forum Paste the Last Thing that You Copied

Started August 07, 2018 by @CW-BornConfuzzledLeftILoveYa

tune

  17  1  1      1 	Silencer of stars_2#01.3	 	6	        7  3  3  131.

Grass. Protecting his herd. Thinking about grass, hay alfalfa, or his herd. Dreaming about oats. Dreaming about mares. Biting all who annoy him, which is pretty much all he meets. Keeping an eye on his dumb rider. Being angry, and making sure everyone knows it. Showing off to the mares. Chasing the other stallions away from the mares. Napping. Going ZOOM around his pasture from time-to-time.

búp bê

(. . .Wtf?)

{I genuinely do not think you want to know.}

Grass. Protecting his herd. Thinking about grass, hay alfalfa, or his herd. Dreaming about oats. Dreaming about mares. Biting all who annoy him, which is pretty much all he meets. Keeping an eye on his dumb rider. Being angry, and making sure everyone knows it. Showing off to the mares. Chasing the other stallions away from the mares. Napping. Going ZOOM around his pasture from time-to-time.

(Iknow this is about horses, but this accurately describes me)

(d r e a m i n g a b o u t o a t s

good hobby, Baylee)

I live inside my own world of make-believe
Kids screaming in their cradles, profanities
I see the world through eyes covered in ink and bleach
Cross out the ones who heard my cries and watched me weep
I love everything
Fire spreading all around my room
My world's so bright
It's hard to breathe but that's alright
Hush
Sh
Tape my eyes open to force reality
Why can't you just let me eat my weight in glee?
I live inside my own world of make-believe
Kids screaming in their cradles, profanities
Some days I feel skinnier than all the other days
And some days I can't tell if my body belongs to me
I love everything
Fire spreading all around my room
My world's so bright
It's hard to breathe but that's alright
Hush
sh
I wanna taste your content
Hold your breath and feel the tension
Devils hide behind redemption
Honesty is a one way gate to hell
I wanna taste consumption
Breathe faster to waste oxygen
Hear the children sing aloud
It's music till the wick burns out
Hush
Just wanna be care free lately, yeah
Just kicking up daisies
Got one too many quarters in my pockets
Count 'em like the four leaf clovers in my locket
Untied laces, yeah
Just tripping on daydreams
Got dirty little lullabies playing on repeat
Might as well just rot around the nursery and count sheep

☺︎♏︎⬧︎◆︎⬧︎ ♐︎◆︎♍︎🙵♓︎■︎♑︎ ♍︎♒︎❒︎♓︎⬧︎⧫︎

i'm not me, who are you?
i'm too different
from the me i used to know
so many things i don't know, my dreams come second
i don't even know what's in my heart
the tears just well up

adrenaline

1. Knowledge of Literature.—Nil.
2. Philosophy.—Nil.
3. Astronomy.—Nil.
4. Politics.—Feeble.
5. Botany.—Variable. Well up in belladonna, opium, and poisons generally. Knows noth- ing of practical gardening.
6. Geology.—Practical, but limited. Tells at a glance different soils from each other. Af- ter walks has shown me splashes upon his trousers, and told me by their colour and consistence in what part of London he had received them.
7. Chemistry.—Profound.
8. Anatomy.—Accurate, but unsystematic.
9. Sensational Literature.—Immense. He ap-
   pears to know every detail of every horror
   perpetrated in the century.
10. Plays the violin well.
11. Is an expert singlestick player, boxer, and
    swordsman.
12. Has a good practical knowledge of British
    law.

By June 2020, I will be more friendly with 90% level of completion by being nicer and kinder.

(side note: the sentence above is a lie)

we LOVE lego star wars in this house

One other thing, Lestrade,” he added, turning round at the door: “ ‘Rache,’ is the German for ‘revenge;’ so don’t lose your time looking for Miss Rachel.”
With which Parthian shot he walked away, leaving the two rivals open-mouthed behind him.

All it wants to do is use its children as high-powered torpedoes of mass destruction, and who's gonna stop it from having so much fun?

Why, what is there against him?”
“Oh, I didn’t say there was anything against him. He is a little queer in his ideas—an enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough.”
“A medical student, I suppose?” said I.
“No—I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes. His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the way knowledge which would astonish his professors.”
“Did you never ask him what he was going in for?” I asked.
“No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him.”
“I should like to meet him,” I said. “If I am to lodge with anyone, I should prefer a man of stu- dious and quiet habits. I am not strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural existence. How could I meet this friend of yours?”
“He is sure to be at the laboratory,” returned my companion. “He either avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning to night. If you like, we shall drive round together after luncheon.”

What amuses me is to think of Lestrade, who had started off upon the wrong scent. I am afraid he won’t make much of—Why, by Jove, here’s the very man himself!”
It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we were talking, and who now entered the room. The assurance and jauntiness which generally marked his demeanour and dress were, however, wanting. His face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were disarranged and untidy. He had evidently come with the intention of consulting with Sherlock Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague he appeared to be embarrassed and put out. He stood in the centre of the room, fumbling nervously with his hat and uncertain what to do. “This is a most extraordinary case,” he said at last—“a most incomprehensible affair.”
“Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!” cried Gregson, triumphantly. “I thought you would come to that conclusion. Have you managed to find the Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?”
“The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson,” said Lestrade gravely, “was murdered at Halliday’s Private Hotel about six o’clock this morning.”

That’s art