Baby
Oh lordy glory lordy.
What in heaven's name are they planning on doing to me here. what the fuck would anyone have to say about understanding that a glass pipe couldn;t suffocate just for long enough. This is about the time I head toward a gentle shift, the time when the scab from the burning glass had begun to peel and the thought that I might have a meth pipe scar on my cheek for the rest of my life. He told me to tell you it had been a curling iron. How pathetic. You knew I had not a curling iron to my my nale since l.a. looks hair goup was the fashion. He let me drive him places. There was a sadness in all of us. We truely must have been the blind leading the blind.....critisize I mustn't.
Today I heard the music come from the hurried fingers and bold pressing of finger of a woman whose story will not be placed and mortared in this moment. Chopin's Nocture 9 E major....Some melody I had heard for a long time in Many ways. I am done working now. I am gone here.....There is a sadness that bubbles up from somewhere deep and I wwould like to live in that place. What and why must it bubble and surface without regard to the surroundings that hold and support me. Am I being too excited? The thought of what beuaty is and how important it is, the way life is a game in that each round I get something wright and other things way wrong.
Drug using shows me that people are wrong a lot of the time and I cannot do anything about it at all. It shows me that appearances and pressuere is a smoke screen and shadow for the potential comfort of a moment. Drugs give me a place and way to circus clown create a bubble puppet through my innards with each deliberate inhale. Condensed air that stored and preserves and offers little question of resistance. I grow giddy in the memory of the teenager who told you what and how. Another example of the puzzle game of life, what I had going for me was the self assurance of confidence. "i give a fuck not" a beautiful gesture of love and personal achievement.
The scar is gone, I know where it would have been. I know my stories will not change yet change they still will. I know there is a beautiful girl who has choses to be my friend. The feelings around that the bubbling once more as a gyser that, ironically compounds in pressure at the question and the blip of pressure the sewer like network creates. ...
point: I thought again and furthered the grief of the point of tear between the fibers of Jorge and i. the moment I expect to sharply pierce my heart and thoughts. I think while in bed, "why would he do that to hurt me?""Wouldn't he know that that would hurt me?" "That must be why I cannot look and no longer surface curiosity at his journeys and record of such. It hurt and was crazy on my part to think that it would be any different. Something that is unnamed so far became a drug, substance that i used to suck up time and activity and feelings. how can we feel all the time anyway. There must had been a mode in which the true refinement of daily activity is streamed and distilled to utmost thrill and satisfaction.
I also had said that I would hang out with Miriam that day and I would much rather do that in all honesty, I have Monday though. There is always Monday> i have to finish the skeleton as well. Golly it takes a lot of time energy to avoid someone or something. I love that person and those people. Mua! Adelle
What in heaven's name are they planning on doing to me here. what the fuck would anyone have to say about understanding that a glass pipe couldn;t suffocate just for long enough. This is about the time I head toward a gentle shift, the time when the scab from the burning glass had begun to peel and the thought that I might have a meth pipe scar on my cheek for the rest of my life. He told me to tell you it had been a curling iron. How pathetic. You knew I had not a curling iron to my my nale since l.a. looks hair goup was the fashion. He let me drive him places. There was a sadness in all of us. We truely must have been the blind leading the blind.....critisize I mustn't.
Today I heard the music come from the hurried fingers and bold pressing of finger of a woman whose story will not be placed and mortared in this moment. Chopin's Nocture 9 E major....Some melody I had heard for a long time in Many ways. I am done working now. I am gone here.....There is a sadness that bubbles up from somewhere deep and I wwould like to live in that place. What and why must it bubble and surface without regard to the surroundings that hold and support me. Am I being too excited? The thought of what beuaty is and how important it is, the way life is a game in that each round I get something wright and other things way wrong.
Drug using shows me that people are wrong a lot of the time and I cannot do anything about it at all. It shows me that appearances and pressuere is a smoke screen and shadow for the potential comfort of a moment. Drugs give me a place and way to circus clown create a bubble puppet through my innards with each deliberate inhale. Condensed air that stored and preserves and offers little question of resistance. I grow giddy in the memory of the teenager who told you what and how. Another example of the puzzle game of life, what I had going for me was the self assurance of confidence. "i give a fuck not" a beautiful gesture of love and personal achievement.
The scar is gone, I know where it would have been. I know my stories will not change yet change they still will. I know there is a beautiful girl who has choses to be my friend. The feelings around that the bubbling once more as a gyser that, ironically compounds in pressure at the question and the blip of pressure the sewer like network creates. ...
point: I thought again and furthered the grief of the point of tear between the fibers of Jorge and i. the moment I expect to sharply pierce my heart and thoughts. I think while in bed, "why would he do that to hurt me?""Wouldn't he know that that would hurt me?" "That must be why I cannot look and no longer surface curiosity at his journeys and record of such. It hurt and was crazy on my part to think that it would be any different. Something that is unnamed so far became a drug, substance that i used to suck up time and activity and feelings. how can we feel all the time anyway. There must had been a mode in which the true refinement of daily activity is streamed and distilled to utmost thrill and satisfaction.
I also had said that I would hang out with Miriam that day and I would much rather do that in all honesty, I have Monday though. There is always Monday> i have to finish the skeleton as well. Golly it takes a lot of time energy to avoid someone or something. I love that person and those people. Mua! Adelle