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[28 Jun 2006|06:25am] |
I hate nasty comments. I hate nasty comments that are Anonymous. If you have something to say please don't be afraid to show who you are. Unless of course you are ashamed of what you're saying.. in that case, well, I see where you're coming from.
-I'm wealthy; why shouldn't I give my child what I can afford? My child may be fatherless but it's going to have a better life than most.
-Most conservative republicans are against abortion. Most smart republicans are against abortion even in cases of rape. "LOL" at that all you want.
-If you have something to accuse me of please provide facts to back up your accusations.
-Being a murderer (of something that doesn't even exist, RIGHT? RIGHT?) is not something that is on my list of things to do before I die.
-Whore is a word that describes a sexually promiscuous person. I've never willingly had sex in my entire life. Not once. You really know what you're talking about, right?
Live up to your words Anonymous. I do already know who you are. :)
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[14 Apr 2006|03:10pm] |
Passion blurs and so does reality.
Her reality's painful yet entertaining.
Your entertaining and fragile spectacle wont stop trying.
Trying to evade the endless drowning.
She's drowning in the tears she can't stop crying.
Her crying eyes can't stop searching.
Searching for something that's never coming.
Nothing ever seems to be coming except this constant clarity.
The clarity that states, to you she will always be nothing.
Nothing hurts more than all of this faking.
Faking the fact that at your disposal, she's breaking.
She's breaking because her soul doesn't match the painting.
The painting that you're constantly misconceiving.
They're misconceiving her heart thats bleeding.
The bleeding brings on the reminiscing.
Reminiscing of the smiles that come so sparingly.
She's sparingly watching the glass breaking.
It's breaking and scraping.
Scraping her name out of a corpse that's dying.
It's dying inside but the flesh is living.
Living a life that has no feeling.
She's feeling alone and aches for purity.
Purity reveals the lines are blurry.
And passion blurs the lines of reality.
The reality of a girl who's pain is just so excruciatingly entertaining.
---
It's an attraction to pain so great,
Emotional damage turned physical.
3 inches cut like a portrait of hate,
1 drop of blood seems to be my numbing pill.
This is for the jabs you took at my bruises,
The ones you never took the time to notice.
Emotions aren't so plain to see but you can't refuse this,
You can't refuse my skin that sports torn tomorrows and yesterday's fake bliss.
Grind my bloody mess into the gravel of your mistakes,
Maybe it helps your guilt subside.
It's hilarious how you slam your hammer when I'm ready to break,
Like you derive some demented high from my pathetic cries.
You kiss my pain with acid rain,
And pretend it's not betrayal in disguise.
Passion is rapidly growing faint,
And I'm ready to fade with the multiplication of lies.
Reproduce a new me,
One that obtains disaster and survives.
Because I'm tearing myself out of reality,
While my veins pump air like your shallow breaths when you bid your goodbyes.
This is for the bullet to my heart delivered in a floral case,
Trust almost seemed feasible but then I remembered how my whole life along with your tainted smile taught me otherwise.
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