Nikky-boy-rusky

A playground full of memories A classroom full of disappointment Text books full of dreams... What is forgotten is the crying of tears, the strongest are who the weakest fears. The humiliation, the wearing of sweaty P.E. kit covered in mud and spit. Unable to run the length of the field, asthma is my shield. *CLIMB THAT ROPE!* BIGGER STRONGER FASTER! Sooner or later there'll be a disaster. What is forgotten is the blood spilt and the bones broken, all in the name of education.

As I shut the door on a hallway full of memories, I knew she wasn't coming back. The hall would no longer be filled with the echoes of her footsteps, sometimes I fooled myself into thinking she crept up to the door but never had the courage to knock, in reality I knew she was gone forever. Slumped against the wall with my only true friend; Jack Daniels, day turned to night and I could feel the beard growing upon my festering face. I figured apart from the landlord, no one would notice my absence from the outside world... though Mr. Edwards was a pushover and wouldn't dare use his spare key, the constant knocking did get irritating, it's no su

Poems, articles, lists and so on are nothing more than words placed in a specific order, or should I say letters of the alphabet. I'm not intelligent, anyone given enough time would come to the same conclusion of what I'm writing. Arrogance perhaps; rather than simplify the point that I'm trying to make, I structure it out of the vane hope of being accepted by those who think they are intelligent. Maybe that's the thing I'm missing, I need to simplify so that I don't come across as arrogant and in doing so my writing would become more popular. I have no interest in popularity, unlike some, I write because in an even more vane attempt I try t

If you have a dream and if you do not see it and you do not believe it.... who else will?                                                               You can't grow without burning.                           &

Out of the dark and echo of a New York city subway appeared a man, he wasn't one with his surroundings. He is wearing a Valentino suit and a Ralph Lauren silk tie, with him he carries a gucci leather briefcase, one could assume he is a businessman, in town for a conference, or some such nonsense.  Exiting the subway, the vapour of the street lights beat down upon him and one can see he is prematurely grey, with a greyish beard, assuming by the lines on his forehead, he is around the age of forty. From his inside pocket he pulls a pair of Silhouette 4048 with special frames attached and places them over his cold stare. Strolling down

One day I hit the road, I ran and ran. Why did I run? It could of been a whole manner of things, I guessed if I ran fast enough then the void inside couldn't catch me. But most of all I ran because the road didn't care, it didn't care what I looked like, or where I came from, nor where I was going, it just took me. The road ahead embraced me and the road left behind had me on my way. The only time the road had dislike for me was then I fell down on my knees up on it in defeat, defeat because no matter how far or fast I ran, what ever is inside me would find me. Now the road that had me on my way now took me back, the warn out tarmac gripped t

|______________,,_ / ' --||||||||---------------] ==== /_ ==o___G13!_____| ...),---(_(__) / // (/) ,----".' // __/ / //___//                               - Wrack and ruin.

What words can be uttered that I haven't all ready inflicted upon you? I say inflicted because does anyone really listen? A lowly 1,264 out of a possible six billion people have viewed the words of an amateur, nevertheless an amateur with a voice. I prefer to be an amateur and promise you the truth rather than to be a rich politician and promise you their "truth". I must ask you for your help, from one "voice" to another and another, to you my sisters and my brothers, I call out for you to seek the truth.

The orange shop- I walk in with my phone in itty bitty pieces. No one around, no one on the counter nor in the store. Button- Press for tech-support, but that button broke. Quietly whisper "tech-support" no reply. A little louder "tech-support". Still no reply. "Tech-support!!!!" staff door opens, the name tagged man steps out. "Hello, I'm Edmund Ventura your tech-support". "Tech-support?" "Yes, I'm your tech-support". As good as "Edmund" said he was he couldn't fix my itty bitty phone, I throw it down like confetti "Can't get the service nowadays!".

I will not apologise for who I am! I would rather be hated for who I am rather than to be liked for who I am not.  In this big game that we play, life, it's not what you hope for, it's not what you deserve, it's what you take. The bottom line; we could be here one minute and gone the next, after all we as people, all of us have torn the world apart, through war, through pettiness, all the work of dictators masquerading as honest leaders. On this sinking ship I choose to stand on deck and hold loyalty, not to the world, but to myself and maintain my individuality, my independence and sink to the bottom of the sea we call life, with my eyes wid