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whenvesselruled

United States

grace // 17 // local dreamer

Message from Writer

I want to write forever and ever and ever, never ceasing, never once letting my mind stand still.

"Courage, dear heart." -C.S Lewis

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1

whenvesselruled (United States) published:

new school

PROMPT: Solastalgia

they say that concrete walls and locker rooms are not natural;
beings of man, raised up on metal cranes and wooden beams.
but i know that my school breathes: in, out. in, out. in, out.
it is a thousand climates. lights hang from the ceiling like stars.
i climb the stairs to my class like i climb a mountain.
people laugh and it is sun, people cry and it is rain.
new teachers, sick teachers, assemblies: climate change.
i walk...

Seeking Peer Reviews

2 days ago

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2 days ago

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whenvesselruled (United States) published:

reunited

FREE WRITING

I’m walking down the wide, grassy lane. Sunshine spills over the soil and warms the air around me. Rocks line the path in a scattered arrangement, and the grass bows low over them. It’s long, yellowed grass, but still beautiful, and strong enough that a finch rests for a moment on a dipping, swaying blade. I can smell the scent of a sun-kissed earth: the woody scent of grass, the richness of the soil, the sweet perfume of tiny white...

Seeking Peer Reviews

2 days ago

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whenvesselruled (United States) published:

pizza

PROMPT: Improbable Flavor

pizza;
the smell precedes the taste, which is impossibly better. biting into that pie, letting the warm taste of tomato sauce and pepperoni flood my senses. i eat happily, greedily, maybe too much. it's hard not to when pizza tastes of home and of family, of happiness and of peace. pizza equals lazy conversations and board games around a wooden table. pizza equals the happiness of being surrounded by family, the spontaneous holiday that comes with the surprise of this...

Seeking Peer Reviews

2 days ago

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whenvesselruled (United States) published:

blurryface;

FREE WRITING

Release dates and sold-out shows,
Confetti falls like crimson snow.
Hands raised high, eyes opened wide,
Concerts are a place to let go.

Tour highlights, uploaded once a week.
Pause, listen, don’t let Blurryface speak.
Two friends travel around the globe,
Leaving a trail of these memories that we keep.

Red and black neck and eyes,
Don’t listen to insecurity’s evil lies.
The singer holds shaking hands,
The crowd below begins to cry.

Pounding hearts, pounding feet,
People rushing to...

Seeking Peer Reviews

2 days ago

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2

whenvesselruled (United States) published:

CAPS LOCK

PROMPT: 25 Words

SOMETIMES I WRITE IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS TO DROWN OUT THE WORDS IN MY HEAD.
sometimes i write more quietly, when silence is a friend.

4 days ago

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4 days ago

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whenvesselruled (United States) reviewed:

The Lake

PROMPT: 25 Words

You misspelled the first word. It should have two "o"s. Otherwise, fantastic job!

4 days ago

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3

whenvesselruled (United States) published:

getting better.

FREE WRITING

white-knuckled grip on my life.
if i let go now, i might fly.
my heart beats too fast,
beating heart means I’m alive.
i’m too in love with this world,
that’s why romance & anxiety
have the same heartbeat.
moments of hope, happen faster
than i can remember to stand on my feet.
we all hold shaking heads,
broken and within steady hands.
this fear has held my tongue.
sometimes it’s better to break than to bend.
listening to old...

9 days ago

Published Work

Solastalgia

new school

they say that concrete walls and locker rooms are not natural;
beings of man, raised up on metal cranes and wooden beams.
but i know that my school breathes: in, out. in, out. in, out.
it is a thousand climates. lights hang from the ceiling like stars.
i climb the stairs to my class like i climb a mountain.
people laugh and it is sun, people cry and it is rain.
new teachers, sick teachers, assemblies: climate change.
i walk hallways like i walk forest trails.
people tower beside me: giants. sequoias. jaguars.
strange and wonderful creatures. some snarl. some smile.
but then change.
i am leaving.
i exit.
goodbye.
hello.
breathing again.
seeing the forest open up in front of me:
i have to find where every cave is. i have to feel the sun.
the creatures here are different. more adapted.
i walk the hallways again, and marvel at the things that change;
posters change. paint colors change....

reunited

I’m walking down the wide, grassy lane. Sunshine spills over the soil and warms the air around me. Rocks line the path in a scattered arrangement, and the grass bows low over them. It’s long, yellowed grass, but still beautiful, and strong enough that a finch rests for a moment on a dipping, swaying blade. I can smell the scent of a sun-kissed earth: the woody scent of grass, the richness of the soil, the sweet perfume of tiny white flowers held aloft on their hunched stems. The path stretches straight and wide before me as I walk.

