“Having come this far you must find the path,” the mystic said. “I can reveal the future to you and will reveal the way out.”
All you need to prey on the gullible is to manipulate the situation: conceal their real options, divert attention from them and don’t let them have what they say they want. Flattery helps also.
“All I want is to go home. That should be easy enough, I just need to turn around,” she said. “Getting here was hard and I don’t like it here.”
“We have been waiting for you,” he said.
its like hiding from something, everything, anything. secrets youd keep from everyone, from someone, from yourself. words you cant describe that you cant say that you dont want to. words beyond doubt the darkest and most secretive of anything you’ve ever seen, heard, or done, and anything you’ve ever experienced, and it’s rather like a child, a secret child you’d do everything to hide and protect from the world.
I have been finding it difficult to conceal my seemingly endless lightheartedness in these past few airy days. Something about having no ropes to tie me down, no single person to impress, and no places for me to dedicate my attendence. Something about this new freedom has left me in the eye of optimism and the heart of a new joy.
I’ll not conceal anything more from you. I’ll not use makeup to hide my face from you. It will be a great effort on my part to lay myself bare for you, and try as I might to do so, you will still find hidden stones under which certain secrets lie. Not all secrets are bad secrets, and not every air of mystery is concealing something sinister.
she concealed her feelings, her love for him, everything that raced through her mind when she thought of his eyes piercing in to her own. she had made him out to be everything that she’d hope for, but she never really knew him at all. with a pocket full of stones, she turned around and went home.
you want to cover it all, don’t wanna tell anyone, but actually, you don’t really have anything to tell and talk about. And here, you’re sitting in silence, hoping someone would reminds you about how the coffee you just made is cooled down.
everything can be concealed, hidden, but the sun, the moon and the truth
the trees in the graveyard whispered and told me goodbye
polaroid pictures can’t deny that all of this is a lie
sing me a lullaby, so soft and so sweet
make me forget about everything
make me live in the moment for once in my life
but you’re too far away with nothing to say to me
its ok, actually, its not. i’m stuck with what i’ve got.
Beneath it all I wonder if there is anything to the facade, or are these often cases of paranoia run amok?
Yet that which they conceal must be important, right?
Or not. Who’s to say what is and isn’t worth the time of day.
But if something is deliberately stashed away, then it begs the question as to why it was hidden in the first place. It’s the “why” that draws me more often that the “what.”
it’s there i can feel it it’s almost impossible to hold back it grows and grows until it reaches it’s breaking point at which it splits and opens into a dark crevice lined with a white security system but all of this concealing it’s not necessary and when i’m around you it simply doesn’t work because no matter what you make me smile and that is that.
I conceal my truths
from the outside world
for they may try to steal it
and take it on as their own truths
you must find your own truths
do not steal mine
when you find yours
you may wish to conceal them
as to keep them pure and genuine
Today I did the opposite of conceal, I put my heart on my shoulder and recorded a song so full of emotion and truth it was like therapy. My chest pounded and I felt the sweet relief of anxiety as I concluded my first take.
It felt good to feel alive again…
I think concealing things is a form of lying, and so I don’t approve of this. Concealing facts from others may not be the same as telling an untruth, but in a sense, it is a form of untruth, where you dont really tell them the truth.
Her hands concealed her face from the world. She hid from everything. All the words, all the whispers and voices, every stare and glare she shied away from it all. It was for the best, but it hurt her nonetheless. No matter how much she kept herself hidden from everyone, she could still hear them. Hiding didn’t mean she wasn’t listening.
i can’t conceal the excitement i feel as the waves of sound reverberate through my ears, connecting the rhythm in my brain to the muscles in my legs….concealment of dance moves becomes an impossibility…
It was hidden there. Behind her eyes, away from where others could find it. She didn’t want anyone to see it, not even me. Especially not me. I’m persistent like that though. I find what needs to be found.
What’s conceal behind them? Is it because of what I said? They get pissed off? First of all, stupid people saying stupid things. Who are you to judge who should marry who? It’s people’s private matter. If they want to get married, what is your problem? Working together to accomplish a project doesn’t mean they have to abite by your silly thoughts…
I think of makeup, of course. I need to conceal my blemishes from others in order to look pretty! Haha.
I think this word is not used as often as it should be. I can think of many more uses, if only I had more than 60 seconds!
