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Severed by Samara - [138 words]
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The Greatest Theme
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TITLE (EDIT)
The Greatest Theme |
DESCRIPTION
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[190 words] |
AUTHOR
Tim D Ryan |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
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[August 2004] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (18)
Autumn Winchester (Poetry) Just lyrics for my band, that's all. [156 words]
Between Your Smiles And My Regrets (Songs) - [193 words]
Broken Beat (Poetry) A pointless poem, but I like it. [195 words]
Damn, That Kid's Got Style (Songs) - [181 words]
Endless (Songs) - [130 words]
Fourteenth (Songs) - [109 words]
Getting Somewhere (Songs) - [203 words]
Hit And Miss (Poetry) I really have no influences for my writing other than music. Being a fan and creator of it and making it myself. For this poem. I had no major influences. [117 words]
Houston's City Limits (Songs) This is almost a drift from "Damn, That Kid's Got Style". Almost. [164 words]
Like Intertwined Vines On A Post Gothic House (Songs) A song with a wierd, wierd title. [145 words]
Linen And Silk (Poetry) It's a random poem...I guess. [79 words]
Okay, So This Time I Was Wrong (Songs) Just a song, is all. [140 words]
Runways And A New Way Away From Here (Poetry) - [162 words]
Staring Hard At That Empty Bottle And Coming Up With A Better Idea (Songs) I do realize the long title...but I like it, I think it fits the piece...plus, I'm in this rut where everything has to lave long names. Almost like all those hollywood movies back in '04, eh? Anyways,... [185 words]
The Bleeding Rose (Songs) Lack of sleep and Hoobastank inspired this piece. [205 words]
The Dance (Poetry) I was influenced by this after reading Descartes. His views really did spring something up in me...so here goes. [146 words]
There's Still An Angel Left In You (Songs) newest piece for my band, A Cry For Medic. [174 words]
What's There To Kill? (Songs) Heh. Life is a large influence on this song. Being a teenager is the best and the worst. [176 words] [Teenage]
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The Greatest Theme
Tim D Ryan
The Greatest Theme
Deep inside the hallow catacombs, home isn't so far away,
it has been rippled and scarred into everything that was anything.
Analyzed and mocked, read and stalked.
Home is an open window, littered with thoughts and ideas, individually raped,
to fit their own dirty desire, a satisfaction hidden from the naked eye.
Up-front and oh so casual, you love the attention.
You whore.
As if the money was never enough, the lust fills that debt in your lifestyle,
an awkward way to start a conversation, isn't it?
Wondering if nothing was enough to feed you forever,
harnessing all that could never be.
On a day such as this, everything looks appealing,
rusty nails, and cartons of air,
easily bought, impossibly consumed.
Addiction holds you like a bear in a trap, tearing you apart every time you try,
try to wish it all over.
It's not so perfect anymore, you're not so perfect anymore.
What's the excuse this time, who's getting the bloody finger?
Who's your scapegoat? Who's the pit for your trash?
I find it ironic that this whole time, that you've been placing this blame,
that there is no audience, that there is no fame.
Just a whore staring into a mirror, pointing at the invisible sightseers.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2005 Tim D Ryan |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
September 2005 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1802
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