I hear footsteps behind me, and I turn. My friends are coming. I knew that they would. Here comes Romeo, his chestnut, thoroughbred coat gleaming almost red in the bright sun. And my darling Peter, of course, tail curled high and tight above his back. I continue down the lane, and now they are by my side. My feet step carefully and...

Improbable Flavor

pizza

pizza;
the smell precedes the taste, which is impossibly better. biting into that pie, letting the warm taste of tomato sauce and pepperoni flood my senses. i eat happily, greedily, maybe too much. it's hard not to when pizza tastes of home and of family, of happiness and of peace. pizza equals lazy conversations and board games around a wooden table. pizza equals the happiness of being surrounded by family, the spontaneous holiday that comes with the surprise of this favorite food. cheese and pepperoni dance around the tastebuds. "i got pizza" is paired with the sound of the door closing with a rush of cold air, and my siblings all clambering for the best piece, the sound of the television turning on, the biting bubbles of classic coca-cola. i eat, and eat, and let the world be at peace for a little bit. it's impossible to worry when pizza tastes so tangy-warm-happy on my tongue. 

blurryface;

Release dates and sold-out shows,
Confetti falls like crimson snow.
Hands raised high, eyes opened wide,
Concerts are a place to let go.

Tour highlights, uploaded once a week.
Pause, listen, don’t let Blurryface speak.
Two friends travel around the globe,
Leaving a trail of these memories that we keep.

Red and black neck and eyes,
Don’t listen to insecurity’s evil lies.
The singer holds shaking hands,
The crowd below begins to cry.

Pounding hearts, pounding feet,
People rushing to get the right seat.
The interviews are everywhere,
Tyler finally finds the peace to speak.

Three years since this beautiful chaos began.
314 days since Blurryface ran.
Thank you to this album a thousand times,
We can barely wait to do it again.

25 Words

CAPS LOCK

SOMETIMES I WRITE IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS TO DROWN OUT THE WORDS IN MY HEAD.
sometimes i write more quietly, when silence is a friend.

getting better.

white-knuckled grip on my life.
if i let go now, i might fly.
my heart beats too fast,
beating heart means I’m alive.
i’m too in love with this world,
that’s why romance & anxiety
have the same heartbeat.
moments of hope, happen faster
than i can remember to stand on my feet.
we all hold shaking heads,
broken and within steady hands.
this fear has held my tongue.
sometimes it’s better to break than to bend.
listening to old songs, i loved.
thinking is an addiction,
at least i know the lyrics to these ones.
my therapist said to “take it back,”
she was referring to what I had lost.
“it’s better to have loved before,” she said.
“then you know fighting for it is worth the cost.”

No Pause for Breath

overthinking

my brain is whirling unreasonably fast,
full of definitions of words and everything else
how it all defines us, and everything and everyone
so that i cannot find any sleep, any peace, and rest
that will cure the aching, worried soul that is my mind,
for it is a different soul from me, a separate entity, 
it longs to tear me into shreds, until my heart bleeds
and then bleeds out, leaving me nothing but horribly
ugly logic and noise, for i cannot let myself succumb
to the shouting of my mind, over everything that 
would cure me of this nonsense, over every quietly 
spoken word, over anything that may leave me comfort,
for the brain, or rather this brain, does not know peace,
it only knows endless running without punctuation,
withing breath, without rest, without a simple smile,
that is how i live; i am trapped in a brain filled with
definitions of how i should feel and how...

Place Poem

Hume

Car windows, fogged from breaths near the glass,
Empty wrappers and cups from our snacks.
Nearing the place I call home, on a winding pavement road.
Individual pine needles against a contrasted sky.

