Trial and error. Trial and error. Not many memories or images are conjured up by this word but it does remind me of the mock trial in Forensics. I shall look upon that memory fondly.
The trial separation didn’t go as well as planned. Each missed the other tremendously, but when they were in the same room, they forgot the wanting as it was overrun by a deep, intense hatred that clouded their senses and hurt their stomachs.
the trial of the website scared me but all my friends wanted me to do it. just for fun. now i knew what peer pressure was but i never thought i would be a victim of it. ever.
Each word that stumbles out of my mouth is put on a trial before your very court. Each trial I am guilty. Each time my hollow chest beats, I am guilty. Each thud, guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Only when the jury has dissipated, only when you have shucked your robes and left the building am I free. And even then, inside myself, I know. I am guilty.
I never got a trial period as a debater. I had the final performance, and nothing else before that really. I was flung into a competition like a sacrificial lamb into a den of starving lions, and expected to be good.
I stand on trial for something I had no part in.
This is all your fault.
You couldn’t take the blame for something that came to be from your anger.
This is all your fault.
I hate you.
the trial
a trial of love drawn out
or judgement you sit we watch you tell
I wish you’d tell, going back to love, of your trials
so we’d sit and judge so long like it
what’s a trial ? when i was younger I always thought that a trial was like a free trial, like for mmo games, you know when you test them for free. It’s only afterwards that I learnt the real signification. English is not my native language =P
All the animals gathered together in the cave for the trial. The lion, standing atop a large stone, rustled his mane in anticipation of the coming events.
This trial is one that’s too unfair. With bias being the main cause of who wins or not. The life of always having no one to really defend you is one that suffocates me until I can no longer breath.
I lost it. My calculations were off just by a smidgen – a mere decimal or two – and yet it destroyed everything, all 100% of everything, the world around me. But then again, the earth itself is nothing but a decimal to the universe.
Courtrooms bored him. The polished wood, the uncomfortable chairs, all those motherfuckers constantly droning on. And the suit. Fuck sakes, the suit. The white shirt was itchy from the starch – it was just out of the plastic and he was sure there were still pins in it, and the necktie that fit like a noose.
The trial had lasted most of one week and bled into the next. They gave him a haircut and a pad and a pencil, told him not to scowl. He instead drew pictures of scantily-clad women in compromising positions, until his “legal team” ripped the pad away and made faces of frustration at him.
Finally, they called him to the stand. He’d been coached, oh how he’d been coached, but he figured these fine people in the box, the ones who sat in tow rows of elevated chairs, deserved to hear the truth.
Especially since he had hunted in their ranks, and they needed to know that he wasn’t the only one who burned with the hunger to see their everythings consumed.
and tribulation. fibulation. ribs. juice. hunger.
“This has to stop.”
He spun to face her. “Who ever promised you fucking roses and sunshine? Who ever said this was going to be easy?”
She turned her back to him, pressing her hand hard to her eyes. Against her palm, where he could never see, the tears welled up and spilled over.
Trial and error. Trial and error. Not many memories or images are conjured up by this word but it does remind me of the mock trial in Forensics. I shall look upon that memory fondly.
it is sometimes a trial to do all that we have to do in life. But, if we persevere then that trial becomes easier. I think i shall persevere.
The trial separation didn’t go as well as planned. Each missed the other tremendously, but when they were in the same room, they forgot the wanting as it was overrun by a deep, intense hatred that clouded their senses and hurt their stomachs.
the trial of the website scared me but all my friends wanted me to do it. just for fun. now i knew what peer pressure was but i never thought i would be a victim of it. ever.
Each word that stumbles out of my mouth is put on a trial before your very court. Each trial I am guilty. Each time my hollow chest beats, I am guilty. Each thud, guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Only when the jury has dissipated, only when you have shucked your robes and left the building am I free. And even then, inside myself, I know. I am guilty.
I never got a trial period as a debater. I had the final performance, and nothing else before that really. I was flung into a competition like a sacrificial lamb into a den of starving lions, and expected to be good.
It was pure, unadulterated horror.
The period of testing, of working is never over till it is all over. Such is life in this world.
My trial in life has been learning to be alone. I only pray the Creator has a special man planned for me.
I stand on trial for something I had no part in.
This is all your fault.
You couldn’t take the blame for something that came to be from your anger.
This is all your fault.
I hate you.
the trial
a trial of love drawn out
or judgement you sit we watch you tell
I wish you’d tell, going back to love, of your trials
so we’d sit and judge so long like it
what’s a trial ? when i was younger I always thought that a trial was like a free trial, like for mmo games, you know when you test them for free. It’s only afterwards that I learnt the real signification. English is not my native language =P
All the animals gathered together in the cave for the trial. The lion, standing atop a large stone, rustled his mane in anticipation of the coming events.
This trial is one that’s too unfair. With bias being the main cause of who wins or not. The life of always having no one to really defend you is one that suffocates me until I can no longer breath.
I lost it. My calculations were off just by a smidgen – a mere decimal or two – and yet it destroyed everything, all 100% of everything, the world around me. But then again, the earth itself is nothing but a decimal to the universe.
Courtrooms bored him. The polished wood, the uncomfortable chairs, all those motherfuckers constantly droning on. And the suit. Fuck sakes, the suit. The white shirt was itchy from the starch – it was just out of the plastic and he was sure there were still pins in it, and the necktie that fit like a noose.
The trial had lasted most of one week and bled into the next. They gave him a haircut and a pad and a pencil, told him not to scowl. He instead drew pictures of scantily-clad women in compromising positions, until his “legal team” ripped the pad away and made faces of frustration at him.
Finally, they called him to the stand. He’d been coached, oh how he’d been coached, but he figured these fine people in the box, the ones who sat in tow rows of elevated chairs, deserved to hear the truth.
Especially since he had hunted in their ranks, and they needed to know that he wasn’t the only one who burned with the hunger to see their everythings consumed.