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mother, won't you watch your children
father, can't you be there
the sudden rainfall can't clear the air.
hold on to the severed cord
the smog that pollutes the skies
but it's the adhesive that dies.
we can drive off in your car
watch the city behind us burn
fly off with the birds in the distance
some lessons it isn't enough to learn.
he commands the rain but is helpless to it
and all my tears can't dignify it now
you can't leave me...
please don't leave me...
maybe in another time
i could hold your hand
maybe in another time
you could understand
maybe in a better place
we could be together
maybe in a better place
we could live forever...

Still Air

See the world through different eyes
You'll get a very pleasant surprise
Live for the pain, enjoy every minute
Smile or cry, you'll never regret it
Easy love's a lie we fake
Sinking in the bathtub we make
Drowning in the shot glass you created
Too far from who you loved and hated
Why does it seem like it's just me?
Wouldn't it be easier to cry?
Waiting for the moment but do I want to be free?
Wouldn't it be easier to die?
You can't stop yourself from falling
You can't stop the wound from tearing
You've got to crawl to learn to fly
And you won't stop yourself from swearing
Where's the pain supposed to go?
In love there are no guarantees
Yet without fail it brings you to your knees
If I'm passing, then where are my degrees?
Way too early I paid my fees
There's no medicine to cure this disease
End this game, I'm begging you please

sick and bored

look away from me
i'm absorbed in my own irony
too long things been good
time now to be misunderstood
impossinle things now turned red
down to the point where i can't feel
i guess i'll just wait around
a time once lost i've now found.
no one's here, they're just a thought
of way back when, the battles i've fought
out of all i know how much do i own
could i have stopped if i had known?
broken pieces won't stick to the glue
tell me what the hell happened to you
friends too selfish to give a damn
they don't care who i am.
maybe you're as sick as me.
could you be as bored as me.
if i had the time to do nothing
maybe i could deal with you.
they'd like to see me dead
but don't know how to kill me.


I sat down on a bench in an area full of trees. I couldn't help but think how beautiful the trees were, espcially when the wind blew. A few leaves fell from a tree and landed beside me. I picked them up and examined them. Their texture was somewhat smooth, and they seemed a perfect shade of green; a dark forest green.

Another person, a boy of about 16, was passing by. He seemed equally as curious as I was about our new surroundings. He spotted me and walked over.

"Excuse me," he said, "but do you know where we are?"

"Not really," I said, not quite knowing what to say. I wasn't sure where we were or even how we had gotten there. "All I know is that world is all beautiful. Everything in it is supposed to be."

"I don't know about that," he said. "I don't think that the trees are beautiful. They're green, and I hate green. I do like brown, though. Like the color of this bench."

I looked down at the bench I was seated on. I wasn't fond of the color it was. It was a light, pale brown. "I don't really like it," I said. "But that doesn't matter right now. What are we supposed to be doing here? I mean, where do we go from here?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders apathetically. He waved good-bye and walked on. He left me with a thought, though. Was everything truly beautiful? I knew that we were supposed to believe that it was, but could I?

The colors, though an unimportant discussion, had made me realize something. While I may find something beautiful, that did not mean that everyone else was going to; and vice versa. Everything in the world is subjective. Beauty is an opinion, and then how can everything be beautiful to everyone?

I closed my eyes a moment and pondered this. Suddenly it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe the beauty in everything is its subjectivity. Maybe the beauty in something lies within the idea that not everyone likes it. Maybe that is why beauty can mean so much to an individual; because it is beautiful to them and not everyone.

I decided to get up and walk around some more. I walked into an open area, where a little girl sat. She was very dirty, and her small white dress was muddy. She looked up at me, and smiled. It was then I realized she held a basket of strawberries.

"I just came from picking these," she said softly. "If you are hungry you can have them."

I was very thin, almost emaciated, from not having eaten in so long. But this little girl was even more so. She was very pale, and seemingly alone, without parents or friends. Yet, she offered her food to a stranger!

It was then that I realized what beauty really is. It isn't the tree, or the bench, or their subjectivity that make them beautiful; it is the people. Every person, no matter how they look physically, is beautiful in some way. This little girl had the beauty of kindness and unselfishness. The boy from before had the beauty of being opinionated. The people were what made other things beautiful. The little girls had made the strawberries incredibly beautiful with her own beauty.

As I helped the little girl stand up, I thanked her for her offer, but told her to eat the strawberries herself. I took her hand and looked down the road. We would keep walking until we found a town, or some other place to live. Along the way we would see beautiful things; works of nature that amazed and astonished us. The law was right; everything is beautiful. But it was only the beauty; the love in our hearts that made everything beautiful. We knew that if we never found a city, or even our places in the world, we would still have thatl and that is all anyone needs in the end.

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