Suitcases grumbling up the steps,
Wooden walls and paintings are left.
The smell of pine, the smell of the sky,
Shoes by the doorway, swimsuits on the porch.

Pocket change jingles with silver sounds,
Trees wear their gorgeous wooden gowns.
Ducks skim across the lake, so do tadpoles.
The dirt here is clean, it washes the soul.

Lake water, brown and green like Mother Nature's eyes.
Canoes that almost tip over, but don't quite.
Paddles that propel me into hidden coves, 
Water snakes, pollywogs, frogs, crickets, a deer.

Campfire crackles on its first day alive,
Stars show their faces, the lights don't make them shy.
Marshmallows clamp laughing teeth together,
My skin smells strongly of wood smoke. 

people as weather

Weather As Types of People
Wind: Nomadic people are those who love wind. They are born of change and circumstance. Their worst enemy is the jailor of restriction. Seldom seen with restricting clothes, they like to move as they please. Messages pass their hands many times a day, and they love to be the bearer of news: whether good or bad, gossip or fun. They are desert people: hearts of sand and time, ever changing, always different. They are late-night pitstop people: gas station spirits and moonlight souls. People of change, people of destiny, people of drive.

Rain: Gentle souls. Instead of being in constant state of growth like most people, they are in a constant state of settling into themselves. Their presence is a calming one, even if they are not calm within themselves. They create effortlessly, ideas always flowing from them when they are present. When ideas are not present, the drought comes: not a drought...

unrhymed

3:26 in the morning.
my eyes open;
the next song plays from my phone.
ruby waves and ghostly vocals.

like a sunset, like a constellation.
crashing waves in my mind.
eyes like i've just been crying;
i can't tell what song it is.

the lyrics are comforting, familiar.
i lie in the quiet of the room,
let the voice sweep through the dark.
there is peace, and galaxies outside.

purple skies, red drums.
i know these words, this song.
a theme song for the night.
i remember: anathema by tyler joseph

& josh dun

 

odd poetry for someone who loves winter

Summertime is like poetry;
Bubbling coca cola that slides down your throat, sizzling like a reverse scream. It tastes sweet on your tongue and bites the inside of your cheeks. Dripping down the chin, silver-sticky-soft. Your fingers clasp a tinted bottle that holds the nectar inside. Above, the sky is the same color as your bedroom walls. You look up at it, and laugh: a clear, calling sound that soars with the airplanes overhead. There is music playing from the radio, a dirty-brown sound that reaches through the static. The lyrics you can understand describe you perfectly: “ragged”, “grown”, “a little bit happy.” Swinging feet hang from the porch, laces untied and frayed. They have met the mud and the dirt, and made friends with cold pavement at night time. Still they remain, carrying you to another day. Your chest is light like a ton of bricks, but you move your head to the sound of the radio. A fan...

odd poetry for someone who loves winter

Summertime is like poetry;
Bubbling coca cola that slides down your throat, sizzling like a reverse scream. It tastes sweet on your tongue and bites the inside of your cheeks. Dripping down the chin, silver-sticky-soft. Your fingers clasp a tinted bottle that holds the nectar inside. Above the sky is the same color as your bedroom walls. You look up at it, and laugh: a clear, calling sound that soars with the airplanes overhead. There is music playing from the radio, a dirty-brown sound that reaches through the static. The lyrics you can understand describe you perfectly: “ragged”, “grown”, “a little bit happy.” Swinging feet hang from the porch, laces untied and frayed. They have met the mud and the dirt, and made friends with cold pavement at night time. Still they remain, carrying you to another day. Your chest is light like a ton of bricks, but you move your head to the sound of the radio. A fan...

unrhymed

3:23 in the morning.
my eyes open;
the next song plays from my phone.
ruby waves and ghostly vocals.

like a sunset, like a constellation.
crashing waves in my mind.
eyes like i've just been crying;
i can't tell what song it is.

the lyrics are comforting, familiar.
i lie in the quiet of the room,
let the voice sweep through the dark.
there is peace, and galaxies outside.

