Strange Times
It was a bright friget day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
The wind howled as it swished by, probably desperate to get to a better place.
The sun scorched the ground, sucking the life from beneath my feet.
blazing and frigid at the same time, this world makes no sense.
Cracks where erupting from the depths as if the devil was trying to escape.
Stand Up
I feel my desk with it’s smooth skin
It seems to look at me, acting ashamed
I know that it is tired of my enormous head holding it down
It’s four legs probably gasping with for air
It needs a break from the stacks of books pushing it to the ground
I start to feel horrible for my desk, What did it ever do to me?
So now I realize that I should of done something a long time ago
It is time to stand up for desk kind
Hanging for Hope
There is almost nothing left for you. One wrong move and everything has ended. Everyone deserted you with not one helping hand to get back to the peak. With very slim energy to carry on, all hope has fallen. The sun will soon disappear from the sky; leaving you like everyone else. Darkness will soon engulf your being. There is no hope.