 1)