Fish-Head-The-3rd

Poem rumor. wen 12 dec 2018 By aavatar my words to you my words to you I hear there's a rumor it spreads like a tumor you treat me like I am a traitor Or an avenging Northern Raider Is this fate To always feel this Irate a tumor that fills up all available space   And making its bases and takes all available Resources. Without care for the recourse A rumor takes up all the space Putting truth to waste Words untrue Leave it to you This is  what you achieve When You just believed   it before You even heard it There is always more Anther time trying to hit a score You believe, that is what i am That my whole life is a scam I

By the endless sea Ariel Gonzalez Washed up by the righteous sea. Lonely in the icy breath of the world. A light coming through the gray hue. Heavy with dew Lights in the gray a miserable  day,   looks good from far away. Never save, never safe my heart cries. The copper light sits near me, and looks over the dark sea. 'Are you okay?' I say 'why do you ask?' ' because no one is happy here.' 'Then why are you here?' I cry, it ripping from my chest ' I AM wounded I'm wounded I can't leave.' ' if you can't leave and I'm so tired, can I sit by your light?' My heart glows, 'if you keep your light a glow as well' Never safe

A walk down the street By AAvatar Take me to the nightmare city. feathers fly and birds die. Lost are we who come to the nightmare city. It's a pity, walking familiars streets but   never finding Home. Seeing oldest places, the road with your safest pace. For it never to be there Some sing a ditty Some think they were witty It's a pity But all in the nightmare city We all stay, And Dream of something different. Nightmare city is full of butterfly with razor wings. And all of these dangerous things. But nightmare city is home to me So let me be.

Wrote: Monday 19 november 2018 Record: Friday 23 november 2018 Harvest by Aavatar Harvest has come. Winter will roam. The last of the Harvest is ripened and   All that remaining Fades to   Yellow Orange Red. Either to burn as Ash for the new year or To be buried under the snow, becoming mulch. Joy before winter awakes. Now we feast before the overflow is over   and too eat what will not keep. Store it away for hard months until The earth is ready to bloom again. Now I can only taste the chill on the wind, The world quieter since the birds who Fly Away and small Critters that find little cozy corners to   sleep through the worst