Conceal… I once thought about concealment with a lot of things, I still do. Everyone has things to hide. I have things to hide. I know I have to hide them, or BAD shit will go down. Not even fucking kidding. Everyone knows this, or thinks this about themselves. At least, I’d like to think so. Or maybe not, maybe I want to be special. I don’t know. But I can’t tell you about it, so… Sorry.
When you conceal yourself behind that mask, you’re right, no one can see your flaws. But they can’t see your character either. They can’t see you at all.
There are many things I try to conceal about me, like my inherent social awkwardness. I try to be cool and appear cool and composed with other people. However, that wish manifests itself in me being obnoxious and most of the time I end up annoying people. A lot. Last Thursday I got into a fight with a friend because I wasn’t careful with what I said. I am embarrassed to see him.
you aren’t doing a good job concealing that you are talking about people when they walk in the room and you make that awkward pause and then start talking about something random
There are parts of me
I must conceal
not to disprove that they are
but to keep them so.
There is so much of me you want to know
and i so much of you
but what if all this dispensed information
should get lost
in a conflagration
and I no longer know who is who
me or you?
due to our recent inclination
to share and know
each others every ache and
woe
do we now know
more than intended
so much so
that to be mended
we must be severed apart?
at the heart?
I do not know,
but what i’ll do
is keep these bits of me from you
not to be cruel
but to be kind
and kept in sane body
and mind.
nothing is under me anymore. not a body, not lies, nothing. I’m pretty much floating on thin air at the moment and i’m not sure if its because of a lack of love or some other stupid problem i’ve created in my head. who really cares what i’m doing or seeing anyway? io’m happy and that’s all that matters. unfortunately…i guess. i don’t know.
You can do that, conceal your true intentions but against that backdrop of your conceit I still love you, painfully so, in your smile I see a glimmer of hope but even that is a lie. I adore you but that wound is too deep to heal. Time to move on!
do you ever realize that you conceal parts of yourself better than you thought you did? much better, in fact. so much that its shocking? does it ever make you wonder if that’s really what you want? its difficult, to say the least, hiding, masking, maybe even pretending. but confrontation is harder. sometimes it seems useless. so why suffer in the open for the pity-ers and mockers rather than in silence where there is no need to worry over understanding.
but im finding that the unintended is concealed in the process. i blind myself, not only others.
isnt it funny? funny how we subdue so much of ourselves. all for the sake of fear. or denial. or sorrow.
how we conceal the very parts of ourselves aching and itching to be set free.
because we are too busy mending passedpast wounds. tending healed scars.
not sure that we’re ready to move on. that we’re strong enough.
waiting to find ourselves in one piece.
when the world will inevitably pull us, our souls, into infinite directions.
we should instead be unifying the various forces. becoming one with the flow of chaos.
The first time was a tangle of juvenile anxious and the oddity of awkward angular gestures. Heather’s boney fingers could barely reach Antony’s and wretched away. Something had knotted itself up in the boy’s throat, festering and collecting anything he may have wished to say. Another gesticulated move later, Heather finished, and pried the linen of the mattress against her breast lacking chest.
She had never been one to like guns, but there was something about a man with a pistol in his pants that just drove her wild.
When he came in the door, she could felt herself melt. She hated that she let him get to her. That he had any power over her. But, he made her heart bang.
I’ve concealed my bruise where your absence hits me hard, a steady drumbeat in my ears on a rhythm of blues, a sad, melancholy ache in this roundabout way, like grasping at straws or plucking daisy petals.
She had conceal it. They wouldn’t discover it.
They would neve discover that the man she once had loved with passion was now dead.
Buried between the trees behind the house.
I looked up to find a blackened sky, the dark rain falling onto my face and into my eyes. A symphony of screams whirled around me; and the pounding in my ears wouldn’t go away. I saw through the crack between the dumpster and the brick wall that officers were everywhere, swooping down on adults and children alike like hawks. I didn’t know where I was in relation to anything else; everything was blanketed in ash: the bulidngs, the sidewalks, the feilds. I had seen it all at a glance hours ago, a painting of swirling black oil, as I ran passed it, all of my city, searching for a hiding spot, praying I could stay concealed.
“Having come this far you must find the path,” the mystic said. “I can reveal the future to you and will reveal the way out.”
All you need to prey on the gullible is to manipulate the situation: conceal their real options, divert attention from them and don’t let them have what they say they want. Flattery helps also.
“All I want is to go home. That should be easy enough, I just need to turn around,” she said. “Getting here was hard and I don’t like it here.”
