Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 822. Or, I've got the AntiChrist in the kitchen yelling at me again. Yes, I know what you think of me I need to be under the influence of something, doing something, to be something. Something something something. Fuck. I'll not last much longer. I don't think. Give me half an hour, tops. Don't you want to be out of control? Spinning, but it's no fun when there's no one holding the saftey net for you anymore, you know. All the Un words parade through my head. And isn't it funny, how past a certain time of night, all hope runs out of you, like a good fright? Wouldn't you hate me if I gave this up and kept reading Emma, snuggly in bed, under snowmen that will never melt? Who am I kidding, we don't care any more. Been a while since I've done this, huh, kids? Did you miss it? I haven't. Because this runs around and around, and I'm forever 22, making the same stupid mistakes, learning different levels of pain derived from new and improved levels of idiocy. Truth be told, I envy your lack of responsibility. Oh, yes, while you'd like to think you've shrugged it off in favor of your right hand turns, you've only pointed the finger at yourself. There's nothing worse than NonAction resulting from immaturity. And, darling, you know it takes a grown up to walk away. Ooooh! Scary, this life business! Ooooh! Choices. Give me little boxes of cereal everyday so I can choose my own monotony. God, I hate burnt food. But, I always knew I'd keep running into you, and you'd keep changing your name and your face so I wouldn't place you right away. There. Now I'm not responsible, and I can be just like the rest of everyone else, failing to make sense of sense. The bath tub is calling my name. Boy, you best pray that I bleed real soon 9:25 p.m. - 2004-01-22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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