purple skies, red drums.
i know these words, this song.
a theme song for the night.
i remember: anathema by tyler joseph

& josh dun

 

semi-automatic peace

dream concept:
    you and me are sitting on the ledge of a building. from our perch we can see the distant lights of a music set. it’s twenty one pilots. they are playing semi-automatic, but we can’t hear the lyrics that well, so we look up the song on your phone and play it so the beat matches with the lights on the stadium. 

    the air is just perfect: the last lingering warmth of the late summer day is casting itself over the town below us. the air smells of summer: flowers, pavement, grass and strawberries. the clouds above are tinged pink with the setting sun. a warm breeze toys with the edges of our t-shirts and ruffles the hair on our heads. 

    we swing our legs over the side of the building. we mouth the words and drum our hands to the beat, rocking to the rhythm of the sound. the air is clear, and the city is quiet,...

happy endings

I’m beginning to think, after all this time, that I am not much different than the heroes in the books I read. Many, many years of my life I looked up to the characters as if they experienced something far different than me. As if they knew what true struggle was. As if they were the only ones that feared the morning more than me.

But now, as I sit on the edge of my bed and try to prepare myself for the day before me, I imagine a hero hefting his sword to his side, and looking at the sunrise with the grim determination of someone who knows they may die. I feel the anxiety before a battle just as the main characters did. I gather every ounce of courage in me to carry my thoughts to the war; to destroy them before they destroy me. I know the courage it takes to rise from my own bed into...

Solastalgia

new school

they say that concrete walls and locker rooms are not natural;
beings of man, raised up on metal cranes and wooden beams.
but i know that my school breathes: in, out. in, out. in, out.
it is a thousand climates. lights hang from the ceiling like stars.
i climb the stairs to my class like i climb a mountain.
people laugh and it is sun, people cry and it is rain.
new teachers, sick teachers, assemblies: climate change.
i walk hallways like i walk forest trails.
people tower beside me: giants. sequoias. jaguars.
strange and wonderful creatures. some snarl. some smile.
but then change.
i am leaving.
i exit.
goodbye.
hello.
breathing again.
seeing the forest open up in front of me.
i have to find where every cave is. i have to feel the sun.
the creatures here are different. more adapted.
i walk the hallways again, and marvel at the things that change;
posters change. paint colors change....

Love in 13 Words

loving music

concert: singing so loud you can't speak, lights so bright you can't see

Handheld Worlds

I scroll through a thousand posts-
they all read the same; "drink water,
take your medication, its okay if you are sad-"
my eyes look down paragraphs upon paragraphs,
wondering when these things will come true, springing
to life on wings of reality. I see comments of 
"you'll be okay" because reassurance is traded
like currency on blinking screens.
everyone believes that their life support is attached to
battery percentages. storage amounts. media updates. 
"it is true love," people whisper to letters on
colorful backdrops. "my best friend" people cry,
dragging fingers across profile pictures.
"social media is my home," say usernames, as if 
you can crawl into pixels and gigabytes to be safe.
"sorry for not being online," sigh long-winded descriptions 
that have something to do with busy lives or mental health or 
the inability to find inspiration to share with strangers, as if 
they must apologize. as if media is reality they have
neglected, or people that they...

Pillars

The sun glinted golden over the ivory statues surrounding us. I looked around the diner, taking in everything that could be seen. On my plate, greasy greek fast food. Around me, pillars made of plastic and astonishingly naked statues. This strange place was a pit stop on the journey me and my friend were making across the state. As we stopped at a gas station, we looked across the street to see this place. Cora’s Diner read the sign above the grimey glass door that marked the entrance to the building. The base of the diner’s plaster-white walls was dark with mildew, and a leaky spigot dripped annoyingly beside the hose. But I was hungry, and he was hungry, and we both needed something interesting to jolt our minds back awake.

So we entered the strangest diner we had ever seen; it was fully of greasy greek food, and the white plaster shapes of knockoff statues. I couldn’t tell if...

