they themselves that think they know, that modern scientific world with exact measurements. i put that aside. i have experience on my side. the flux that is my life.
I hate them
They hate themselves
I’d kill them
They kill themselves
My actions reflect theirs
I look at them
They look at themselves
It’s a vicious cycle that I can’t bare but watch
Next time I’ll get them
Before they get themselves
They, themselves, and myself. Such strange words, but the words come to mind anyways. I don’t bid them there, they simply emerge out of the ether or my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. I have nothing against such odd fellows as them, do not misunderstand me, yet this particular grouping rubs me wrong in some unidentifiable way.
That’s all it was, themselves. There was no one else nearly as important in the world. They had themselves, and only themselves, and they were perfectly okay with it. They never wanted to have anyone else and they never wanted to leave each other. They had each other and they had themselves. And it was perfect.
They walked down the street slowly. The wind was crisp and smelled of decompostion as it swirled the leaves in a funnel around them. Their feet slapped the pavement as silent understanding passed between the two companions. No words were required; they had an understanding that sometimes it was best to be together and yet by themselves.
They. They were inevitably happy.
Despite life, despite everyone telling them to change, they were happy.
They we’re alive.
They were themselves, in a world constantly trying to make them someone else.
I hate them. Themselves is ridiculous all they think about is well themselves. How original! It’s all about me themselves. They’re conceited irate them, them hate themselves too.
They look at themselves so differently than everyone else. In the mirror there are only flaws and everything that is wrong. They know they could never be good enough. But they look at each other and they only see the beauty, wondering why they good never be as good as the other, never truly realizing that they, themselves, are beautiful. They look at themselves so differently from everyone else, but really they are the same.
they can’t be left by themselves. She doesn’t want to go back to being super buddy-buddy again but the fact of the matter is that is never going to happen. I know because I’m always watching.
i didnt know what it was like to be me or them or anyone for that matter. but i knew that no matter where i found myself or where i could or would find myself, i never wanted to be them. i just wanted to be me, needed to me desperately.
They are afraid that themselves will never be able to do what we are able to. hence they try to demotivate us. stop us. that’s their fear, not reason. Stopping us, not advice. iinfact they are advising themselves against it.
they hate themselves as much as they love themselves. they think as highly of themselves as the world thinks of shakespeare. they think as lowly of themselves as the world views the urchins in the streets of New York
We are ourselves. They are themselves. But no one is that definite. Like angela chase said we are not something that concise “like a toaster.” I don’t know who i am. I think in words and colors and photos and memories and a mish mosh.
They don’t even realize that they are hurting themselves. Girl you are so temperamental and filled with angst. I wish you two could see what that relationship is doing to you. But the fact that you even have that relationship shows that there is something hurting you that is far beyond the relationship.
Themselves. That’s all they ever thought of. Pity. There is so much beauty in the world. Unimaginable beauty. Beauty you have to see to believe. You have to care to believe, about more than yourself. But they only thought of themselves. Don’t be like them. Let go of yourself. Care for others and find the true beauty in the world.
Themselves tok a damn quid from me. Was gonna have a good time wit it but– …well? Well, now no more twisted night ova’loaded wit maja peeps trin to get me monae.
People hide from themselves. They’re the last person they want to spend time thinking about and yet that’s all we do, think about ourselves. Even when we try to help someone, every other sentence is “I did this” or “I went through that”. And that’s really fucking stupid and I don’t know why we do that.
We wandered from the forests below is. Haunted by the illness in your heart. They said we’d never be ourselves. They’ll never be themselves. I could never imagine a sight like such. Lost with your beauty, dumbfounded with your lust. I could never imagine a world so subtle. So profound with the lack of intelligence. I couldn’t face the facts, the truths that were bestowed upon me. I’d wish for one more night where I could feel unique.
All people ever think about is themselves.
I used to think that was only some people, the selfish ones..
Until I realized they are all the selfish ones.
Am I a selfish one?
Am I only thinking of myself because I expect to get what I give?
Because I expect anything??
Do we all think of ourselves? I donno..
They Themselves are nothing more than that. Themselves. Standing on the edge of something great, wondering if they can crack the code. Crack the code and be together. Be one thing. Meld themselves into a cohesive togetherness. Themselves.
they were by themselves, there. whispering and scheming and sharing and building a world of their own. i watched on but didn’t intrude. they were by themselves, everyone else a whir of unimportant beings around them.
