evil-desu
Sunday, July 29, 2007
I looked up the night sky a while ago. The skies were a sickly shade of purple and indigo, almost smoky, polluted even, in its degenerating state. Along with it, the lone moon was an ugly ball of orange, its wounds evident in the circular marks that are scattered along its surface. There were no stars, or it seemed that way, and the night never seemed so dim and gloomy.
Taking elongated strides on the site of the street, and hands balled up in the side pockets of my overused jacket, I look on to the dying space in front of me, growing bigger and bigger as I near its wake. A strong smell of crisp hay invaded my nostrils, and it was kind of weir really, since summer is long gone, and rain savaged the streets the past few days. But I really didn't care, so I planted myself on my favorite spot, just under the fruitless tree. I could hear a bug or two clicking and whispering incoherent mating calls.
I felt a little off, as I gazed to nowhere specific, and I closed my eyes for a bit, just to feel the murmuring of isolation. Or is it solitude? Maybe both. When I opened my eyes again, it was a little bit watery, from the reluctant get-away from peace. I couldn't focus right away, I was sure of that, seeing that I still have spots of whirring circles here and there. I tried to feel for something to hold on to, and surprisingly, I felt a hand that is not mine, open, and offering help.
I withdrew my hand instantly, acting out my instincts, as if I accidentally touched a hot plate. And it did feel hot, for some reason. Well, not scalding hot, but the warmth that the foreign hand emitted was multiplied to a great degree by the coldness and wetness of the storm's trails. I heard a silent rustling of leaves, and the owner of the hand was suddenly beside me, head draped on the my sagging right shoulder. What a mood breaker.
Before I could lay my eyes on the stranger, electricity flitted through my veins in a sudden manner, and I felt every tip of my hair freeze. I struggle silently, for I couldn't even voice out my scream. My body continued to betray my bidding, and I saw my reflection in the nearby murky puddle: I was a tad shade of warm pink, and eyes, almost black slits, in sheer anxiety. I couldn't move, and I felt the foreign body, previously draped over me, closing in, and for the first time, I see the stranger's face. And it continues to linger, though at a closer (I could say that, in all confidence) I could see it gradually moving towards mine. The image before me blinked from black to its flushed color, as the tree above continued to dance with the winds and the moonlight. I couldn't move. I wouldn't move. It's all a dream, I say.
I wake up with a start, short on breath, and almost choking on my own evil desires. I must accept death as my equal from now on.
Where will we be when tomorrow comes?
smiled at the sun again @ 8:28 PM,
,
can't wait for saturday therapy
Friday, July 27, 2007
All I can say is,
Mabuti pa ang stationary, personal. Dahil ako, parang notebook; filler lang.
And that's all there is to it.
smiled at the sun again @ 7:40 AM,
,
for I lack
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
I got 5 minutes to do this so, here it goes.
Someone's a little too close right now. A little too close. It's not that much but it'll always start with this and then I'll go blind after a few hours. Seconds maybe. I don't know. But here I am, writing this hurried crap, just because I feel someone sitting a little too close. It's probably my way of flirting, or hell, attracting attention, but still, it's a little too close, but a little too far for much wanted appreciation. I could barely breathe right now, and I would probably die if that someone stood up, walked behind me, and see me writing this. I guess it would be conceited of that person to even assume that this is about whoever, but writing that last bit, that person would probably know. Ha, I'm stupid, as always, I could wreck families and not even know it. What the hell. Right.
I guess it just hurts (sometimes) to feel neglected. I am on the losing end, as always. But fear not, for I couldn't really careless. Right now. I think. Haha. I'm one brown-nosing bastard. But you know that, It's my loss. Read this as a form of saying.. Fuck you.
smiled at the sun again @ 10:16 AM,
,
slice of heaven in a cup aka mango cream
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
It all starts and ends in one sip of a certain accursed coffee.
And I sip slowly, trying to enjoy every bit of this goddamned pricey coffee. I did not pay attention to anything else but this, this caffeine filled nuisance, of which I am drawn to buy for the sake of variety from the usual illness that is.. nevermind. I try to sip again, but I somehow feel a disturbance hovering, just above my--
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
I blurt out, along with a few brown stains that flew in all directions, some even designing my rather light colored shirt. Nice. Spaz in, spaz out. There's just something in close contact that makes me feel guilty, insanely hysterical, and tingly, all at the same time. Before I could even restrain myself from choking, the inverted face disappeared from view, and I found it, along with it's body in the chair opposite me. It was smiling, and how I wanted to wipe it off, with scalding coffee, reheated with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. No pun intended. But seriously, I did. And somehow, the steady tapping of the rain outside made it all more tolerable. It's interesting to see the rain glisten in the gloominess it brings.
