ozzybozz

In a dark dark corner In a dark dark room There is a dark dark child Near a dark dark groom. In the bright bright light Of the bright bright night There is a bright bright bride By his dark dark side In the dark dark room In the bright bright night A family bonded Making everything right.

The whisper of the wind is not present The soft roar of the air bullets is near The clouds group, droop, and gray as they prepare to shoot us down with gloom.

'Tis the night before Thanksgiving and all through the town The humans are up, but the turkeys are down Scrambling everywhere, trying to hide From the hunters and weapons gathering outside. Dodging bullets and running from doom, The turkeys tried to escape the gloom. For brothers and sisters, children and friends Were losing their grip and coming to ends. Soon some realized how foolish they were To be running from sticks covered in fur. Running and hiding behind the dead trees Made them say and think "why should we flee?" "Down with you hunters, leave us alone!" Cried the frightened turkeys, angered to the bone. "Give us a chanc

Her black trench coat swayed with each step down the lonesome black road.  It was an almost silent night in the abandoned mountain town, high above a bustling city with technologies to blow anyone's mind.  A city so oblivious to the dangers beyond, the monsters of their mind, the demons of their dreams.  The only sound was the soft scud of Tanya's boots, and the melancholy beats of "Black Cadillacs" escaping to the outside world beyond her headphones.  She was the only true human left in this ghost town.  The other inhabitants had a common trait with her though.  Like Tanya, they were the hunters, and the hunted.  Tanya had an advantage over

Music can talk about anything... a poisoning kiss memories of bliss maybe glowing woes or how she knows where the asphalt ends and the night begins how life is but a dream and things aren't what they seem in this world powered by stars

The previous generation wonders why my age group seems so dreary and disillusioned.  "Look," they cry.  "Life is beautiful! There are beautiful places to go! Beautiful people to meet! Beautiful jobs to take so you can supply us with our beautiful Social Security payments!" But many aren't enticed.  They sit in their darkened rooms, the sharp whine of emo music piercing their pierced ears as they lie lifeless on their beds.  The roots of this malaise run deep, yet the planting of these vile seeds can be traced back to three gardeners:  Peter, Paul and Mary. I know what you're thinking, and I admit it does seem like a stretch to blame three b

Feeling that way again. Like I'm really just not good. Enough to ever be. Worth a damn. So here I sit again. Pouring my heart. Into words that wont. Be read by any. Surely never. Liked. Its funny how. My words are just. Like me. Always hidden. Behind some wall. Just a faint echo. In life's. Purpose. Yet still. These words spill. And yet still. I remain here. Just a vessel. Never really. Meant to live. Just a mistake. Like most. Little things. That aren't. Important. Just like. How I wasn't. Ever important. To you.