Each person has their own identity, something to fall into when times are tough. we each have the ability to be this person. who are each of us, but a scattering of selves? I feel awful.
They kept to themselves, huddled in their rainy land.
Alone amongst their fish tanks and blue thumbs.
They knew of none other and seeked no more…
Just the rainy windows and the blue painted floor.
taking care of.. being true to, living for, eating by, loving, driving by, remembering, sharing, caring for, expressing, talking about, and listening to, talking about and talking too, not only about, not enough time for, worrying about, walking by, singing to, singing about, playing with.
They keep to themselves. In the cold, harsh winter. They sit on the swings at the local park and stare. Eyes rimmed with black coal, grey eyes burning with ambiguous passion. I want to be them. I pass them every day. Who are they? They smoke their cigarettes. Blowing smoke into the ether.
Really? Why? Who cares about them. All they think about are themselves. They are no fun to be around. Talk talk talk talk talk. Like a parliament of rooks. All caw and no substance. If they thought, for a moment of others, maybe, just maybe, they would shut up and listen. Every now and then. Or once.
they, themselves, took over the world together and lived happily and drank tea. they, themselves, were at peace for infinity. themselves is an odd thing.
Themselves
all they could think about
between hatred
and pain
Themselves
were all they had time for
between nothingness
and loneliness
All they thought they needed
was themselves
THEMSELVES, NOT SOLITARY, A GROUP, A PACK NO LONE WOLVES BUT A SET OF FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW THE ONLY THING WE WILL HAVE LEFT ARE OUR INTERTWINING FOOTSTEPS THEY EXCLUSIVE BUT OPEN TO ALL ILL INVITE YOU TO SIT WITH US AT LUNCH
they are all they have, they can do it on their own
and they only need
themselves.
they themselves that think they know, that modern scientific world with exact measurements. i put that aside. i have experience on my side. the flux that is my life.
I hate them
They hate themselves
I’d kill them
They kill themselves
My actions reflect theirs
I look at them
They look at themselves
It’s a vicious cycle that I can’t bare but watch
Next time I’ll get them
Before they get themselves
They, themselves, and myself. Such strange words, but the words come to mind anyways. I don’t bid them there, they simply emerge out of the ether or my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. I have nothing against such odd fellows as them, do not misunderstand me, yet this particular grouping rubs me wrong in some unidentifiable way.
That’s all it was, themselves. There was no one else nearly as important in the world. They had themselves, and only themselves, and they were perfectly okay with it. They never wanted to have anyone else and they never wanted to leave each other. They had each other and they had themselves. And it was perfect.
themselves alone. the rush of belonging. longing to be a part of themselves. like netflix and a rainy sick day, we belong together.
They walked down the street slowly. The wind was crisp and smelled of decompostion as it swirled the leaves in a funnel around them. Their feet slapped the pavement as silent understanding passed between the two companions. No words were required; they had an understanding that sometimes it was best to be together and yet by themselves.
How original, themselves, they love themselves. They chrish they’re own nearness. Ridiculous! But who am I to judge, to them I am after all themselves
They. They were inevitably happy.
Despite life, despite everyone telling them to change, they were happy.
They we’re alive.
They were themselves, in a world constantly trying to make them someone else.
I hate them. Themselves is ridiculous all they think about is well themselves. How original! It’s all about me themselves. They’re conceited irate them, them hate themselves too.
We’re all so exclusive,
caught up in our own labyrinths.
Every man for themselves.
They look at themselves so differently than everyone else. In the mirror there are only flaws and everything that is wrong. They know they could never be good enough. But they look at each other and they only see the beauty, wondering why they good never be as good as the other, never truly realizing that they, themselves, are beautiful. They look at themselves so differently from everyone else, but really they are the same.
they can’t be left by themselves. She doesn’t want to go back to being super buddy-buddy again but the fact of the matter is that is never going to happen. I know because I’m always watching.
i didnt know what it was like to be me or them or anyone for that matter. but i knew that no matter where i found myself or where i could or would find myself, i never wanted to be them. i just wanted to be me, needed to me desperately.
We see them all and they don’t see them all
They want to believe
But they don’t
Internal External
Who really cares
It’s all about them
Anyways
They are afraid that themselves will never be able to do what we are able to. hence they try to demotivate us. stop us. that’s their fear, not reason. Stopping us, not advice. iinfact they are advising themselves against it.