I could feel the same disturbance I felt a while ago, in the form of a delighted stare, coming from the same person. I dug in deep and tried to bury myself inside with forced ignorance, and try as I might, it would probably show that I am really, REALLY trying my best to ignore the disturbance. I could not look. Hell, I couldn't even dare let my hair move into that direction. But it's showing, whether I like it or not. Whether I mean it or not. Immature, I know, but I really couldn't care less. Or could I? Chains, strangle me hard, NOW.
Coffee completely forgotten, I hold it up to my chapped lips and start sipping again, not breaking eye contact with the scenery on the other side of the glass pane. Mmm, that does feel good, just like in the movies. From the other table, the delighted smirk is still resides, though completely invisible to those around it. How did I see that? No I didn't look. Not really. Okay, maybe. Yeah.
Before I knew it, my dose of caffeine is already gone, and I, dazed from all the boredom, didn't actually register that in my brain right away. I kept sipping, till I tasted the bitter essence of bean coffee, which made me grimace with disgust. I heard a little laugh, again, yes, again, but I still do not look. Instead, I look outside again, murmuring a silent song to myself. The rain is interesting...
"I think so, too."
Before I could fall off my chair again, hands darted from this way to that, as if to catch me. Unfortunately, I fell on the owner of the hands because the impact was just too sudden. Before I could start laughing, reality had sunk in, and embarrassment raced its way up to my face, and left its red skid marks everywhere.
"I could think of one more thing that's more interesting than the rain."
And then there was coffee again. I sip happily. And opposite me, the person does the same.
smiled at the sun again @ 8:23 PM,
,
good for sex, nothing more
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Singing to a person with no interest but secretly loving the company. I'd like to have the last taste in my mouth be the sweetest. I don't like to believe in it all anymore. It's just a ride, right?
Metamorphosis scares and bores. Just the same cycle over and over.Wonder why I really really can't look at you and not who I think you are?
Painful. That is why.
Doubled up, you become my ice scream torture for my sensitive teeth.
smiled at the sun again @ 6:37 PM,
,
HA
It's just this soft flowing vortex. In constant motion but still.
Was there ever an art of self expression? Our hearts are art.
I miss. I don't. Then I do. So boring.
smiled at the sun again @ 6:36 PM,
,
'tis the thing we BOTH hate the most
It feels like it's under control. Stop playing with my head, it's not yours, and it's not mine either, but please, learn to get the fuck off my head.
I love this feeling. The transformation barely stirred any interest and now that it's out of the cocoon everyone wants to shake hands.
smiled at the sun again @ 6:35 PM,
,
proud of existence that of which I am, supposedly
serving my sentence
If you're smart, you wouldn't hand it over. It's yours and yours alone. But we're all stupid. Really, don't convince yourself otherwise.
So it was written. Too bad nobody felt it needed to be done.
After the longest time, my head is clear. But the mind games.
smiled at the sun again @ 6:34 PM,
,
ejaculate and disperse
Isolation is so good for me.
Isolation -- I'd rather sit, sit on a lemon tree.
smiled at the sun again @ 6:17 PM,
,
child's play
Friday, July 13, 2007
sunny, yesterday my life was filled with rain.
sunny, you smiled at me and really eased the pain.
oh, the dark days are done and the bright days are here,
my sunny one shines so sincere.
oh, sunny one so true, i love you.
sunny, thank you for the sunshine bouquet.
sunny, thank you for the love you brought my way.
you gave to me your all and all,
now i feel ten feet tall.
oh, sunny one so true,
sunny, thank you for the truth you've let me see.
sunny, thank you for the facts from a to z.
my life was torn like a windblown sand,
then a rock was formed when we held hands.
sunny one so true,
sunny, thank you for that smile upon your face.
sunny, thank you for that gleam that flows with grace.
you're my spark of nature's fire,
you're my sweet complete desire.
sunny one so true,
smiled at the sun again @ 11:13 PM,
,
so, yeah, there
I wrote your name across the whole stretch of the sky, but the wind blew it away.
I wrote your name on the white sand near the beach, but the water kept on washing it away.
