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OC Number Replacement Meme (Blank)Seen a lot of these. Gonna try and make a good one. X3 Well... try at least. Don't know if it'll be good. XP
1. Choose 6 OCs to use and put them in any random order.
2. Do not change any of the questions.
3. Please do not look at the questions ahead.
4. Tag some peeps.
OCs being used:
Now for them questions.
Q1. (3) is talking to himself/herself about what they think of (4). What do they say?
Q2. (5) and (2) are arguing over who's better. (5) punches (2). What does (2) do?
Q3. (1) stares at (6), who is watching TV. (6) notices this after 2 hours. How would (6) react?
Q4. (4) vomits all over (2). How does (2) react?
Q5. (2) throws a fork at (3). Does (3) get hit?
Q6. (1) and (4) go to (5)'s party. (5) gives beer to (1) and (4). What happens?
Q7. (6) is having a problem with (3). He/she asks (5) for help. Does (5) help?
Q8. (2) and (3) play a prank on (6). What does (6) do?
Q9. (4) is in bed, cuddling (5). (1) walks in and sees this. What does (1) thi
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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