Bad Poetry, Be Warned!
Previous - this entry written on January 10, 2002 at 11:08 pm - Next
Severe pain.Severe depression. Severe stress. I do not need any of this, I don't, I don't! What I need is to write. To do something productive, yet... dark. I know, I know, it sounds so damned melodramatic, but it's the flat truth - if I don't get a certain amount of that twisted, burning ache out of my mind, it's as if my entire universe gets thrown into shadow, darkened, dirty, ruined until I can find the right flame to burn it clean again. What kind of flame? Sex, sometimes. Writing, often. My artwork, my poems. Occasionally even the right song or the sight of someone's tears... ok, usually the sight of someone else's tears given to me will cheer me up. *sighs softly* on the wind's wings she rises stars in her eyes the brilliance she clings to is just a disguise because inside she's faded her colors now grey and she flies ever higher soaring far, far away on a stormcould she dances twisting to meet the coldness and lightning shooting up 'round her feet despite all of her movements and all of her grace the moon that she envies denies her a place on the path marked by moonlight she waits for the end she's given up hoping she's lost every friend because inside she's empty while outside she gleams she gathers her strength strives for her dreams
on a dark night she tumbles letting life finally cease it's not about death only simple release Sorry. Just a bit depressed right now.
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