Intersection

Green Electricity

Every day at 9:59,
I turn around and look outside.
Through the window of the classroom,
Covered in math posters, two stories high.
My eyes do not follow the cars below,
Nor the concrete walls as white as snow.
No, I look to the building far outside,
And marvel at the things that grow. 
Tendrils of green vines, reaching so far,
Climbing always, towards the stars.
Each single leaf unique and alive,
Covering the cracked world's broken scars.
The vines and climbers slowly creep,
Splaying like electricity on the walls so steep,
Flowers hang on tender threads,
Pink-silver petals that will never sleep.
 

Album Review Competition 2018

Vessel by Twenty One Pilots

    It seems we live in a world of repetition. Everything from song titles to the lyrics within the music seem overplayed and inauthentic. Every song touches on topics that have lost their shock value from overuse. In addition, genres have also imprisoned these already repetitive displays with the weight of stereotype. Hip-hop is abject to guitar, rock-and-roll won’t even glance at a ukulele, and rap won’t consider piano. Music becomes gray with familiarity, and it takes a certain type of talent to color it original. Twenty One Pilots is made up of two people who possess such talent.

    Tyler Joseph, lead singer of Twenty One Pilots, has struggled with heaviness for a very long time. He admits to often finding himself unable to stop thinking about the bigger questions in life, such as the idea of purpose, and how to handle the evil he sees going on around him. These thoughts lead to insecurity and fear: something he drives away...

Album Review Competition 2018

Vessel by Twenty One Pilots

It seems we live in a world of repetition. Everything from song titles to the lyrics within the music seem overplayed and inauthentic. Every song touches on topics that have lost their shock value from overuse. In addition, genres have also imprisoned these already repetitive displays with the weight of stereotype. Hip-hop is abject to guitar, rock-and-roll won’t even glance at a ukulele, and rap won’t consider piano. Music becomes gray with familiarity, and it takes a certain type of talent to color it original. Twenty One Pilots is made up of two people who possess such talent.

Tyler Joseph, lead singer of Twenty One Pilots, has struggled with heaviness for a very long time. He admits to often finding himself unable to stop thinking about the bigger questions in life, such as the idea of purpose, and how to handle the evil he sees going on around him. These thoughts lead to insecurity and fear: something he drives away...

Pillars

The sun glinted golden over the ivory statues surrounding us. I looked around the diner, taking in everything that could be seen. On my plate, greasy greek fast food. Around me, pillars made of plastic and astonishingly naked statues. This strange place was a pit stop on the journey me and my friend were making across the state. As we stopped at a gas station, we looked across the street to see this place. Cora’s Diner read the sign above the grimey glass door that marked the entrance to the building. The base of the diner’s plaster-white walls was dark with mildew, and a leaky spigot dripped annoyingly beside the hose. But I was hungry, and he was hungry, and we both needed something interesting to jolt our minds back awake.

So we entered the strangest diner we had ever seen; it was fully of greasy greek food, and the white plaster shapes of knockoff statues. I couldn’t tell if...

The Incredible Shrinking Girl

"The Incredible Shrinking Girl," reads the sign around my neck. It is my title and my truth; I am the Incredible Shrinking Girl. Although I stand 6 foot 1 inch, I have the freakish ability to shrink smaller and smaller until it seems there is nothing left of me. All I need is staring eyes or a laughing voice, and I am smaller than anyone could have thought possible. As I walk around people, I often find myself exercising this skill, shriveling into a cold figure within my frame, the only moving thing being my heart. 

Today I am on the streets. I sit with my back against a cold, wet wall, shivering inside my coat. The sign hangs heavily on my neck. I'm hoping someone will stop to look at the Incredible Shrinking Girl. Maybe pick me up and throw me into a freak show, so at least I can make some money for my strangeness. I avoid eye...

Handheld Worlds

I scroll through a thousand posts-
they all read the same; "drink water,
take your medication, its okay if you're sad-"
my eyes look down paragraphs upon paragraphs,
wondering when these things will come true, springing
to life on wings of reality. I see comments of 
"you'll be okay" because reassurance is traded
like currency on blinking screens.
everyone believes that their life support is attached to
battery percentages. storage amounts. media updates. 
"it is true love," people whisper to letters on
colorful backdrops. "my best friend" people cry,
dragging fingers across profile pictures.
"social media is my home," say usernames, as if 
you can crawl into pixels and gigabytes to be safe.
"sorry for not being online," sigh long-winded descriptions 
that have something to do with busy lives or mental health or 
the inability to find inspiration to share with strangers, as if 
they must apologize. as if media is reality they have
neglected, or people that they have...

