ghxsts bio picture

FOOD FOR THOUGHT.

Welcome to my blog!

Hello my name is: Icicle Audacity. All I see are ghxsts. I'm the misguided stride for self improvement - a sadistic, futuristic machine. A hollow cold emitted through vibrant lights, it’s a warm as wool winter but I’ve got a chill I can’t shake. This is what I am & I think I’m fine in my own misguidance. My bones are frozen, my marrow has turned to ice - my body is just a body, a corpse without a head. I'm just a vessel & my brain has long been dead.

Dylan McAmmond
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En Vogue Photography
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"That's really the only thing that matters to me, is that I make art for a living. And if I make art for a living... I win."

Rain

Rain
Everyone wants to get out of the rain, wants to be free, wants to see no more pain.
We’re guaranteed that the season will change, ’til then, I’m keeping sunshine on my brain.
When the drops hit my head they leave a stain, everyone wants to get out of the rain.
We cannot avoid nature’s bleeding vein, but I smile while it trickles down, the rain.

Harvested love only comes after rain, even though it brings overwhelming strain.
It falls from all skies so I can’t complain, without it, our growth would not be the same.
Most people like to have someone to blame, but it falls randomly, not taking aim.
It makes up one half of the yin and yang.
Without the water, you can’t have the flame
Without the water, you can’t have the flame
Some are content holding ground in their game, but when my soul steps to exit this frame,
I will be reincarnated as rain.

Harvested thought only comes after rain, artists may talk and give it different names.
When they appear wet, they may feel ashamed, so they don’t walk but instead take the train,
And when that ride stops they notice the strange.

Sense of degeneration they’ve obtained, while the world evolves, they stand and turn lame.
Storm is prerequisite to mental gain
Storm is prerequisite to mental gain
Philosophy’s life – that’s simple and plain.
Poets play with words to keep themselves sane, you do your thing while the clouds pour the rain.

Harvested skill only comes after rain, architects build under sun, so they claim, but when the puddles decided to hang.
Is when their hands sketched the plans that remained,
Every man secretly hopes he can tame, the beast he fears most ’cause it can’t be slain.
Towering, gray faces laugh so deranged,
One day we all will break free from their chains
One day we all will break free from their chains
And rise towards the sun with good health sustained.
It’s almost impossible to explain, but I owe all my success to the rain.

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