you're like a goddamned fairy princess, and I'm a punchbag for the worlds worst asylum.

It's sad to see how you waste your time reading books about peoples lives and then trying to change to be exactly like them. This depression in this moment is making me sick to the bones. I feel like shoving out the world for one minute and putting you on the map for the worlds worst driver, as well as its best known victim. youre the cat in the window, watching the rain and the cars go by every hour of every day because you've never really liked looking at the stars. Instead you find the interest in the industrial city we live in, and I can't even bear that you won't come out at night when all is well and the ones who aren't afraid of the dark can see.

you dont even know me and still i believe we are like the best of friends. we cant see each other, but its like we are reading minds and watching the same old movies again at the same time. one of those twin connections they have. if we are so alike, how come we've never bumped shoulders. Maybe we have, I just never noticed until the public eye gripped you like a wild animal caught in a trap. writing poems about you is the least i could think of, but i also made a promise never to let you down if you ever needed something. tears fall down from hollow eyes and a beauty thats less convincing than a crossdresser just pains me.


break out.

this is how you make me believe I'm more than nothing...

So this is how it ends. It's just like watching the series finale of a show you spent your life decoding and ever day you were posting on some fanboard instead of doing your work. Finally you can stop lying to your boss and pick up your slack again. The company says hello and more business is needed, and your still crying because the Phoebe Chick died. Meanwhile your girlfriend left you and you're watching television crying everytime you see a 'Season Three On DVD' commercial. Stop being so under the weather. It's just pixels on a screen for crying out loud. Meanwhile you could be living it, real drama in your life, but you wasted it on watching others do it for you.

This is the sad ending to a great story. So why do we bother watching tv? It's just like watching 7th Heaven and then asking yourself, how can these people call themselves good? They go around doing bad stuff, and you never see them repent. So what, it's just tv. No, if you're going to spread the information, do it right.


This chickens not tasting so good anymore. So don't eat it...

We are so full of it we can't fit any twinkies to save our hunger.

You've heard this a thousand times over. I hate myself.

what's there worth living for if you've already died?

Keep it up. We don't care anymore. Who's we? Me and my insanity. Watching Batman Forever a couple million times to get it through my thick skull. We're pests. We can't help but lie to you and tell you the good things and keep all the rest in a box. Pandora's Box. Troubles and trials. My god, what have you done? Stop playing around with the lightswitch and get a real life.

Silence, at 12:23 am.

Bad luck, so good luck will reinforce it.

I finally realized the meaning of bad luck. I was cursed all my life with the sovereinty of being a bad girl who may only flirt with the guys, but never takes them home. It's kind of sad. My life is a train wreck, smashing into ever person that's willing to get a ticket and travel nowhere.


And here I am, listening and watching as musicians make their life, and I sit here, still blind to the fact I need to choose myself what to do in four years. High school will turn out to be a drag. Just like middle school I'll be the butt of every joke and the talk on the lastest what not to wear.


But you know the formula, the formula to make me happy. You just never call when I need you. So why do you even bother. You only talk when you want something, and the rest of the time it's an endless rush to get rid of me.


So why does it matter. The fact I am writing a fourteenth to get away from the thirteen I could delete. Things I did in the past were simple. You don't really know the meaning of love until you've been through hell and back. I can account for knowing love about fifty times now, and that's only counting last year. Who knows how many lives we will screw up in the next decade, atleast we had a good message. Not.


So when I decide I'm not Okay, go ahead, call, I might pick up.


"I can't sleep, in the wake of Saturday."

I chime in...

And I feel better from the last time I posted. I'm happy, for some reason. The world seems to be on my side again. It rocks. I am just waiting for the day when I can say my life wasn't just half a sham, that the bad brought the good. That is was all reasoning. I chime in with a 'haven't you people heard of, closing the goddamn door?' Then it strikes me that, these lyrics, they are only here to guide me. The people behind them are just doing what they love, they don't care if people hate them. If I could be a little more like a rockstar, I would. And maybe I should. But I think until then, I will be the actress in the story.

Falco! at the disco.