i always leave a trail behind me as i walk across this open plain, filled with talking people and eating dogs. consumed in their own world – oblivious to all that is around them and – all around them. out of reach.
Given the circumstances, the world always turns on an axis. The trail given to it doesn’t have to be perfect. In fact, I don’t think anyone in this life is perfect. We are all just trying to be something in a mask. The trails in our lives need to be made smoothly, there will be rocky starts, but I think we can all make smooth one day.
the trail will take us on an adventure. an adventure through love, hate, friendship. in the end, we will join hands on a journey through time together. something amazing is always awaiting at the ed of every trail.
Trail, as in follow behind. The retinal trails of my lysergic youth live on, if only in the occasional dreams in which I visit the various psychedelic realms found deep in the ether.
It seemed like it would never end, this trail. I’d been hiking for hours, following the frothy drops of blood every ten or twenty steps. It looked like he was heading for a waddle that lead into the high country.
I checked my canteen; probably not enough in there for a long track. I’d have to come back after the elements had done my job for me.
we all leave the trail, and that’s the only thing I can think of. whether we want it or not and it better not be garbage, but a good memory of us left in the minds of others. we matter as long as we want to matter.
The trail blazing had begun. Sixteen young men, eager and fresh lined up by the start, breathing in and out the crisp air as though breathing was a rare treat for them. They turned hooded heads towards each other, and their eyes held raw anticipation, where their mothers would imagine they saw fear.
First thing in my mind is kind of perverted, but oh well I am at the prime of my immaturatey — fun trail. A fun trail is the patch of hair running down your stomach below the belly button. Another type of trail is a local creek trail where someone I know recently got robbed. I work with him and it’s kind of a bummer.
The trail Rob chose to hike up this day was darker than the others. I thought it was cause he wanted shade for such a hot day. We reached a terrific spot to picnic and enjoyed a three course meal underneath a grove of trees. He didn’t partake of the wine. Said he wasn’t in the mood. When we reached the top of the hill, and I collasped to the ground, he apologized for the poison, but said he did it out of love.
The trail stretched on for what seems like miles under her feet. The rain trickled down her back, under the backpack that was leaving marks on her shoulders and neck. The friction of the rain and wet t-shirt did little to help her concentrate on the task at hand; getting over the hill.
the long dusty trail wound gently through the woods. The dirt had long been compacted by the clogged feet of the mountain natives. Stan looked at the sky.
“rains coming” he said to Nathaniel.
Nathaniel busied himself with the the emptying of the chamber pots. He rankled his nose at the awful stench wafting from it.
“I hope so, it’ll clean up this mess all the sooner.”
The man was at the tree, it was blue colored. The sky was green. Let me explain: When I was five, my mother send me to Brazil to look for John Muir. Not exactly. I want to be loved. I’m so hungry. Cheetos.
It was nothing like human. On my hands and knees, but less like a dog and more like a pig, I groveled for her prescence. All I wanted was to see her face one last time
hold it in memory for-ever
then die in peace, or what little peace god will give me
follow the trail
the yellow brick road
follow your destiny it is not a straight trail
it curves and is obstructed, it goes in circles and twist the other way. sometimes you can see it, but it there
sometime you ahve to cut thru the bullshit and blaze your own trail….
I came upon the trail up behind the river bed in my hometown. Over beyond the big house that used to belong to the Jefferson’s, they’re grew an old weeping willow that draped down
Unraveling waves, unwind, relapse and close,
all to be shone under stars which gleam in dark mists blanketed by a wave of unseen, and unoticed eyes.
Home is where the heart is – but the heart isn’t here, nor with you, with her or with him,
it’s a trail left for blind eyes and deaf ears –
I wish you’d come back.
The dog left a trail behind him as he walked down the street. The dog was running fast. The man looks around and sees nothing ahead, but noticed dribbles of blood here and there. He stands up to follow.
the trail was littered with drying leaves. the smell of them rose from beneath her bare feet. the color that had once wrapped this trail now faded to a horrible brown… the color of death.
trails? oh my those trail walks we shared…
do you remember when we were high off our asses and you turned to me, sweeter than God made you, and said “you are my trial girl.”
