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Lizz Scriptures

I couldn't believe -- I lost my own will to be willful! My own ill-will will surely take over and lend me a true vision of myself in the end. Though, was I ever okay in the head? Was I ever reasonable to some and to my family? I lost so much from them and yet what makes me happy to hear their joyful glee as they take my body and use me, eat me, stuff me, strain me, play me, drain me, escort me, rob me, and leave me. Today, I went to the fields full of grass, waving around up near my knee and feeling each of their tips land on my skin. I saw a giant tree that had great shade and I went under to ponder my mind away. And slowly, I let loose the weeds on me, maggots ate me, ants robbed me, birds played me, vines strained me, soil stuffed me, weather drained me, and death escorted me. From the underworld, there was no God waiting for me to greet. There was the cold and mountains, somehow plant life was alive as well as me.

Page 7. Where's Page 1? Actually, where is the rest of the pages before Page 7? Do you know? Because without them, it will leave a huge question for the readers and critics and a-like. Although, I did saw Page 6 earlier. She was heading to the train station going to their home back in Sweden. I heard that Page 4 had gotten sick and have recently passed away, 4 months ago. Page 2, and 3 attended his funeral. Meanwhile, Page 2 is fond of his profession as a psychologist. Taking care of his patients, lovingly. Page 3 sells alcohol and does her job pretty well. However, she had to move out from her home at California because of her parents' absolute dislike of her job and moved to Texas. Page 7 was not the most talkative among the group but it only took a few spoken words from his mouth and everyone knew what he meant, somehow. Probably, the reason why he became a police officer because he's been on the news for a while and being called, "Greatest Gunner". Due to his constant recognition though, he got cocky and broke the law himself and is on the run as of now. Now, Page 5. Page 7 loved Page 5. They were a nice couple after a while. But she went missing in the middle of the night. Nobody knows where she went, not even Page 7. Wherever she is -- Page 7 is always looking for her.

Page 7. A silent man that is passionate about art and draws for a living. He's been lonely since Page 5 went missing. He thinks, it's a dream. Everything is a dream. A dream within a disease that is poisoning his beloved Page 5. A dwelling cancer that ceases the chance for Page 7 and Page 5 to see each other again.

I've always thought of soups to be really weird. They have texture and taste -- All made from a broth of some kind whether it be from chicken or fish. It made me think that we're a kind of soup as well. All made with broth that is made out of our mind. Our texture is our attitude and our taste is our interests. I consider the Soup Stage as being a kid for instance. Then, when we get older we slowly become a Stew. Full of ambition and dreams to fill our bowl brains. Our interests becoming wider as the big portions of cooked ingredients. The liquid becoming thick as our intelligence is enhancing. Lastly, our texture being more visually clear to everybody as our appearance. Makes you reflect how much you've grown and how your taste has gotten better. Hehe.

Under the sea, where we faint to be,
It made me wonder who we are to glee?
Within the silence of God, and questions of trails,
I command not to stay in this Holy Grail.

Joyous of Oaths, I found my own wisdom!
At what cost did I fortold my own idioctism?
I lost all hope to be good! I wish to be in denial and
persuade my stoicism,

I did not order to be torned,
I only wanted to know more.
Now I have ruined my own vision,
In exchange of my own delusion.

Hate only formed out of me,
surely I could hearken my own collision!,
I wish to be sorry, very gravely, sorry.
I could do better, I could do more to be dire.

Dark, dark, dark
It's dark with this bleak dork!
Sorry for making a ruckus
Don't light up the lantern, you dingus.

Oh sweet glee,
Oh I want to flee!
To caress you with my arms,
and come with thee.

The sky is so beautiful,
why are the builidings so tall?>
As I change with you,
the world ended after all.

In my box,
I always felt more safe
In my luck,
boredom was my date.

1 + 1, it makes 2 from that,
2 + 2, it makes 4 in E-flat.
Funny to say what if we multiply?
Then we divide in order to turn back!

Wait, who is it this named fractions?
Are they a new addition?
All this algebra is making me go, "Huh?"
while there is more to discuss.

At last, after the Number War,
We had ended it for all that had endure.
Althought, it's just numbers for us,
To many, it is the blocks of us.

May it be at the expense of my own suffocation? I want to be left alone -- I want to spread my arms and be torned by the divine light. Save me not, I cannot endure my own self, for you can't even do that to me as wel. Was I ever the problem?, or did you ignored it and let the Doctor see me and get better? You hate me, don'tchu? Leave Me be, You only kill me even more in the inside. I can't handle this household anymore -- I abide to your own life yet you ask so much that my body can't even keep up with all such ruckus and chaos. Is this what you want from me? To think dumb and to think for you only? How about me after this, chaotic and nonsensical musical, that will this benefit me? You will LEAVE me, that's for sure yet. Do I look like a child to you still? Even in this dusk of your selfish panic, you striked me than you, did you not? Leave me be. Please. I only ask of God of THIS. Leave, Me, BE.