Heavydirtysoul


The first time I cried was also the first time I crashed a car.

I don’t remember the night like it was yesterday, or this morning. I remember it like it’s still happening. It is, in a way. In my head the screeching tires still play out loud, over and over and over again. Both liberating and terrifying. Both loud and gentle. It’s a recurring dream that happens when I am wide awake. A dangerous spiral in my mind.

My thoughts always begin the same way. I’m facing the street at night again. The street lights bounce off the wet pavement and reflect in my broken-glass eyes. Tattoos line my arms, creeping up over my veins and muscles. My hair is shaded over my face, and I’m breathing hard.

When it had first happened, I’d paused for less than a second on the side of the road before rushing out into the street. In my memory it seems to take...

On the Last Day of the World

The Attraction of Destruction

Even if the earth was tore asunder,
I'd stand and watch the destruction with awed wonder.

Ten Words to You

California

Christmas lights parallel to fire warnings, summer heat during December.

Fernweh

Domupax

Domupax
DOMe-yu-pAHx/
adjective

1.
the unmistakable feeling of being at home after a long or tiresome journey or adventure.
"he rested his head for the first time since he had started out so long ago; a feeling of domupax lulled him to sleep"

2. feeling at home in a place that is not familiar
"the new school was strange and new, but she felt a strong sense of domupax as she walked the halls."

Excerpt from original story using the word:

"The stars were sprinkled across the sky like salt. The night was cold and dark, pressing against the windows of the home. Everything outside was bitter, but within the house golden light flooded the room. The footsteps of the hero were muffled in the dirt he walked on. Tattered clothes were wrapped tight around his shoulders to ward off the coldness. He could see the windows of the home warm with light, but exhaustion pulled at his...

A Moment

The camera jolted against my chest as I flung open the car door, barely missing the gray highway barrier. I leaped from my seat, escaping from the crowded vehicle into the afternoon air. Cars roared past us on either side, speeding down the freeway. Bits of gravel spun under their tires and were sent skittering over the blacktop.

My best friend finally got out of the car too, her hands still clasping the journal she had been writing in moments earlier. Her gray sweatshirt was caught up in the wind that whispered over the highway bridge we stood on. Her amber-autumn hair was tossed in flurries around her head. Sunlight glinted in her eyes. We both laughed out loud over the din of the passing traffic.

I brushed my hair from my face. For the first time in a long time, I felt as though I could see and think clearly. My head was nearly empty, except for the last...

Another Planet

I sat on the bench and felt the winds of time toy with my hair.

The wooden structure I sat upon was comfortable but worn. Knots swirled like whirlpools on its surface, splinters growing lushly by their sides. The color of the bench had faded with time and the soft rain that often came to this place. My hand rested on the seat, and I could feel the history of every notch and knoll breathing under the surface.

Before me stretched a corridor of trees. Their purple leaves and olive-green bark stood like silent giants. Whispers carried from their branches to one another, born on the breath of the wind. The path that wound through the gigantic plants was of smooth river stones, each one pulsing with faint veins of precious light. Gold stretched long fingers through the rocks. Silver ran over the surface. Purple glowed from the hues of the ground. There were precious metals here, but I desired...

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29 Likes from Others

Handheld Worlds

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blurryface;

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new school

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reunited

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people as weather

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CAPS LOCK

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getting better.

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overthinking

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Hume

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thinking of summer

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Create

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semi-automatic peace

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loving music

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happy endings

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lonely

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the sky is the limit

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Green Electricity

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Vessel by Twenty One Pilots

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Another Planet

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Domupax

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The Attraction of Destruction

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Heavydirtysoul

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Dying Stars

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Breathe

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Vessel by Twenty One Pilots

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California

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The Incredible Shrinking Girl

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