| hello, xanga.
we hardly ever talk anymore.
here's something to chew on for another three(or so) months:
the paradox of mind,
humanity?
insanity!
i say. i say.
and:
her face was set.
stiff and cold.
intentions hidden.
behind her smile.
exquisite, yet beautiful.
like the white
oleander; which, blows
in the wind.
a clandestine tatoo.
upon his back.
unbeknownst to
him. however,
open for all the
world to observe.
and:
poor thing, never knew
the things she'd do
to get him back.
(for following his sack)
yes, i know that was vulgar.
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| Since I don't know what else to put in this thing:
Red roses.
Fragrant, sweet, red, red roses.
Their soft, innocent buds beginning to bloom.
Filled with passion and potential.
But famine.
Harsh, bitter, deadly famine.
Rears its ugly head at my sweet roses.
Threatening their blooms.
So we throw the roses into the fire.
A suicide much sweeter than heartache.
And we scatter their ashes across the ground.
As memories of fair potential.
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| |
| With new seasons come new beginnings.
As it begins, so does the next chapter of my life.
|
| |
| "Homecoming was absolutely awesome."
She said as she passed out in the entryway.
|
| |
| Ok, the bus is starting to look pretty good right now.
Man, oh man.
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