I wrote your name on my heart and
uh
I died. No, DUH. Seriously I did. And I've been called crazy for sticking a ballpen through my chest. Pfft, too many critics in this world, methinks.
smiled at the sun again @ 11:00 PM,
,
fear this
(\__/)
{='.'=}
(")_(")
Be my sunshiney sunshine, will you?
smiled at the sun again @ 10:54 PM,
,
you make me fall all over again, flat on my face
Be my little locket of chained music, my sorry excuse for creativity and all that crap, my little child in me that makes me humm in the winds silently. Be the one who stands by me as I stand beside the road with the sharp turn sign, be the one who holds my hand as I wait for the stars to throw their little sick party up in the skies. Be the one who budges when it rains and I haven't realized it, the one who will be a glutton for cotton candy so I can't eat it. Be the one who forces me to eat the fair share of candy, so that I won't look at others and envy them for still having more candy than I. Be the one who makes me do nothing, but makes me me. Be mine.
Hello's are overrated, and so are rainbows. I agree with black.
smiled at the sun again @ 10:43 PM,
,
wings on overdrive
Don't make me say it.
Make me do it.
smiled at the sun again @ 10:27 PM,
,
add one balloon
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
You, you who make me squirm ever so much, distasteful at a whim's choice, sweet for the most inanimate times, I detest you, but not really. Change is most desired, but I don't have the strength to really put anything I spurt out from my mouth into concrete, oh so concrete and undeniably real, actions. Flutter, gradually turn into white, my little heart, I will catch you later.
Enter, characters of my little puppet play.
--
Secrets, lies, non-emo masks, the love lost, the love wasted, the first real love, the one forgotten.
This is the time of all things read;
the time of books, clean hands, straw dogs,
shared looks. This is the time
that finds the time to settle down;
to open that smile with enormous plans;
to pound on metal rolled with rust;
to lie when lovers lie, alone, quiet,
in kitsch and style.
Death for some is a careless cat,
one that lacks a voice—and love—
and never plays chess.
But that is not my choice.
You see, I prefer the quieter sort;
the kind of death that stalks one
through shapeless blur, a caress of trust
and a lack of breath—now three, now two—
a sweet bluff and a face that looks
of you, only that's not enough.
I remember the films during which you cry,
and the way you hide it, fiddling
with your change to make your eyes avoid
the two mice riddling some pocket full of holes.
I remember the nights you tried to pray.
You clasped your hands and dreamt up God
and what he may or may not do. And I,
following November, came with you.
I remember the calls you made, long,
arboreal affairs of historical silence,
but I thought it wrong to say I knew
that metaphorical was never your intent.
History never dies.
The rains are worshiped here.
They bear a name that all chant
in line, and with a script scrawled
by sticks and minds, each has its own piece
and place to finally say what should be said—
to be erased.
Morning came early today,
and with it—dread;
and with it—rain.
And I ask warily, "When?"
Soon is where the rockets stop.
--
Onyx upon heavy lids, eyes wide shut, screams for more, more and more, and then, no more. All I have is a conforming smile, little miss.
I am not perfect,
I am not beautiful,
I am not brilliant,
I am not invincible…
I am adequate,
I am pretty,
I am smart,
I am strong,
But I am not perfect.
What I am
And what people say I am
are two completely
perpendicular statements.
The fact that you would turn
to a secondary as apposed
to a primary source
Is beyond comprehension.
But that
Is not my concern.
My concern is not;
Rumors,
Gossips,
Lies;
About the typical
Definition of a fragile beauty.
But the people
Who spread them,
Who hear them,
Who believe them.
That is my concern.
The belief of perfection.
The only person that is perfect,
Is someone who is loved.
Love,
A term used to describe
A person with
No marks.
No flaws in disposition,
No cracks in the soul,
No cuts in the mind.
I have scars on my hands
From confusion and boredom,
And you call me perfect?
I have scars on my flesh
from stupidity and obliviousness,
and you call me beautiful?
I have scars on my mind
From ignorance and censorship,
And you call me brilliant?
I have scars on my soul
From mere words and phrases,
And you call me invincible?
The only one who can say,
I’m perfect,
I’m beautiful,
I’m brilliant,
I’m invincible,
Is the one who loves me.
My
Perfect,
Beautiful,
Brilliant,
Invincible,
The one that I love.
That is perfection.
A term so loose, it has
No meaning.
I see something written over stitched lips: 'Stole my heart, and all I've got is my pack of clothes and a blank face.'