“We have been waiting for you,” he said.
its like hiding from something, everything, anything. secrets youd keep from everyone, from someone, from yourself. words you cant describe that you cant say that you dont want to. words beyond doubt the darkest and most secretive of anything you’ve ever seen, heard, or done, and anything you’ve ever experienced, and it’s rather like a child, a secret child you’d do everything to hide and protect from the world.
I have been finding it difficult to conceal my seemingly endless lightheartedness in these past few airy days. Something about having no ropes to tie me down, no single person to impress, and no places for me to dedicate my attendence. Something about this new freedom has left me in the eye of optimism and the heart of a new joy.
I’ll not conceal anything more from you. I’ll not use makeup to hide my face from you. It will be a great effort on my part to lay myself bare for you, and try as I might to do so, you will still find hidden stones under which certain secrets lie. Not all secrets are bad secrets, and not every air of mystery is concealing something sinister.
she concealed her feelings, her love for him, everything that raced through her mind when she thought of his eyes piercing in to her own. she had made him out to be everything that she’d hope for, but she never really knew him at all. with a pocket full of stones, she turned around and went home.
you want to cover it all, don’t wanna tell anyone, but actually, you don’t really have anything to tell and talk about. And here, you’re sitting in silence, hoping someone would reminds you about how the coffee you just made is cooled down.
everything can be concealed, hidden, but the sun, the moon and the truth
the trees in the graveyard whispered and told me goodbye
polaroid pictures can’t deny that all of this is a lie
sing me a lullaby, so soft and so sweet
make me forget about everything
make me live in the moment for once in my life
but you’re too far away with nothing to say to me
its ok, actually, its not. i’m stuck with what i’ve got.
Beneath it all I wonder if there is anything to the facade, or are these often cases of paranoia run amok?
Yet that which they conceal must be important, right?
Or not. Who’s to say what is and isn’t worth the time of day.
But if something is deliberately stashed away, then it begs the question as to why it was hidden in the first place. It’s the “why” that draws me more often that the “what.”
it’s there i can feel it it’s almost impossible to hold back it grows and grows until it reaches it’s breaking point at which it splits and opens into a dark crevice lined with a white security system but all of this concealing it’s not necessary and when i’m around you it simply doesn’t work because no matter what you make me smile and that is that.
I conceal my truths
from the outside world
for they may try to steal it
and take it on as their own truths
you must find your own truths
do not steal mine
when you find yours
you may wish to conceal them
as to keep them pure and genuine
Today I did the opposite of conceal, I put my heart on my shoulder and recorded a song so full of emotion and truth it was like therapy. My chest pounded and I felt the sweet relief of anxiety as I concluded my first take.
It felt good to feel alive again…
I think concealing things is a form of lying, and so I don’t approve of this. Concealing facts from others may not be the same as telling an untruth, but in a sense, it is a form of untruth, where you dont really tell them the truth.
Her hands concealed her face from the world. She hid from everything. All the words, all the whispers and voices, every stare and glare she shied away from it all. It was for the best, but it hurt her nonetheless. No matter how much she kept herself hidden from everyone, she could still hear them. Hiding didn’t mean she wasn’t listening.
i can’t conceal the excitement i feel as the waves of sound reverberate through my ears, connecting the rhythm in my brain to the muscles in my legs….concealment of dance moves becomes an impossibility…
It was hidden there. Behind her eyes, away from where others could find it. She didn’t want anyone to see it, not even me. Especially not me. I’m persistent like that though. I find what needs to be found.
I want to conceal everything that makes me feel negatively toward you.
What’s conceal behind them? Is it because of what I said? They get pissed off? First of all, stupid people saying stupid things. Who are you to judge who should marry who? It’s people’s private matter. If they want to get married, what is your problem? Working together to accomplish a project doesn’t mean they have to abite by your silly thoughts…
I think of makeup, of course. I need to conceal my blemishes from others in order to look pretty! Haha.
I think this word is not used as often as it should be. I can think of many more uses, if only I had more than 60 seconds!
makeup. soul.
lies
Conceal… I once thought about concealment with a lot of things, I still do. Everyone has things to hide. I have things to hide. I know I have to hide them, or BAD shit will go down. Not even fucking kidding. Everyone knows this, or thinks this about themselves. At least, I’d like to think so. Or maybe not, maybe I want to be special. I don’t know. But I can’t tell you about it, so… Sorry.
A gun.
A Black Beretta.