A trail is a path. A path is a direction one must go. My path is facing northwest. Why? Because what I want to have is there. northwest. I know that these metaphorical paths are rarely actual physical directions, but everything is there for me…
one day when I was walking in the woods I saw a path leading up and over a hill. Instead of listening to that nagging voice in my head which constantly reminded me that the more pratical thing would to be not to follow it and continue with what I was doing, I simply threw that thought out of my head.
A beautiful pathway to God. lined with juicy blackberries and wandering vines of wild flowers. A weeping willow bends and rains love down on the ground below. It smells freash and clean. I’m full of joy. I will stay here. In peace, with my dog,and few precious loved ones. Many sunrises and many moons come and go. still I hideaway on the pathway that leads to my cottage. A trail to my cozy place. I’m happy.
A trail is a path that leads others to another destination. Most of the time it is the easiest way there, but somebody has to make the original trail. Trailblazers, the creators of trails, must find the most suitable paths and then carve them for future people who don’t even bother to think of the hardship they went through.
Sometimes I like trails. Then I go down rivers next to trails. The trails must be nice for me to go on them; maintained by professional maintainers. My mom likes trail-mix. It makes her fart much. I’ve never seen my mom on a trail with trail-mix.
Hiking along the amazon trail, we saw a 6 foot snake and I just froze, scared to death to make a move.
then my husband came up behind me and pulled me out of harms way, but not before I peed my pants
Thank God my husband is a quick thinker and quick on his feet.
winding over the craggy rocks I looked for you and from a distance could see your hair – that wild red curly stuff bouncing like a sun in the distance. the steps were difficult. the terrain unbearable but I knew where I had to go. Toward that sun. over that trail and just to the place where the earth touched the sky.
I was walking down the trail when I saw a fluffy tail. It wagged and slid up under the bush. The bush then tussled and rumbled and growled. I ran away and looked at the trail behind me. I think I’ll wander the road.
Trails make me think of camping. I’ve always wanted to go camping with my dad, I mean i’ve gone camping before but I’ve never gone CAMPING CAMPING with my dad. The closest I ever got to camping was putting out sleeping bags outside on an island and watching the stars.
Does that count?
I was walking on a trail the other day. I fell in the snow. The trail was brown and had patches of snow but I thought it was beautiful. There were lots of trees and shade. I hiked up hill. It hurt my calves but I enjoyed myself. I ate sour patch water melons.
I don’t want to write about trail. So it leads me to a trail of actions to try to avoid it. I go back. I click go. The trail runs cold, its trail again. I refresh. its the same thing. My time is more abundant, but the trail is not one word fresher. My mind wanders a lonely trail, to think I am forced to write about trails, trials even would be better, I assure you. Instead I must let the trail of this story wind down until its done.
i took the trail in front of me, the obvious path, trying not to pay attention to how this mistake might haunt me for days to come. i stumbled over uprooted trees and rocks, moving swiftly as i tried to escape. i just wanted to escape. the truth, the dishonesty, my friends, my life. i wanted to run away from it all, and even though i took this obvious path that i knew was a bad decision simply because of how obvious it was; i didn’t regret it. i just needed to leave.
Ill tell you about a trail
the trail of tears
Andrew Jackson can suck my dick, i mean why the fuck is he on the Twenty, bullshit. He killed a bunch of indians and moved the survivors, Bullshit. Fuck Jackson in his hic ass
i always leave a trail behind me as i walk across this open plain, filled with talking people and eating dogs. consumed in their own world – oblivious to all that is around them and – all around them. out of reach.
Given the circumstances, the world always turns on an axis. The trail given to it doesn’t have to be perfect. In fact, I don’t think anyone in this life is perfect. We are all just trying to be something in a mask. The trails in our lives need to be made smoothly, there will be rocky starts, but I think we can all make smooth one day.
