Wolflord

Come With Me



Come with me, let's take a walk,



We don't have to go far, we'll just talk.
It won't be long, that you'll be gone.



It will be a journey, just you and me.




Come with me, let's take a ride,



I'll show you my hidden side.
It doesn't matter where we go,



For wherever I am I'll know,



That it's an adventure, just you and me.



Come with me, let's run away.



Fuck everything else, we don't have to deal with it today.



We'll drink and eat and laugh and play,



And I know everything will be okay.



It will be a whole lifetime, just you and me.



Imagine if there was nobody but us every single day.
Let's do it, I don't know how but we'll find a way.



We'll leave this place, with no direction we'll just roam.



We'll keep on going until we find home.




And we'll go places nobody else has ever been,



And we'll tell our children all the things we've seen.



And I know that when it's time to go I'll cheerfully say farewell,



For as long as it's with you, it's been a life lived well.



Because what is life without love?

Come With Me



Come with me, let's take a walk,



We don't have to go far, we'll just talk.
It won't be long, that you'll be gone.



It will be a journey, just you and me.




Come with me, let's take a ride,



I'll show you my hidden side.
It doesn't matter where we go,



For wherever I am I'll know,



That it's an adventure, just you and me.



Come with me, let's run away.



Fuck everything else, we don't have to deal with it today.



We'll drink and eat and laugh and play,



And I know everything will be okay.



It will be a whole lifetime, just you and me.



Imagine if there was nobody but us every single day.
Let's do it, I don't know how but we'll find a way.



We'll leave this place, with no direction we'll just roam.



We'll keep on going until we find home.




And we'll go places nobody else has ever been,



And we'll tell our children all the things we've seen.



And I know that when it's time to go I'll cheerfully say farewell,



For as long as it's with you, it's been a life lived well.



Because what is life without love?

Did you ever stop to think that perhaps cancer and global warming are God's way of weeding out the ones who don't have giant penises? I bet you didn't!
Seriously, though, let's be realistic. Does anyone actually know how much money has been spent on "dick research"? Viagra, for example, was originally intended to treat heart disease. I'm willing to bet that the amount of money spent on research for these pills is a fraction of a percent when compared to something like cancer research. I'm also willing to bet that the amount of money spent on this type of research is a fraction of a percent in comparison to research for vanity products like skin creams, cleansers, detoxifiers, whatever the fuck make-me-look-younger lotions, diet pills and all the other bullshit lining most women's medicine cabinets.
It's easy to make one person's problems seem less important than your own, but let's not pretend to be less selfish than we really are. I'm fairly certain that insecure men aren't to blame for people dieing of cancer.
Speaking of which, Lady, can you forward me a few of those emails? I'm going to be dating again soon, and, well... It's easier than being funny or charming.

A long fucking while, and it just kinda came out. Tell me what you think >.>

Boy and Girl


There once was a boy. He loved a girl. The girl loved the boy's best friend. They dated for a
while, but the boy's best friend treated the girl badly. It made the boy sad to see her pain. The boy's
best friend didn't care about her, treated her badly, and made the girl cry, although he didn't know it.
Things weren't going well for a long time, and it made the boy sad. The boy's best friend eventually
broke up with the girl. He didn't care. The girl was sad. That night the girl went to the boy's house.
The boy and his friend eagerly awaited her arrival. The boy felt happy that he was going to see her
again. He also knew the girl was going to need a shoulder to cry on, and that would be him. He felt
exultant. The girl came over, she didn't cry. She took it well, and managed to have fun despite her
pain. She accepted it as part of life, and moved on. The boy felt happy that she wasn't so sad, but he
also felt sad that she didn't need someone to cry on. The girl moved on that night, but the boy never did.
Looking back, the boy felt sad that he was so desperate and pathetic as to use a girl's pain for his
own gain. He also felt shame at not even realizing it until later. Looking back he also felt proud that
the girl took it so well, and moved on. He also felt terrible for feeling sadness that she didn't display
her emotions in a physical manner. The boy still loves the girl, and always will. He lies in bed awake
at night, praying to nothing for her safety and happiness. He knows that if he meets her again 10 years
down the road, he'll still love her. And when they're both 90 years old, whether they meet or not,
the boy will still see the girl as his 16 year old queen who made life worth living.

It was for English class, short story. I was happy with it, and everyone seemed to like it, so 'ere we go.
I've always been troubled by dreams. Not the usual bowel loosening nightmares, nor the creepy, almost movie-like suspenses. My dreams are much worse. Much more real. I doubt that everyone who had them would agree, but they're my dreams, and that's what I'm saying.
They began when I was 13. At the time I didn't know them for what they were. I could never remember them, but every morning, waking up would be accompanied by a sense of loss so profound it hurt me. Things changed from there. Those dreams faded away to the normal fantasies of an overactive 13 year old. Girls and sports, mostly.
It accelerated slowly from there. At 15 and 16 I could remember them, which made my social life awkward and somewhat pathetic. For hours I'd lay in bed and fight sleep. By the age of 19 I was dreaming them every night. They're probably the cause of my insomnia.
I'd often try and puzzle out what it was that caused these dreams of mine. Whether it was a childhood incident, long since repressed in the halls of my subconcious, or if I angered some spiteful diety. For a year it became an obsession. I saw hypnotists who specialized in repressed memories, and I researched Gods who operated in dreams.
Then I had an epiphany. No God could touch me, I was out of their domain, for our faith is their power, and I have none. Any buried childhood memories mattered not, for it was my problem to deal with. The cause was immaterial.
The dreams, my friend. All the horror and pain of 9/11 hidden behind a disguise as beautiful as Jessica Alba. There's nothing like them. Nothing like the perfect life in them. Everything is perfect. I'm perfect. The perfect house, the perfect job, the perfect life, the perfect girl. And there is where the trouble lies.
The perfect girl, a thought long pondered, from adolescents too young to spend a night away from their parents, to men so old their grandchildren have children. Well I've found her, or my version of her. She lies in my dreams. There's no use describing her to you, my tongue is a crude tool I fear. However, the dreams bring with them a sweetness. A sweetness so great it is soul-searing agony in itself. That is my fgear, my only wish is for them to stop.
Letting his surprise visitor out, John wondered why he told him the truth about the dreams. Was it madness? He pondered. He felt tired, sleep was coming. Had to escape sleep. John stumbled to his medicine cabinet, to find it empty. Had to escape sleep. He looked desperately around for a pill to keep him awake. Had to escape sleep. He spotted his open window. Had to escape sleep. That was his only thought as his body flew out of the balcony of his apartment and into the traffic below. Had to escape sleep.

That is probably the most intelligent thing you have ever said on these forums