Beneath his Black Jacket.
He had a job to do.
When you conceal yourself behind that mask, you’re right, no one can see your flaws. But they can’t see your character either. They can’t see you at all.
There are many things I try to conceal about me, like my inherent social awkwardness. I try to be cool and appear cool and composed with other people. However, that wish manifests itself in me being obnoxious and most of the time I end up annoying people. A lot. Last Thursday I got into a fight with a friend because I wasn’t careful with what I said. I am embarrassed to see him.
Did you see them? Is that why you left? Did I not conceal the scars on my heart well enough?
you aren’t doing a good job concealing that you are talking about people when they walk in the room and you make that awkward pause and then start talking about something random
There are parts of me
I must conceal
not to disprove that they are
but to keep them so.
There is so much of me you want to know
and i so much of you
but what if all this dispensed information
should get lost
in a conflagration
and I no longer know who is who
me or you?
due to our recent inclination
to share and know
each others every ache and
woe
do we now know
more than intended
so much so
that to be mended
we must be severed apart?
at the heart?
I do not know,
but what i’ll do
is keep these bits of me from you
not to be cruel
but to be kind
and kept in sane body
and mind.
nothing is under me anymore. not a body, not lies, nothing. I’m pretty much floating on thin air at the moment and i’m not sure if its because of a lack of love or some other stupid problem i’ve created in my head. who really cares what i’m doing or seeing anyway? io’m happy and that’s all that matters. unfortunately…i guess. i don’t know.
go run hi
You can do that, conceal your true intentions but against that backdrop of your conceit I still love you, painfully so, in your smile I see a glimmer of hope but even that is a lie. I adore you but that wound is too deep to heal. Time to move on!
conceal? concealer is the quick-fix of the makeup world.
foundation preps the canvas
concealer seals the cracks with wax
and covers up spots of age and disease.
set with powder for lasting power.
I want to conceal my feelings about her.
do you ever realize that you conceal parts of yourself better than you thought you did? much better, in fact. so much that its shocking? does it ever make you wonder if that’s really what you want? its difficult, to say the least, hiding, masking, maybe even pretending. but confrontation is harder. sometimes it seems useless. so why suffer in the open for the pity-ers and mockers rather than in silence where there is no need to worry over understanding.
but im finding that the unintended is concealed in the process. i blind myself, not only others.
isnt it funny? funny how we subdue so much of ourselves. all for the sake of fear. or denial. or sorrow.
how we conceal the very parts of ourselves aching and itching to be set free.
because we are too busy mending passedpast wounds. tending healed scars.
not sure that we’re ready to move on. that we’re strong enough.
waiting to find ourselves in one piece.
when the world will inevitably pull us, our souls, into infinite directions.
we should instead be unifying the various forces. becoming one with the flow of chaos.
The fog concealed them from view… Not that they minded, the two of them, anyhow…
The first time was a tangle of juvenile anxious and the oddity of awkward angular gestures. Heather’s boney fingers could barely reach Antony’s and wretched away. Something had knotted itself up in the boy’s throat, festering and collecting anything he may have wished to say. Another gesticulated move later, Heather finished, and pried the linen of the mattress against her breast lacking chest.
She had never been one to like guns, but there was something about a man with a pistol in his pants that just drove her wild.
When he came in the door, she could felt herself melt. She hated that she let him get to her. That he had any power over her. But, he made her heart bang.
I’ve concealed my bruise where your absence hits me hard, a steady drumbeat in my ears on a rhythm of blues, a sad, melancholy ache in this roundabout way, like grasping at straws or plucking daisy petals.
She had conceal it. They wouldn’t discover it.
They would neve discover that the man she once had loved with passion was now dead.
Buried between the trees behind the house.
There’s nothing to hide if you have an ugly personality, not even the world’s greatest concealer.
I looked up to find a blackened sky, the dark rain falling onto my face and into my eyes. A symphony of screams whirled around me; and the pounding in my ears wouldn’t go away. I saw through the crack between the dumpster and the brick wall that officers were everywhere, swooping down on adults and children alike like hawks. I didn’t know where I was in relation to anything else; everything was blanketed in ash: the bulidngs, the sidewalks, the feilds. I had seen it all at a glance hours ago, a painting of swirling black oil, as I ran passed it, all of my city, searching for a hiding spot, praying I could stay concealed.
To cleverly hide away, specifically details, truths, spoken lies, and especially feelings, both warranted and not.