everything's a shade....
I'm just going to let my fingers bleed the words onto the pagge.
Fuck fuck shit shit.
Vulgarity is fun to do. Swear words make you seem more intense and feisty when all the while you do it because inside, you know,
you're a collosal bore.
If you keep everyone shocked,
they won't realize how colorless and without spparkle your personailty is.
Ditchwater personality, toothy Colgate White smile, and hot pink leapord print underpants.
A shade away from celebrity...
I'm not fucked up. I'm just seeing things more clearly.
I remember things. But those things are not today, not the here and now.
Those things...captured in a photograph...a kiss I'll never feel again, the warmth of an embrace of a now cold body...a face I will never see again, except in tear stained photographs and dreams I don't want to wake up from...
...fuck, if I had only known earlier...
Every time you see someone it might be your last. I never really used to think about it. And then She left me and now I wonder.
I sit and I wonder.
You know, I don't believe in Heaven. Me, I think this is the only shot we're gonna get. And I haven't decided whether it's better to burn out or fade away. Tell you the truth, I never thought much about going out either way. But then, no candle lasts forever. Even the electric ones, the ones stronger and more durable because they're less real, less organic, the lightbulb on those burn out eventually. Cords fray.
Everything gets old.
Everything dies eventually.
I just wish I knew the lifespan on things before I loved them.
Fuck you, William Shakespeare.
It's better to have never loved at all.
Lucky for me, I have cold hatred to fend off the heat of the flame.
It isn't a defense mechanism, it's an entire fucking mind and body support system, my anger.
Fuck.
Everything would be so much easier to love if it was anything else.
The things I want are an impossibility.
Do I want them because they are impossible, or do I want them because they are my personal heaven and I'm doomed to this hell on earth for my blasphemy and hatred?
If this is Hell, I'm where I belong.
If not, then this little demon will never die.
bZecause I cannot go to a hell more fearsome and punishing than the one that exists in my own head.
Then the one I wake up to every fucking day.
See? There's that vulgarity again.
COlorful vocabulary,
grey personality.
Yup, that's me. A big fucking black hole.
Fuck fuck shit shit.
Vulgarity is fun to do. Swear words make you seem more intense and feisty when all the while you do it because inside, you know,
you're a collosal bore.
If you keep everyone shocked,
they won't realize how colorless and without spparkle your personailty is.
Ditchwater personality, toothy Colgate White smile, and hot pink leapord print underpants.
A shade away from celebrity...
I'm not fucked up. I'm just seeing things more clearly.
I remember things. But those things are not today, not the here and now.
Those things...captured in a photograph...a kiss I'll never feel again, the warmth of an embrace of a now cold body...a face I will never see again, except in tear stained photographs and dreams I don't want to wake up from...
...fuck, if I had only known earlier...
Every time you see someone it might be your last. I never really used to think about it. And then She left me and now I wonder.
I sit and I wonder.
You know, I don't believe in Heaven. Me, I think this is the only shot we're gonna get. And I haven't decided whether it's better to burn out or fade away. Tell you the truth, I never thought much about going out either way. But then, no candle lasts forever. Even the electric ones, the ones stronger and more durable because they're less real, less organic, the lightbulb on those burn out eventually. Cords fray.
Everything gets old.
Everything dies eventually.
I just wish I knew the lifespan on things before I loved them.
Fuck you, William Shakespeare.
It's better to have never loved at all.
Lucky for me, I have cold hatred to fend off the heat of the flame.
It isn't a defense mechanism, it's an entire fucking mind and body support system, my anger.
Fuck.
Everything would be so much easier to love if it was anything else.
The things I want are an impossibility.
Do I want them because they are impossible, or do I want them because they are my personal heaven and I'm doomed to this hell on earth for my blasphemy and hatred?
If this is Hell, I'm where I belong.
If not, then this little demon will never die.
bZecause I cannot go to a hell more fearsome and punishing than the one that exists in my own head.
Then the one I wake up to every fucking day.
See? There's that vulgarity again.
COlorful vocabulary,
grey personality.
Yup, that's me. A big fucking black hole.