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TearsHave you ever had
in you moments of sorrow
That run down your face
You are a storm of sad.
You are raining.
Your cries of pain are thunder.
The tears are pouring down
Watering your soul.
They make you feel better
making your happiness grow back.
Although the problem is still there,
There might eventually
Be a rainbow.
Random HaikusHow to Write a Haiku Haiku:
Five Syllables First
And Then Seven Syllables
Five Syllables Last
I Have To Study
Geography Is Quite Dull
Homework Is Stupid
It Is My Friend's Day
Today Is Her Awesome Birthday
Blow Out The Candles
Time To Run A Mile
Serving Tennis Balls Badly
Phillmoore Gives Great Hugs
Ode To Phillmoore, the fence with feelingsHe sits there
Bouncing back stray tennis balls
He just wants a friend!
No one understands his feelings
Wait, what's that?
There's a person heading in his direction!
But all she's doing is trying to hit a tennis ball . . .
She does not care
He hugs her anyway as she hits the ball
He has made her happy!
Her friends laugh
He has made them happy, too!
Even though they only interpret his hug as simply 'running into the fence'
They still do not know he
They laugh as they leave
They begin to understand the fence
'He is all alone usually and was just giving out a hug'
They have figured him out!
He is not alone any more
Not all the time
The fence that gives out hugs
Fences have feelings, too
The Happenings of Tennis ClassTennis is Amazing.
We fool around, yelling quotes from movies when we serve the ball, sometimes.
"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" "LUKE, I AM YOUR FATHER" "EXPECTOPATRONUM!"
Doing this then distracts us from actually concentrating on our serve, and we usually end up hitting the ball in the entirely wrong direction.
We also name various objects.
All the tennis balls are named Phil. The Vacuum is named Trashcan. The trashcan is named Vacuum. And the fence's name is Phillmoore.
Phillmoore gives excellent hugs.
We are making up a parody horror in which the villain has a tennis racquet for a hand, and he also holds it up to his face, using it as a mask. Whenever we fool around (which is often) we hold our tennis racquets up to our faces and creepily smile for the fun of it.
We also talk about Mr. Slenderman.
Because of this, I often dress him up in various outfits in my doodle book.
If you decide to look at it, you will find him in a tennis outfit and a pirate outfit on various pages, interacting with
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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