stabbed with a white wench’s black eye.

[rainbow_wh0re]

dynamcis of a flower (the child of my boredom and lack of creativity)

Paper petals like stale tongues,
Persistent, a cough around a puddle;
A flower’s punctuation.
Quite prestigious they surround,
Reaching out, pointing;
Particularly indecisive.
Its fingers pictured in still,
Lilly pads and plunging roots unto and to,
Parched!
Water is poured down to you,
In your repetitious potent pattern,
Is your thirst provoked?

any thoughts? i need critisism on my poetry, i cannot grow without it. i need sophie again, she drives me. i had the most horrible conversation with michael yesterday. it was vicious and cruel. i wanted to hit him over the head with something heavy. he thinks he knows all about me and bekkas situation and i want to spit on him. im not actually angry.. he just really hurt me. ohh slap me for being so honest. school is so numbing and useless id rather not even talk about it. oh god i cannot even decide my own thoughts! hang me hang me hang me. i complain of all things trivial and give love to nothing. where is my heart? my mind? im horrible.

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.