I close my eyes, and this image floats beside me.
A sweaty toothed mad man with a stare that pounds my brain.
His hands reach out and choke me, and all the time he's mumbling.
“Truth, truth.”
Like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold.
You push it, stretch it, but it'll never be enough.
You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us.
From the moment we enter crying,
to the moment we leave dying,
it'll just cover your face,
as you wail and cry and scream.
Tag: dead-poets-society-screenplay
Mr. Anderson thinks that everything inside of him is worthless and embarrassing. Isn't that right, Todd? And that's your worse fear.
Tom SchulmanTag: dead-poets-society-screenplay
When you read, don't just consider what the author thinks, consider what you think
Tom SchulmanTag: dead-poets-society john-keating tom-schulman
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