Title: 12: 39, time for reality We'd ride to the lake at 12: 39 sharp, just as the Author: Anonymous Pastebin link: http://pastebin.com/eSif5rbX First Edit: Wednesday 8th of May 2013 03:22:14 PM CDT Last Edit: Wednesday 8th of May 2013 03:22:14 PM CDT 12: 39, time for reality   We'd ride to the lake at 12: 39 sharp, just as the shine of the sun broke through the haze of last nights summer, All the way we road, but we found the lake all dried up, So, what did we do? We went to another lake,That one was dried up too so we tried to find another. But yet again another lake was dry as we're all the lake of our youth were, our luck just like the lakes seemed to have been dried up too, well if we had any luck. So instead we went fishing in the puddle and settled for less than none. We would rather throw a line in the water than have to put up with with the day. Now once the puddle dried up and the fish walked off we sat down and smoked our dope. We never really liked our dope, but dope was better than sober during any time of life. Once we were all doped up on our dreams we rode home empty hook in hand and died until 12:39 the next day where we would live again.   Now when Sunday came along we would sit around the table to eat with the family. There was always enough to eat, but no one was hungry enough to enjoy the company. Than it was off to church at 10 where we would fiddle around and cuss the lord until our next fix of fishing at 12:39. Then we'd ride to the lake and find our gods in fishing rods and cigarettes. Time went on, we dreamt our dope and lived in the stale murk of the pond, or sewage, either word described our days perfectly. Soon the fish grew legs and walked off agian until we chased ourselves out into the streets were there was no fishing. Then we almost got hit by a Buissness man driving his black or blue, i couldnt really tell you, i was to high on dreams to notice, 2008 Toyota camery, or a lawyer or a college professor. It didn't really matter who was trying to murder us but it sure did dim our buzz from before. Our group split and went home until the next days trip on dope. Now though our chances with the Toyota were closer and closer, like he was out to get us. Then BAM. We were hit and went into a daze stronger than any of our dope has ever caused.   After we woke up we all left for a home we couldnt find and family that does not want us. We wandered around trying to find a place to lay down. We decided to sleep in front of our old schoolhouse, old and abandoned with neglect. It felt like forever since we were last there. Its paint was chipped off, no more laughter in the halls. it life just seemed to vanished. so we went about our buissness in the school house where we each went and died. We died in the dusty bookshelves were we used to play hide and seek. Some of us died under the desks of our second grade classroom, where our friends would play silly games. Some us died on the playground, where game boy and Pokemon ruled the world. Some of us died in the puddle, drowning in the murky waters of dope and dreams. All of us died though, we all died in the same place where we were born.   we soon started to wake again. This time instead of at home we found ourselves in the concrete jungle, an endless cardboard and pencil prison with fishes swimming back and forth, printers buzzing like cicadas. We stumbled out of the cubicle, almost tripping over the black snakes strangling our necks and rode to the lake at 12: 39 sharp, just as the shine of the sun broke through the haze of Fridays quota. All the way we road, but we found the lake all dried up, So, what did we do? We went to another lake, That one was dried up too so we tried to find another But yet again another lake was dry as we're all the lakes of our youth were, our luck just like the lakes seemed to have been dried up too, well if we had any luck. So instead we went fishing in the puddle and settled for less than none. We smoked our dope, except this time it tasted bitter, looked like crumpled green with specks of silver saucers. it put us to sleep so well that we never noticed how much we had we had changed since the days of nostalgia and how little life was different than before.   ----------------------------------------------------   Only true mirrors are puddles of water   So vibrant, they are full of life.   So blue, deep like the endless sky.   Their ripples bouncing and bobbing   All along our shallow lies   They give false depth to our feeble lives   A shallow life, with a shallow grave.   The ripples tear through the scene   Cutting up whatever semblance you have,   They pierce the skin, the skin of faux truth   Like the scissors to the fabric of society   From the necessities of fulfillment,   They show the agenda of the politician,   Or the stash to the weekend doper   Puddles of justice, of humble sobriety,   Of the starving musician, or the sister saint.   Piercing through light, as if it were life.   Showing reflection in their murky convections.