Archive for November, 2010

Some Where Beyond the Border of Chaos

Posted: November 30, 2010 by travisplumley in TravisP

The Fear of anguish

Enlightened with the sight of war

Coming to breed

Within your soul

You want out of the mess you’re in

But you’ve dug your hole too deep,

And your skeletons begin to creep

Out into the open

For everyone to see

I wonder how aghast they will seem,

To see you

Beyond the Border of Chaos?



Posted: November 30, 2010 by BrandonConley in BrandonC, Uncategorized

A Fallen Star


Waging For It’s Last Breath


As it Looks upon Such Devastation


Back at Home


Whispering softly…


Raining Fear

Posted: November 30, 2010 by britnimishelowe in BritniL, Uncategorized

Tear drops falling all around, no one there to hear the sound

Desperate matters calls for crying,why cant he see that I’m dying?

Lonley nights and broken mornings, shattered hearts and wounded glory.

Hated life, regretted breaths, why cant he see he’s taking each step?

Hearts are shattered where I walk, lips are moving but I cant hear them talk.

Mirrors surround my ground, showing the world I’m falling to pieces with no sound.

I can see time pass me by, like an eagle just realizing he can fly.

Holding onto broken dreams, falling apart within the seams.

Desperate matters calls for crying.

Why cant he see that I’m dying?

Lost like a lion in water, trying to survive and find air.

Praying for the strength to runaway, why is his life fading to grey?

His roar not as strong as before, his paws are weak sinking to the ocean floor.

His heart stopping within each beat,why is it deaths doors he must meet?

Beaten like a child, bruised and withered with those memories.

Like blood, has stained his story’s page.

Trying to find a place she can go.

No one wants her, that’s all she knows.

She tries to hide all her tears, knowing deep inside death haunts her fears.

So she locks herself up, away from the world.

People are only there to hurt her, they keep her terrified.

Like her father keeps her scared.

Helpless like a mother, who never had the chance.

Forced to breathe, while the master makes her dance.

Just Beyond the Horizon

Posted: November 30, 2010 by BrandonConley in BrandonC

There is a place just beyond the horizon

A place called



Posted: November 30, 2010 by britnimishelowe in BritniL, Uncategorized

Blood, on the side of the fridge, hand prints on the window. A bullet is lying on the floor, theres broken glass on the tables, and a shaddow on the door. A knife lies on the bartop(recently used), beer bottles clutter the couch, along with the smell of death. Rust stain on the sink, scum around the faucet. In the bedroom lies a box, filled with notes named and dated, witholding the secrets of a childs broken dreams? A doll lies on the corner of the bed, the right arm ripped off, one eye…missing? The sheets are tattered, the walls cracked, and a window is darkened in the day. Shower curtains only halfway down, and covered in what looks like blood? The walls of the tub has turned to brown, the wooden floors…rotted. What once was blue wallpaper was now faded within the years. In the corner of the room is a lighter, and that side of the wall..burned. The smell of smoke was no longer noticeable, but the pain of the past lingered. The ceiling was white covered with cob-webs, the air stiff and uncomfortable. You could hear the air moving through the house, or was it a small girl’s cry? Abandoned…thats how I feel, in this house of misery. Where your mother takes a sip of wine, looks down smiling at you and mutters, “this is home.” As a ghost in this house of memories, haunted as it shall be, in the dead of the night you will hear a cry. My torturing soul screaming, “Why?”

It Seems We Have Reached the Edge

Posted: November 30, 2010 by BrandonConley in BrandonC

We watch, misty-eyed

At the spectacle in front of us.

Lying to ourselves; biding our time.

Mouths agape…minds forced closed.

Waiting, watching

But never worrying.

Observing the the quaint idiocyncrasies of the

Trancendentalist’s pet Fundamentalist

Laughing at such puppetry.

Our brains sharply resenting the scent of fresh nostalgia

And beckoning for one last breath of Mediocrity.

But in the end, no lung will be pleased.

No mind will be bothered by the echo of coherent thought.

The whispers in the headstones will lie the lie time after time.

And as the sands of time errode human rhetoric…

The more enticing this


Will appear.