---
Forced out of my mind, drearily, I stumble upon steps, steps of which I seemed to have seen before, perhaps because it is mine, and I am walking, running in circles, and waiting for you to stop my cycle of boredom and this, this pathetic attempt, yet again, on my supposed 'inspired creativity', inspired by rays of light.
wibbly wobbly
crash crash crash
They're all just fragments of a time;
seconds melting into pixelation, electronic pulse... ink?
This is a picture. Static showing. Static shows quite a lot more than presumed. Hush. Strain your ears and listen. Listen for it...
Maybe nothing could be something.
Or something could be nothing.
Ah, I have myself, and it'll all be a shallow smile for another day, a misconception, sadly misunderstand.
--
I am a portrait of a growing madman. Doubt not, my dubious intentions, I only want to kill another for the sake of mine. Stoked. Sick, says people, Love, says I. Grant me one wish: let me.
smiled at the sun again @ 10:16 PM,
,
crash it like it's not yours
Today was a slow, fucking slow, day. I have to shoot the driver's head for that.
smiled at the sun again @ 10:04 PM,
,
baseball?
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
'Twas a good day for a crammed effort.
smiled at the sun again @ 9:13 PM,
,
killing time without lifting a finger
Sunday, July 8, 2007
is like day of just rolling on the field and laughing.
smiled at the sun again @ 8:32 PM,
,
have a go
a feeling
a slight feeling of digression
floating, it does no good
murmuring, whispering
a memory passes by
one second too late.
a smile
a smile that sinks in
too slowly for realization
too quick for definition
stares blankly outside
paints the night black over black
layers, they, nothings
harlequin smile.
alight, piano and notes
white on black, if you will
feelings
smiles
remember them well.
Mellow? As in... Marsh-mellow?
smiled at the sun again @ 8:12 PM,
,
spare me the effects
Streaks of orange rippled through the still-dusk skies above. One of those unusual still-too-early-to-be-night-time afternoons, with the sun reluctant to move out of its rigid position, and give way to the luminscent moon that was slowly embedding the skies with its onyx blanket and white pearls.
From my left, I could see the somewhat blue sky being eaten up by zigzagging clouds that were of orange in shade. To the right, it was purplish to blackish, a sign that the roads will flicker with lamp lights, and the shining sun will be no more.
As much as i'd like to notice one side, I can't, as I lay down on a shady patch of grass, head thrown back on my hands, completely still. Trying to turn my head from left to right strained my nerves all too well, and i'm not one to be seen laughing off peculiar, repititive, miniscule pain. Though my eyes be shrouded with dark shades, I could chance a glimpse of the transitions of each sky, and somehow, I remembered how one of those 3-in-1 ice cream packs look like, when it starts to melt, and the line that divides the chocolate from the cheese and the cheese from the mocha is gone. Damn, i'm hungry.
As I drifted off to sleep, I somewhat remember the feeling of a feather-light touch running through my side. Dream, it is not.
I sigh.
smiled at the sun again @ 8:04 PM,
,
dancing stick figures
smiled at the sun again @ 8:03 PM,
,
ominous tactic
It's like Cotton, that's Cotton with a capital C, as in a proper noun, a proper noun along the lines of names, so Cotton, therefore, is a named being, and it, sadly, is like Cotton. Love-able, hug-able, kiss-able, fuzzy, soft, and likes non-sexual rubbing. But I talk too much, so now I see through the tinted glass and say today's highlights.
Nothing.
smiled at the sun again @ 4:44 PM,
,
musmos
Tiring and fun.
Yes, I just said it was fun.
smiled at the sun again @ 4:37 PM,
,
garlic bread on iced tea
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Just when you're about to get used to everything else, everything else starts to change.
And then there's a whole lot of cuts.
smiled at the sun again @ 12:23 AM,
,
losing voice(s in my head)
Friday, July 6, 2007
It's somewhat a drug's music, hallucinations and deafening sounds growing about. Feels like trance, if you put it in a light-array way. All I could possibly do now is lay down and look above, or at least, a little to the left of the screen, window pane, or whatever that's called. Trails of dotted lights flutter like sprinkles of glowing dust, each luminescent on its own, but almost invisible in the little bright lines they make as my eyes move from one to another. Screeches from tearing rain drops and skidding tires, I roll my eyes in utter frustration. Traffic. Following, I am not, I go on my own way, my own path, my own road - my own traffic. And it so happens that it's bad, BAD traffic. Still, awry sounds of tone-deaf voices fill the air, drunkards on hazed minds, burning rubber smelled terrifyingly sweet.
