The Cynic Communtity

Yellow Decorations ~Miss A I look in the mirror, I have grown, but look the same as before; Learned to breathe, learned to quiver, learned to stain a cast, yet uneducated. Foolish wishes from the undergrounds of the heart which I wished then, Would have better been true then, 'cuz for now, it spears ridiculousness. I'll try it once again, even when it smells sick, with an agenda to motivate self, What am I looking for, seem disconnected from reality more than ever, never care. Never to wake early, caring for a slight hope for mischief, Beside, par all, a happy run from what to escape, came easy. Freedom has no taste, without the terrorised pain, a roaring adventure, Now I'm on ground, no chains, but unable to run from the cage. Oh petite thoughtfullness, push me back me choas, see me dive, All the sweet memos is crawling my brain like sugar starch. If it was then, I would have begged to see it today, Ruthless, for even the past few years upcoming, I see it bizzare. When wou

Peddling ghosts ~ Miss A Where do dreams come from, a question, Or are the characters so defined, a crossover? As I realise, every thing I notice, or like sub-notice, Are either there as a pivot, based on the sentiments they reverted, Or the main second characters, if I had an opinion to think, Some just half build distortions of 'em, some absolutely new. The breach between the eyebrows, to the form of settling of the eyes, For lord's stake, I'm staring too long, hypnotized by each being, what is this! Trying to understand the architecture, no matter the subject being a child or an old, The differences I see, and then to trace down similarly, feels like real gold. But what's the power they hold? For some in my dreams just weaklings, Some appear like a live-savers, some like peddling ghosts. The one holding the seniority, sadly isn't the one who's save this damsel in distress, It rather occurs to be the one who feels like the death of me. Trying to pedal stones a