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Spinning yet another web,come climb about in it.
"Things are rarely as they seem at first glances."
but soulfully true?
You see,painted faces are basicly a pretty door,awaiting the day a brave soul ventures forth to knock,or just nudge the door open.
Then the real fun begins.
Over seven-billion individuals populate this falling planet,each sonists of secrets,and winding webs.
I'm a little different.I know the lurkers trying to spit around in my interwevials,it won't happen.I like to have my guard up,analyze before entrance.
I like to keep my pretty little doors locked,while cunningly slying through all of the other webs.
Creating myself along the way.
Finding people worth time,a single one,friendly,with finely chissled freatures,genuine with all but horrid intentions.
It's nice to have one of those signature,hopeful wishling types around,but not much fun.
Just very useful when you need someone to have your back.
When things get interesting,is when you find a liar beneath a stone.
A terrible,overwhelming past,mysterious and somewhat darkly charming features.
Misinterpreted voices,saying all of the smack you'd love to hear out of those pretty little lips.
The types silly girls fall in love with,the darkly handsome souls that waltz right by you.
Paying no attention,not the time to care.
Hurried along,but it's those,those samputent types,that can easily create an interesting foresting story for you.
Murderers,mentally-disturbed,just all around bad news.
So inviting,so illuminating.
What if the popular boy that never notices you was one of these creatures?
Pretending to ignore the days as they flow by,what if he goes home to a drunken father to be manifestivally used? Over and over? A hurt,and trapped soul. highschool immaturity will not change him.
Maybe the girl that always takes the corner table,that strange bag she's always possesing wrapped snuggly ore her shoulder..The hair hiding her face,a girl of not many words..maybe there's more in that girl's pretenses than you could comprehend.
A dark story,or maybe an exciting background.
What about that boy that sits on the ground near you at the busstop every chilly morning?
Where could he have been?
Those shimmering eyes,always contemplating the distance...the darkness.
Who does he hope for?
Oh,that girl that made fun of you when you were youngsters on the playground.
Pure jealousy? Pure evil? Or just pure distraction?
Maybe her mother's dead and gone,maybe she's left with a nasty fatherly figure to turn to,or maybe just an undeserving family altogether.
Maybe she sneaks off to cemetaries to read a book or two every night,to get away from those commoners.Just maybe.
That girl that's always alone,or being shoved into lockers managing her way through student populated hallways.Maybe meth or heroin gets her through the day.I wonder if she's like this all the time,I couldn't imagine the thoughts she's thinking.The quiet ones tend to keep these things to themselves.
The boy that's always fired up about something,fighting every which way.His fists can't seem to avoid collision with one's cheek bones.Wonder what his emerald green eyes have seen?
What his body has had to endure?
The little girl that's always out and about on her little red tricycle.
Heard through the neighborhood grape vine that the father's landed a spot in heaven.
other's think he's in that fiery pit of despair.
She never seems to have a smile on her face near her mother,nor do her sisters.
Her mother always has this,infragmented detailed look about her,the dark circles cummulating beneath her eyes.A drunk? Imagine that little girl's memories,imagine her destiny.
The old man that lives next door,always swinging on that old rickity porch swing of his.
Missing the old girl? Just imagine what opening a simple door in his mind could reveal.
I dare you to find out.
There's always a cryptic message behind closed doors.
A tear pressing agaisnt pretty smiles,a scream beneath sparkling eyes.
The possibilites surround you,so many untold tales,just waiting to spill a drop or two.
Go lose yourself in a couple webs.
You could save a life,you could end another.
This is the world's madness as it may be.
Oh,what a tangled web we weave.