| Current mood: |  gloomy |
| Current music: | Filter - Jurassitol |
only bad things come from this music...
you're telling yourself you're rationalized... that that picture was so hauntingly familliar you had to check to see if it was there... that too much ibuprofen only makes you insane... that feeling frustrated over your own handicaps is normal... that these tears are about that... not some grey eyes superimposed over the large rusted sign with a broken chain hanging over your soul saying, "out of order." If I could take back the moments of a fool in brown tones of warmth and half-sleep I would tell her, "you cannot give that... it's never been yours... silly girl... it never will be again." And maybe in some time I won't feel like a broken barbie doll... ashamed of all my pieces... scared all of my friends will leave me once I cease to be who they've come to see... if this asshole prankster breaks a facade now and again... and cries over raindrops and white roses... starts screaming the next time another caw caw caw takes a hole out of her soul for the feathers fallen... they're all going to leave me... if I pierce myself and wear skirts... they won't notice if I slip away from counter-strike to mar my skin... if every thursday brings new scars... I can keep hiding them behind attitude and a smile.
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