a shadows nightmare.

November 10, 2009
By TechieForLife GOLD, West St. Paul, Minnesota
TechieForLife GOLD, West St. Paul, Minnesota
11 articles 0 photos 38 comments

Favorite Quote:
Live each day like it is the day you will be remembered.


My shadow danceing, swinging, back and forth, back and forth, you stare at the cold hard asphalt, and then you glance up.
Why? Why do you chose to look at me now?
During my time of freedom you hurl me to the ground. With that I am spirialing on a crash course to nowere fast.
Then I hit the ground. I lay there. Iam helpless. Broken.
You turn your back to me for I have failed you again. When you glance at me you end up staring at nothing. Because that is what I am. NOTHING.
When you look in to my eyes, I have no soul. I am a ghost, a figment of your imaganation.
Is that what you told your self when you really looked up and saw no one on that swing? I'm just a shadow of what could have been. What should have been. What did'nt.



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This article has 3 comments.


on May. 26 2010 at 10:57 am
TechieForLife GOLD, West St. Paul, Minnesota
11 articles 0 photos 38 comments

Favorite Quote:
Live each day like it is the day you will be remembered.

Thanks! :DDDD

brianj BRONZE said...
on Feb. 12 2010 at 9:53 am
brianj BRONZE, Jeannette, Pennsylvania
3 articles 10 photos 54 comments

Favorite Quote:
"the real trouble with reality is that there's no background music"
"i don't suffer from insanity. i enjoy every minute of it."
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?” -Marianne Williamson. Trying so hard to believe this but SO not succeeding…..

i so agree......SO agree..... A+ (gives best legally able to grade papers teacher person impersonation)

on Nov. 26 2009 at 8:11 am
CharmingChar PLATINUM, Bronxville, New York
21 articles 0 photos 19 comments

Favorite Quote:
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
Robert Frost

You are something, beautiful poem


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