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CTRL + (a.k.a. The Microsoft Word Alphabet Song) Hit CTRL + N for a blank new .doc(x), Let's get this party started; Or CTRL + O to open and carry on From where you last departed. CTRL + D to choose and edit fonts: They come in every shape and size; Comic Sans may try to tempt you, But Arial is far more wise. Why not try CTRL + B, I or U To makeover your typeface? CTRL + F, G, H are a loyal team: They'll find, go to and replace. Fancy a match of Word tennis? CTRL + L, E, R, J will set the stage For you to rally your lines of text Back and forth across the page. CTRL + A's the secret to selecting all: It'll highlight everyth

sometimes I think I’m just a mess of badly drawn lines. I’m just scrawled veins beneath paper rough skin, I wear poorly sketched scars on my thighs [skin deep red pen lines] and even my smile is lop-sided- but he never seemed to notice. my skin [spread like thick icing over my skeleton] is a monotonous pattern of pores, a stretch of the world the sun never kissed. I can’t see the beauty in multitudes of freckles and chipped fingernails- but he does. ‘why do you love me?’ ‘you make me happy.’ I never could figure out just how. was it my illegible love notes, or the tiny hearts I drew into his bare back wi

sometimes, it's morning. and i've forgotten to brush my hair again. or how to tie my shoes or what my name sounds like. and that i don't believe in anything anymore. and that's when i realize that i'm losing little pieces of myself to you. and the tip of my tongue is stained with the taste of stale paint from the renovating you've done with my mind. and for the next four hundred and seventy three and a half hours i'll be staring at the ceiling. since i'm waiting for your flavor to fade. or maybe i'm just waiting for you to come back to me. since my fingertips are losing their feeling. and the strands of my hairs are splitting. i'm aging in r

Love wasn’t in the air the night you unbuttoned my shirt and kissed my skin. No, love definitely wasn’t in the air the night we spent in heat of moments, sweating and tumbling and fumbling on your father’s bed. It was anywhere but there. Does love go on vacation? I ponder and make fleshy butterflies from my outstretched fingers. Probably. I can’t remember much but I can remember the beginning. The burn of acid bleeding and gushing past my tongue and down my throat. The noises and then your silence. The clumsiness and then the awkward kisses. You had a garden of dark hair growing from your scalp and dirt eyes. You had a

        The tattoos, they caught on incredibly fast. I mean, it only took about half a year after the Death-caster came out. That's what the press called it, the Death-caster. Anyway, about 6 months after the first televised prediction, these tattoos starting showing up everywhere. It went from fad to craze to routine. Everybody did it. You would get some blood drawn. The machine would quiver a bit and hum. You'd get your paper and you'd go straight to the tattoo shop. Pretty much everyone has their cause of death, their C.O.D., tattooed these days. The accepted place to get it became the top of your left arm. Every time you go to check your