(no subject)
Exams and the world around me seem to come and go while I'm still reaching out for the Book which has my life imprinted in it. Is it really important to go to school and get an education worthy of a prime minister I will never become anyway? Is this what is expected, or is it just I wish people would expect of me?The thing is, I like art the most, yet I can't draw shit. My paintings are of deep swirls of colour and wines above the surface. And someone looks over my shoulder and says "That's beautiful, can I have it when it's ready?" And I say "No way in hell" and continue painting. Yellow swirls. Green swirls. Like Harry Potter's eyes.
And this is me, within the pages of the book, trying hard to sound like someone else. And I feel fake-poetic and it makes me laugh. I wrote like this once, when I was messed up, and it felt good and pretty then. Oh how times change. If I could, I would take my book and burn it, if I wasn't scared of burning myself while at it. The time of wishing for an easy way out is over. I'll give myself a permission to be happy and see what the other Koujirou thinks about it. Whether he'll plunge back into the swamp I've paddled the last year and three months, or rip off the rotten limb and fly off to the sky, gloriously bleeding victory upon innocent heads. Whether my blood is blue or red or black, then I'll know.
Speaking of which, did you people know blood is actually blue when it's inside the veins? It changes colour when it comes to contact with air. And the fat under the skin layer is white, not yellow like butter. Human's are actually made of white and blue, like aliens! We're pretty colourless, it's sad.
And the person who asked for my painting: I'm as shallow as your painted nails but I do want to see what's under your skirt. I'll show you mine if you show me yours? : P
And this is me, within the pages of the book, trying hard to sound like someone else. And I feel fake-poetic and it makes me laugh. I wrote like this once, when I was messed up, and it felt good and pretty then. Oh how times change. If I could, I would take my book and burn it, if I wasn't scared of burning myself while at it. The time of wishing for an easy way out is over. I'll give myself a permission to be happy and see what the other Koujirou thinks about it. Whether he'll plunge back into the swamp I've paddled the last year and three months, or rip off the rotten limb and fly off to the sky, gloriously bleeding victory upon innocent heads. Whether my blood is blue or red or black, then I'll know.
Speaking of which, did you people know blood is actually blue when it's inside the veins? It changes colour when it comes to contact with air. And the fat under the skin layer is white, not yellow like butter. Human's are actually made of white and blue, like aliens! We're pretty colourless, it's sad.
And the person who asked for my painting: I'm as shallow as your painted nails but I do want to see what's under your skirt. I'll show you mine if you show me yours? : P