CliqueOnMadness

Pay attention to me. No, please, don't look... I'm wont to answer your questions. Just... miss me. I want to be alone. Not like this. This room is full of people I know, and I'm alone. I want to be... alone. Home. These people are my friends. Not right now. No, now they're talking to someone else. I'm choosing. This is my place. My solitude is my comfort. Let the sweet music of solitude and of love fill my heart. I love, but I am alone. I love, but my heart feels solo this moment. Don't let my contradictions disturb you. I'm in love with this feeling.

Always something on my mind. Wheels turning, logic and reason and passion stirring, whirling in a stew. It's a shame to go to waste. Left unattended too long, the steam screams and whistles. The liquid escapes, leaving its container dry and its surroundings burned. Too often does the mixture rot this way. Too often does its wonder fail to reach hungry mouths, the ears of the young or of the curious. Too often does a good idea got to waste. Don't let it all go to waste.

Trapped inside a shrinking room my company is growing weary I shall soon become of fighting til I start shrinking my world is getting bigger or at least my eyes are while my tools remain the same as those with which I began, nay, weaker, for the wear. An epic poem manages to fit Inside a scheme of conventional rhythm but my small starry-eyed frame demands in foolishness a grandly larger container (that it may claim not to be contained)

My heart is filled with sentiment My eyes, with wonderment My mind, riddled with words unspoken My dreams yet unbroken

Billie Joe Armstrong held his hands on his hips, which jutted out from his dangerously low-riding jeans. The black denim hugged the singer's minute curves like a bear would a tree, or a cobra its gasping prey. He was angry, or attempting to be, though the smirk flirting with his compressed lips belied his failing demeanor. Jakob Danger Armstrong bit his youthful lip in an appeal to his visibly softening father's complex, often public emotional sensitivity. "Did I break it, dad? It died. Did I kill it?" The senior Armstrong raised a sympathetic eyebrow, utterly forgetting the blissful ignorance of his youngest son's mind, and reassured him

Fink drove himself mad with all of these thoughts. He wasn't to think of else until no more came, and still they carried on, continuing to eat at his once-fortified, now-vulnerable mind. The poor man had nothing else but thoughts, thoughts of himself, thoughts of that nameless other but whose name would roll of of his tongue like water over a cliff. That name... he knew he knew it. Oh he wished to call it, just to call it, but with only hope for an answer. Hope, if you will, which dwelled beyond hope's hope, that that lemon, sugar voice would let his own name fall, fall like an imprisoned monster let down from the heavens, wicked and divine a

My name is my place is my kind is my weight is my height is my religion is my sentiment is that it doesn't matter

Dear World,         I apologize. My name has been taken in vain and used in situations opposed to myself with the claim that it is doing my will. I have to let you know, before I lose all credibility, that the people who claim to do my bidding, more often than do, don't. These people have started wars, fighting about me. Let it be known that this is not my will. A few years ago, there was a guy who was right when he said that I told him what he needed to do. But at the time, people didn't believe him, and killed him before he reached middle-aged. But he was the only one I talked to. So, listen to him. A few times, people have said that he h

*script*

Tap into me through my creation a product of environment brought up to be the symbol of death before retirement epitomizing self-destruction through abstinence therefrom escaping the ordinary through being unextraordinary laugh at those who live alone you're a walking contradiction hypocritical in ways they never fail to mention the victim of your own invention welcome the the sign of life you're waiting for in death I hope I live to see the day when it's all faded away pitiously lying in a self-dug grave