The river runs long,
our feet encompassed with mud.
We take in eachother's company,
with musical laughter,
howling untill our eyes bear tears.
We share a thirst for destruction,
Traveling under bridges and trading stories along the river.
What? Where are they?
Bottles? There are none.
Lies.
Somewhere, along the river,
The release.
The most beautiful sound.
Should it be?
Why not?
It's not supposed to be.
Who says?
They.
Who's they?
The normal ones.
What's normal? Living up to the freak "standards"?
I'll search for my chance.
The feeling before the release.
When nothing stands between the shatter and my ear drums.
The thrill leaves us hungry,
our feet hit the pavement again,
and we wander the streets.













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