They keep to themselves what is most important about them. I don’t think I’ll ever understand.
everyone’s favorite conversation topic
or so i hear
it is always them
never us
they hate themselves as much as they love themselves. they think as highly of themselves as the world thinks of shakespeare. they think as lowly of themselves as the world views the urchins in the streets of New York
We are ourselves. They are themselves. But no one is that definite. Like angela chase said we are not something that concise “like a toaster.” I don’t know who i am. I think in words and colors and photos and memories and a mish mosh.
They keep nothing to themselves. I never quite understand how such people bare so much of themselves to the wide, hungry eyes of the world.
they, themselves, were the only ones who actually cared. the rest of us might as well have not even known there was a problem.
They don’t even realize that they are hurting themselves. Girl you are so temperamental and filled with angst. I wish you two could see what that relationship is doing to you. But the fact that you even have that relationship shows that there is something hurting you that is far beyond the relationship.
Themselves. That’s all they ever thought of. Pity. There is so much beauty in the world. Unimaginable beauty. Beauty you have to see to believe. You have to care to believe, about more than yourself. But they only thought of themselves. Don’t be like them. Let go of yourself. Care for others and find the true beauty in the world.
Themselves tok a damn quid from me. Was gonna have a good time wit it but– …well? Well, now no more twisted night ova’loaded wit maja peeps trin to get me monae.
People hide from themselves. They’re the last person they want to spend time thinking about and yet that’s all we do, think about ourselves. Even when we try to help someone, every other sentence is “I did this” or “I went through that”. And that’s really fucking stupid and I don’t know why we do that.
People only want what is best for themselves. They think what is best for others is a distant second.
We wandered from the forests below is. Haunted by the illness in your heart. They said we’d never be ourselves. They’ll never be themselves. I could never imagine a sight like such. Lost with your beauty, dumbfounded with your lust. I could never imagine a world so subtle. So profound with the lack of intelligence. I couldn’t face the facts, the truths that were bestowed upon me. I’d wish for one more night where I could feel unique.
All people ever think about is themselves.
I used to think that was only some people, the selfish ones..
Until I realized they are all the selfish ones.
Am I a selfish one?
Am I only thinking of myself because I expect to get what I give?
Because I expect anything??
Do we all think of ourselves? I donno..
They Themselves are nothing more than that. Themselves. Standing on the edge of something great, wondering if they can crack the code. Crack the code and be together. Be one thing. Meld themselves into a cohesive togetherness. Themselves.
they were by themselves, there. whispering and scheming and sharing and building a world of their own. i watched on but didn’t intrude. they were by themselves, everyone else a whir of unimportant beings around them.
Each person has their own identity, something to fall into when times are tough. we each have the ability to be this person. who are each of us, but a scattering of selves? I feel awful.
They kept to themselves, huddled in their rainy land.
Alone amongst their fish tanks and blue thumbs.
They knew of none other and seeked no more…
Just the rainy windows and the blue painted floor.
taking care of.. being true to, living for, eating by, loving, driving by, remembering, sharing, caring for, expressing, talking about, and listening to, talking about and talking too, not only about, not enough time for, worrying about, walking by, singing to, singing about, playing with.
they found themselves alone in the apartment, the glasses dripped with self esteem and the windows filled up with sadness, the night went on.
They keep to themselves. In the cold, harsh winter. They sit on the swings at the local park and stare. Eyes rimmed with black coal, grey eyes burning with ambiguous passion. I want to be them. I pass them every day. Who are they? They smoke their cigarettes. Blowing smoke into the ether.
Really? Why? Who cares about them. All they think about are themselves. They are no fun to be around. Talk talk talk talk talk. Like a parliament of rooks. All caw and no substance. If they thought, for a moment of others, maybe, just maybe, they would shut up and listen. Every now and then. Or once.
they, themselves, took over the world together and lived happily and drank tea. they, themselves, were at peace for infinity. themselves is an odd thing.
Themselves
all they could think about
between hatred
and pain
Themselves
were all they had time for
between nothingness
and loneliness
All they thought they needed
was themselves
THEMSELVES, NOT SOLITARY, A GROUP, A PACK NO LONE WOLVES BUT A SET OF FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW THE ONLY THING WE WILL HAVE LEFT ARE OUR INTERTWINING FOOTSTEPS THEY EXCLUSIVE BUT OPEN TO ALL ILL INVITE YOU TO SIT WITH US AT LUNCH