What makes you stay around someone problematic? Someone who doesn't cease to piss you off and to dry your nearly non existent patience? It doesn't makes of you a bad friend for leaving anyone behind, especially if that person keeps on sticking in problems, after being warned way too many times. I don't repeat myself, when I speak of something serious.
I won't say the same thing twice, three times, a hundred fucking fuck times. Do you want to be and act like a moron? Do you want to have the cops riding the car slow after you on dark alleys, when they're a threat themselves? I really don't need any more excitement nor anymore danger in my life (not those I ask for, myself).If you want to be a moron, if you want to act stupid, if you wanna get the crap beaten out of yourself, then just go for it! Don't make others hang around more than once - and it's also my fault for accepting to hang around with you, the same way I reject her company. Go fuck yourselves…
Let me take this to a whole new level. I need it. You need it. "We all scream, ICE CREAM!"Oh, no. Wrong "singing"!Glue your hair. Grab firmly to something.
Close your eyes. Or look around.
Do you like the darkness within? Do you kiss it softly, with glimpses of a glimpse? Do you crave for the questions over your soul and existence itself? Do you ever speak to the night and you feel like you're being answered? Well, maybe you are! "The Theater Of Dusk" contains 13 short stories (I think some experts would call it "tales"), that'll leave you chasing something to the darkness. Now it's up to you, to unveil it or not. Are you brave enough? Lizbeth Gabriel Facebook page Lizbeth Gabriel blog Lizbeth Gabriel Twitter Any of those links will aid you to find more information about the author herself and even the book. Check out the author, check her work and remember to drop a rating and a review of the book.
Independent authors survive of w…
It all goes. It all goes down, from times to times.
I haven't written much here. I know, if I have nothing good to say, it's better left unsaid. But there is so much to be said. I just lack the words - the right words, I mean - to explain what goes and lies within my soul.
I like walking the streets at night. I love the daylight and seeing people passing by, I love the passing cars and all the life that city holds during the day... But the night is very special. While everyone sleeps, there are some people, and I am included in those people, who hang the streets. We're harmless, let alone some thugs, and just want to smoke our cigarettes, booze, chat, laugh out loud, go on swings like grown up kids. However, melancholy, nostalgia, whatever... However, it never vanishes. And our eyes are sad, even when we laugh out loud and light up a room with our inner light. Our souls are sad, no matter how hard we laugh, how easily a joke breaks us in cackles.
It's been a while. An…