Those wisps of seaweed arc in gossamer threads of moonlight; we are baptized as we lose sight of the trail.
everyone has two choices, follow the trail of the mainstream, bow down, submit, or make your own trail and watch followers try to mimick your in
the trail will take us on an adventure. an adventure through love, hate, friendship. in the end, we will join hands on a journey through time together. something amazing is always awaiting at the ed of every trail.
Trail, as in follow behind. The retinal trails of my lysergic youth live on, if only in the occasional dreams in which I visit the various psychedelic realms found deep in the ether.
It seemed like it would never end, this trail. I’d been hiking for hours, following the frothy drops of blood every ten or twenty steps. It looked like he was heading for a waddle that lead into the high country.
I checked my canteen; probably not enough in there for a long track. I’d have to come back after the elements had done my job for me.
when i was young,
i believed in taking a trail.
a trail less traveled,
a path less worn.
when i finally made it
i knew in my heart that
no one else could possibly
take away the trail i had made.
we all leave the trail, and that’s the only thing I can think of. whether we want it or not and it better not be garbage, but a good memory of us left in the minds of others. we matter as long as we want to matter.
goin down a trail, im fuckin nasty like entrails, sever your tail if you try to throw me in jail
The trail blazing had begun. Sixteen young men, eager and fresh lined up by the start, breathing in and out the crisp air as though breathing was a rare treat for them. They turned hooded heads towards each other, and their eyes held raw anticipation, where their mothers would imagine they saw fear.
First thing in my mind is kind of perverted, but oh well I am at the prime of my immaturatey — fun trail. A fun trail is the patch of hair running down your stomach below the belly button. Another type of trail is a local creek trail where someone I know recently got robbed. I work with him and it’s kind of a bummer.
The trail Rob chose to hike up this day was darker than the others. I thought it was cause he wanted shade for such a hot day. We reached a terrific spot to picnic and enjoyed a three course meal underneath a grove of trees. He didn’t partake of the wine. Said he wasn’t in the mood. When we reached the top of the hill, and I collasped to the ground, he apologized for the poison, but said he did it out of love.
The trail stretched on for what seems like miles under her feet. The rain trickled down her back, under the backpack that was leaving marks on her shoulders and neck. The friction of the rain and wet t-shirt did little to help her concentrate on the task at hand; getting over the hill.
the long dusty trail wound gently through the woods. The dirt had long been compacted by the clogged feet of the mountain natives. Stan looked at the sky.
“rains coming” he said to Nathaniel.
Nathaniel busied himself with the the emptying of the chamber pots. He rankled his nose at the awful stench wafting from it.
“I hope so, it’ll clean up this mess all the sooner.”
The man was at the tree, it was blue colored. The sky was green. Let me explain: When I was five, my mother send me to Brazil to look for John Muir. Not exactly. I want to be loved. I’m so hungry. Cheetos.
I followed her scent.
It was nothing like human. On my hands and knees, but less like a dog and more like a pig, I groveled for her prescence. All I wanted was to see her face one last time
hold it in memory for-ever
then die in peace, or what little peace god will give me
follow the trail
the yellow brick road
follow your destiny it is not a straight trail
it curves and is obstructed, it goes in circles and twist the other way. sometimes you can see it, but it there
sometime you ahve to cut thru the bullshit and blaze your own trail….
I came upon the trail up behind the river bed in my hometown. Over beyond the big house that used to belong to the Jefferson’s, they’re grew an old weeping willow that draped down
Unraveling waves, unwind, relapse and close,
all to be shone under stars which gleam in dark mists blanketed by a wave of unseen, and unoticed eyes.
Home is where the heart is – but the heart isn’t here, nor with you, with her or with him,
it’s a trail left for blind eyes and deaf ears –
I wish you’d come back.
The dog left a trail behind him as he walked down the street. The dog was running fast. The man looks around and sees nothing ahead, but noticed dribbles of blood here and there. He stands up to follow.
the trail was littered with drying leaves. the smell of them rose from beneath her bare feet. the color that had once wrapped this trail now faded to a horrible brown… the color of death.
trails? oh my those trail walks we shared…
do you remember when we were high off our asses and you turned to me, sweeter than God made you, and said “you are my trial girl.”