On the other side of the road, it's swift, almost blank without the droning machine sounds, almost lacking without bright lights. Raindrops continue to pour, but they don't scream for more hatred anymore, just a steady, carrying sound of tap tap tap. But a shoe is lost in the middle of it all, and I guess it needed company, not another roadkill experience. And none came so far. Strings of light disappeared from sight, and bars of clay came into view. It looked like bars of clay anyway.
In between my fingers, I crush the little bright lights.
A little bit of envy would go a long way.
smiled at the sun again @ 11:07 PM,
,
punch and gun
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Life can't get any more blah than this rain and mud.
smiled at the sun again @ 11:04 PM,
,
save one
I can't believe I'm using this again, but hell, right: Stop all the world now. I'm listening for slightest movement of the bell, the silent gush of hardened and whiplashing winds, and the loss of intensity in every movement of the field. Shhh, the world went, and my eyes traveled slowly, tracing the tips of the growing grass, browsing here and there, and everytime, it whispered sweet, sweet nothings in my ear, as if to divert my mind from something else. I'm that boy on top of the car roof, waiting for it to leave, but it never quite did. Too much time in my hands, I guess.
Steps taken, I couldn't count them well. But I did count the number of falling white things from the different spots in the field. The indifferent winds blew, the white things danced in fervent medley, and they fall off like little snowflakes in the summer-rainy season. Today, there were 17. They smiled at me, and I picked them up, and mushed them together in my hands. As what was, they will probably become again.
How can we say goodbye, when we never even met?
Strike hard and fast, then unplug it.
smiled at the sun again @ 10:47 PM,
,
Happiness is I: Belated
From the beginning, from the very first realization, from the first time my eyes caught the bright and warm sunlight, the sun has left me breathless, and hanging with different mumbling thoughts. Sometimes, I wish for the sun's non-existence, but then again, that's just me being selfish and fearing death for myself.
High above, I have nothing else to look at, but the sun. And with the drawing of eyes upwards, frustrations, silent screams, angst, everything rises with it. Then, one blinding wave of light, and I sigh, as I always have in the past, and release all of it, only to be caught in a different day.
And now, I continue. I will prance around, mock myself and everybody else, sing songs in my head, shout and scream, kick and jump, run around in circles, shoot some bullets through my head, lie down on a stone bench somewhere near a soccerfield, eat and lose my appetite, speak of nothing, and smile. I have nothing, and yet I do so much. What is it that I can attain, reaching out, only to get burned? This is how I feel. And this much, I hate about the sun.
And yet, here I am, awaiting the next day, the next highlighting of the distant horizon with orange-yellow lining, the next horizontal wave of scalding heat, the next glaring session, the next turning of head to the western direction, and the next
Dellusional, me thinks as well. But it's either this, or I lose my sanity. Neither of which is any good, so I weigh the chances and the risks and the consequences. And no matter how much I would love to just lose my sanity and go on a roadrage in a nearby community establishment, the sun's indirect language will always be the better option. Obsessed is the appropriate word.
I smile, for I cannot speak for myself. I cannot embroider in this writing the words I want to say, to blurt out, to tell to the sun. A mixture similar to that of salt and water in, well, saltwater, expression is almost impossible. Sharing of words seems so wrong and ridiculous. Awkward, I might add. To the sun, I am nothing but a common memory of the past. To me, the sun is.. it is what I will always watch out for, what will make my feet fly off a few good meters of the ground out of sheer surprise, what will make my heart thump and break its chambers when i'm feeling its warmth, what will make my eyes feign a dazed behaviour, only to chance a minute glimpse of the it. To me, the sun, and everything that it is, is what i'm sitting down for in an after-class session in the soccer field, thinking in definitive silence. I smile. I can only smile, hoping that you think not of me as the hypocritical snob, the biggest loser, the most indifferent bastard you had ever known. The words I wish to convey, are lost, even before I think of them, the moment I swim aimlessly in those dark, deep eyes.
Alas, my time is up, and what I do to myself, as I watch the sun endlessly, is taking its toll, hard and inevitable. Reality, I have ignored you for so long. Now, it's time for you to sink in, and for memories of the sun to come out and be free of my delirious mind. Ah, fate, I have played you well, and though I may lose to you, you have to give credit my unrelenting determination, or rather, dellusion. You can now laugh without having to worry about pitying me. I accept defeat, rather valiantly, if I say so myself.