If religion had conquered every land of mankind, why do atheism exist? To seek logical conscious, Science claims otherwise, or is it that, in extension, we cannot give ourselves purpose without it tailored to modern society? No! I object! That does exist! Except, religion is still relevant. WHy question such properties of it where your own delusion states, "We have proof! All of it was real because of grand timing!", yet Time cares not of any God. Time is God, and it doesn't care what you are; Time just watches over us. We have tortured the definition of Faith and it has became attached to the morally-lazy. Where have we been behind this, "God's" shadow? Into nowhere, I say. It proves to us that we shall be accountable to butchering faith itself.

1998 was the Golden Age of Computers
Grand enough then of what year it came along pliers.
It was amazing to be on that screen,
full of wonders and almost like a dream!

As the Internet grew,
so did we do!
that digital magic forth came to due.
Slowly, The Inner took hold of our wear
To tattle tail is not what would dare.

Despite that reception took us terribly
We still rely on those we thought if weren't plea
They're useful and convenient at all times!
It's modern day where competition arise.

All things I see is barren
Amongst sum of my held darings
Whenever I see you top above
I drool and hold on tight in love

It has been so long
I want to prolong
Where are you
And where am I?
I want to feel your hands on my tummy
I cannot stop dreaming of you with me

I know you don't deserve me
And I don't deserve you
Yet you kiss me and a touch of you will prune
I imagine of us in a gleaming bedroom

It has been in my thought that I cannot live such longer in anguish and torment. I cannot see the light nor darkness that is between me and my legs, why, Oh why, tell me what I did wrong! What kind of shed that I resonated with to be mentally bewitched? From what way is this mirth? Is by the padding that many step upon or is it their sheer joy that I cannot live without. Yes, Yes, That's the issue where once it came! My Will! My Ill-witted Will! I should have known when I first saw my pain -- Was it me? No, no, no. Of course, it was me! Nobody understands me! And nobody will! Because their minds are under-developed and are not suited to such excruciating truth to be held at their faslsified equilibrium. All torment and grain that is supposed to be a threat to my brain wire; it was there to punish me from the start. My Brain wire, my concised gril, My nonsensical quills, my prostetic lungs, My barrel length, my hay stack: It was all me that had to be stuffed with Agony. My Agony that is fueled by others -- I want to be free. I want to see the light and the be my own person, spread my wings and see the world with blacklight eyes. I cannot stray further from my head -- I need to rearrange my brain wires! Tonight at...

Scortching grounds of clouds
Sepulchered trenches that bloat
I could hear the echoes of deeds
The magnitude that bled glee deep.

Ringing voices of screams and plea
I ran, I hid, I sang with grief
Thy shoulder was my peace
And what fell is that piece.

Grasping you tightly, as gravel spew
As I cradle ye, I flew
This conflict, such bittersweet blood
Only she could make it right tonight

I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. Perhaps, I am, yet don't we go through a moment of illness in our lives? A physiological illness that partakes. Fatigue, hunger, tiredness, weakness. Many that are the causes of our own uncare to our body or lack of guard. The Olden Times, we were scared of the mental, their detachment from their mind and their heart solely gushes emotional torture. Said torture what led them to such gruesome thinking yet they stay shut. Act amongst society, thus makes you question and ponder. Is it becasue they hold the grand truth? Or an immense power to commit a genocidal reckoning against their own people? Why do people still question killers conjunction to their criminality itself? When we realized that simply;Was it their fault?. An easy to it is, logically; Yes! -- Of course it is! Their hands are covered in blood and only them! Although, who and when, did they learned such cruel teachings that caused them to inherently commit such murder? To begin and to fully execute, many can't deny that this was an influence from somewhere they had consumed and therefore permitted their own to do because they felt the Heavens had spoken to do what is to be done. Or was it, their own mind and instinctual being that told them, "Society is a threat -- You are the Messiah that shall and should be rained upon such grace". Perhaps, Just like Harris and Dylan from the Columbine High School Shooting. What the authorities had found from that teen suggested further other than a simple literal killjoy. His passion to WAD maps, and his increasing rage to the world, it meant that perhaps -- He was challenged by unfinished mental. Could we be in perpetual fallacy that oneself cannot understand their own regulation and that, we ourselves, are the scariest things in the universe? May it be we are the mythical monsters that we tend to tell children of, that we commit such betrayal to our ownself that treat the world for. It leaves us asking -- Who really are we to even judge at this point, to confess or to uphold status amongst others? Hitherto of this, will it conceal our realm of faith?