This trail, they say, this trail goes on forever. At the end, however, is the answer.
A trail is a path. A path is a direction one must go. My path is facing northwest. Why? Because what I want to have is there. northwest. I know that these metaphorical paths are rarely actual physical directions, but everything is there for me…
one day when I was walking in the woods I saw a path leading up and over a hill. Instead of listening to that nagging voice in my head which constantly reminded me that the more pratical thing would to be not to follow it and continue with what I was doing, I simply threw that thought out of my head.
A beautiful pathway to God. lined with juicy blackberries and wandering vines of wild flowers. A weeping willow bends and rains love down on the ground below. It smells freash and clean. I’m full of joy. I will stay here. In peace, with my dog,and few precious loved ones. Many sunrises and many moons come and go. still I hideaway on the pathway that leads to my cottage. A trail to my cozy place. I’m happy.
A trail is a path that leads others to another destination. Most of the time it is the easiest way there, but somebody has to make the original trail. Trailblazers, the creators of trails, must find the most suitable paths and then carve them for future people who don’t even bother to think of the hardship they went through.
Sometimes I like trails. Then I go down rivers next to trails. The trails must be nice for me to go on them; maintained by professional maintainers. My mom likes trail-mix. It makes her fart much. I’ve never seen my mom on a trail with trail-mix.
Hiking along the amazon trail, we saw a 6 foot snake and I just froze, scared to death to make a move.
then my husband came up behind me and pulled me out of harms way, but not before I peed my pants
Thank God my husband is a quick thinker and quick on his feet.
long and arduous the trail wound beyond my wildest ex[pectations. through the roots tangling my thoughts and stifling my actions as a human
winding over the craggy rocks I looked for you and from a distance could see your hair – that wild red curly stuff bouncing like a sun in the distance. the steps were difficult. the terrain unbearable but I knew where I had to go. Toward that sun. over that trail and just to the place where the earth touched the sky.
I was walking down the trail when I saw a fluffy tail. It wagged and slid up under the bush. The bush then tussled and rumbled and growled. I ran away and looked at the trail behind me. I think I’ll wander the road.
Trails make me think of camping. I’ve always wanted to go camping with my dad, I mean i’ve gone camping before but I’ve never gone CAMPING CAMPING with my dad. The closest I ever got to camping was putting out sleeping bags outside on an island and watching the stars.
Does that count?
i simply wanted to run and escape. to never stop. simply my breath, the pain in my legs, and my body moving as fast as it can as far away as possible.
I’ve carved a trail to nowhere. This trail leads everywhere I need to be. The trail teaches me experiences teachers never could.
I’m open to trail off in any direction I want. It’s always that way.
I was walking on a trail the other day. I fell in the snow. The trail was brown and had patches of snow but I thought it was beautiful. There were lots of trees and shade. I hiked up hill. It hurt my calves but I enjoyed myself. I ate sour patch water melons.
I don’t want to write about trail. So it leads me to a trail of actions to try to avoid it. I go back. I click go. The trail runs cold, its trail again. I refresh. its the same thing. My time is more abundant, but the trail is not one word fresher. My mind wanders a lonely trail, to think I am forced to write about trails, trials even would be better, I assure you. Instead I must let the trail of this story wind down until its done.
i took the trail in front of me, the obvious path, trying not to pay attention to how this mistake might haunt me for days to come. i stumbled over uprooted trees and rocks, moving swiftly as i tried to escape. i just wanted to escape. the truth, the dishonesty, my friends, my life. i wanted to run away from it all, and even though i took this obvious path that i knew was a bad decision simply because of how obvious it was; i didn’t regret it. i just needed to leave.
Ill tell you about a trail
the trail of tears
Andrew Jackson can suck my dick, i mean why the fuck is he on the Twenty, bullshit. He killed a bunch of indians and moved the survivors, Bullshit. Fuck Jackson in his hic ass