To the sun, worry yourself not (though really, you don't).
I
smiled at the sun again @ 9:50 AM,
,
point and shoot
I feel like cheating death today. Again.
The last minute of my dream today, I was talking to someone, then the world went dark. Apparently, the sun didn't exist. I smiled.
smiled at the sun again @ 9:32 AM,
,
play me
I've broken the mood again.
smiled at the sun again @ 8:47 AM,
,
I need an eraser
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Damned drawings, they're getting older. And I'm not getting any taller. 'Tis unfair.
smiled at the sun again @ 7:40 AM,
,
oh look
I almost wrote your name everywhere.
smiled at the sun again @ 7:39 AM,
,
remind me of what
One step too late for a warning. It's three.
smiled at the sun again @ 7:39 AM,
,
tat
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
From the tips of unbridled fingers, roots of bounding thoughts run amok, spreads the depths of the deterred mind, and dances along the lines of judgment and security. It seems to happen every so often, when thoughts of the sepia and the old, come through as sharp and stinging diamonds in the skies. And as I lay down, tracing the little dots that came to be the stars of the night, I can't help but let a tear run down, and yes, it is purely sadness, not a trace of joy, or anything of that ground.
It’s only then you realise
You know little beyond another’s eyes
What you think you know is only fiction
A hopeful foolish contradiction
Etched on a stone, that is my heart, or what it's left behind, are scratches that seemed impossible, but then again, it's you, so, yeah, it's there. I will forever be punished by karma, with hanging thoughts.
smiled at the sun again @ 9:52 PM,
,
did you just ask me out on a date?
So?
So what?
So, what now?
There are a million reasons to say 'no'.
...
That being one of them.
smiled at the sun again @ 9:45 PM,
,
turnip's demise
I'm a professional person. I do not get the slightest idea from mortality and expectancy. I don't think I am, I just am.
smiled at the sun again @ 9:17 PM,
,
lovesick trance
Monday, July 2, 2007
It's like Michelle Pfeifer telling a black girl that a poem is just another way to rap.
smiled at the sun again @ 9:02 PM,
,
flicker
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Put your hand behind your back and cross it, as if to lie to my face. Tell me how it is.
smiled at the sun again @ 9:05 PM,
,
heh
I'm back, meh.
smiled at the sun again @ 9:05 PM,
,
cradle's guise: slip
Today, just like the other day, I saw an angel with one less wing. Had a choker on (well, duh) its neck, with a silver chain connected to the tips of is wings. No blood, no messy stuff. It was invariably white, though. A cautious smile, a thoughtful look in its eyes, almost glazed in delight. Its head was seated comfortably on one folded hand, the other hand brushing the fringed and shattered hair covering its eyes. It looked at me, and I looked away. I suddenly felt like going vintage everything, and laying down on a bed of autumn leaves.
With one eye covered, I'll scream for definition.
smiled at the sun again @ 8:57 PM,
,
clouds in moderation
I think in crunching numbers.
Rightfully so. And down with it, memories, or what's left of it. It's coffee spilled on paper at least. This is the story of a stalker having an indirect infatuation for a certain someone that should be banished into a rip in the space-time continuum for all of eternity, and said stalker even creates unimaginable artworks of varying expressions, and then spills ink all over the goddamned thing. Yes, said stalker is stupid and clumsy, and is one sorry excuse for a klutz.
The end.
smiled at the sun again @ 8:42 PM,
,
BC-03, on my eyes please.
I can't help but smile,
And I can't help but be silly.
It's just that,
THIS
is what's been happening lately,
which is the exact opposite of
THAT.
And now
THAT's
a total lie, to everyone else.
But when did I ever care about anyone else?
Makes you think.
Twice.
Hard.
Thksfrthmmrs even if they weren't so great. Nicely done.
smiled at the sun again @ 6:54 PM,
,
thunderkeg
The storm broke without waring. And humidity happened. Alas, I can't help but let my lips tremble, as I felt softness playing, caressing, almost ghostly in its entirety. Lean forward, like a child presented with the first sight of a fragrant flower. Breath in and out, act normal for crying out loud, don't get high-strung, don't be flat, just be (and that is Philosophy, huwaw).
Then again, it's just the humidity.
smiled at the sun again @ 6:44 PM,
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jump high, beyotch
Sometimes, all you need is 1% of caffeine in your coffee to start your day.
And 'sometimes' doesn't happen a lot.
smiled at the sun again @ 6:26 PM,
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