Pseudo utopian.
Baby's wearing a plastic bag with a ring around it's throat. Bloated in a blissful fissure of earth coated in chocolate brown and week-dead leaves.

A perfect skeleton melting through skin.

Pretending to see more than leather shoes. Sloughing away at each cut and bruise, a perfect concealment of imperfection. How they found you; sin-scented.

Just a beautiful sack of bones.

Thaumaturgy all up and down my walls. But the ounce costs more than the gallon, dear. And it really doesn't matter, because when my throat fills with dust my plastic bubble is arid, and my life anesthetic.

They'll all looked the other way.

Rotten Apple Cider Crisps are best used in June.
I dropped the ball. Gameover.

Oh, and for that someone who wanted to know something and I gave you the amphibological response "like sheep skin"- I've thought about it more, and ended up with this:

You know when your outside and it's below zero, and all you've got on to protect you from the harsh enviroment is, for an example's sake, shorts and a t-shirt? Your hands are numb and you can't feel your face. Well, it's sort of like coming in from one of those days and feeling your entire body defrost. The first reaction is probably the nearest I could get to the real answer. But, yeah. Go with that thought.

As I, 'experienced', know nothing.

'non compos mentis' Bedlamite.
Climb to the peak of vanity and take that second glance, you'll need it. For the soilders of chauvinistic notoriety sure do frown upon this felony. The present generation of self-inflicting violence and excessive butter are really nothing but vagrants with broken maps, too stubborn to ask for directions.

It wasn't all my fault when you think about it.
The chain was dead long before this.
Why, I guess you can say it's a favor.
That's what I tell myself.

Scott's lips are insane.
And I'm floating on cloud nine.
Heading for a dead-end.
Traveling negative 40 miles a minute.

No, it wasn't my fault at all; blame it on the butter.

Clandestine pain.
I'd turn the sun off if the switch wasn't so high.

Bah. My mom decided to pay me a "surprise visit" this week. I packed my stuff sometime around a week ago and stayed their up until yesterday.

...Isn't pretext wonderful?

Phony Phobia
Philophobia?...Blah. I need to throw my mind in another direction:



Embryo


Which Dir en grey Song Best Represents Your Inner Turmoil?
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you are the song: hotarubi


what dir en grey song are you?
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Jealous
This song is about an untrue love of a woman to a
man she no longer loves. His form changes, to
something she no longer wants.


What morbid Dir En Grey song are you?
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To live with no incentive; everything seems superficial.
My light bulb burned out. No metaphors there, I'm literally sitting in the dark.

The past seems so fake now that I think about it. But without it, there's no hope for my future.

And I don't think I'll miss him that much.
The future looks pretty nice.

It's about time I follow up on my word. I should have seen the past six days ago.

And cheerios never tasted sweeter.

Yes, that was a metaphor.

Counterfeit Innocence.
My sunshine jelly has rotted and washed away. It's my fault for not having the confidence to tell him how I really feel. To tell him that I can't accept the now-common- façade I live through every day. Am I afraid of what'll happen? I know the truth, and it's evident that love wasn't meant for us. At least I think it isn't. And the slightlest chance of me being wrong is what's eating away my self-trust. I'm not brave enough to roll the dice and see what results.

I suck.

Pretend that you love me.
"Dear, I fear we're facing a problem."

Maybe I shouldn't bother anymore. I felt like he blamed me for something I had no control over. Even if he didn't mean to seem as such, it sure did feel like it. I told myself things wouldn't work out.

Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
But who's to blame the third time around?

Third time's a charm.
Y a-t-il de la pièce dans votre vie pour un plus de voyage à la lune?

The last stop for a lost hope.
What a shame, my insides just fell down the sink and my heart is clogging up the drain. The plumber tells lies and his money doesn't talk.


I need to get away from it all, but the plumber took my heart and ran.

You know that feeling where you just want to shoot your eye out, and let your skin absorb the blood in, for efforts of moral venilation? Well, I do.
THANK YOU. I WANTED TO SAY "THANK YOU." or SOMETHING along the lines of decency....why couldn't I? I don't know. I'm retarded, maybe.

...And why in Robert Smith's name did I say a lamp?!?...


ARGH. >_< WHY DIDN'T I SAY SOMETHING MORE CREATIVE. A LAMP?!?!? WHO WANTS TO BE NAMED AFTER A LAMP?


I'm a sky diver with no where to land. I mean, really. How many times can I walk away and say, "If only..." I keep making the same mistakes over and over again. I'm watching myself make the same mistakes, too. I guess there's nothing to do. I really must stop hurting them like this...


Merry Christmas?

You'll never see a Weeping Willow cry.
Securing the fact that I'm still alive. That's all.

Gailieo figaro-magnifico-
My first track meet was yesterday. Phew, it was a whole EIGHT HOURS long. I had NO IDEA it took that long to run all those events.
...Anyway, Coach Foster came up with this bright idea to make me run three events. If I recall correctly, they were the 55-meter dash, the 4 by 2, and the 4 by 4 relay. For the 55-meter relay I placed first. Amazing? Yes. But maybe it was because I was up against really slow people. And when I say someone's slow, you know they're slow. Anywho- For the 4 by 2 our relay team won, and for the 4 by 4 we placed third. All-in-all, it was almost worth the six hour stand before I even ran.

I ran off pure adrenaline.

...Did I mention I really loathe our uniforms? The shorts are way too short, and the shirt hangs down because it's too big for me. I have to wear all this under-stuff and it really gets annoying after wearing it for all that time. Argh.


So... Yeah. I missed Elmo's Christmas Special.
Darn.

Ostrich and Egret were filled with regret, but the rent's well worth it.
I didn't have any school today due to the snow. Ironically, I was up until 12-something finishing up Biology because I've been staying afterschool for, yes, track. The final cuts were Monday, and I made it. Why do my plans backfire like this?...

On a better note: If weather allows it, I'm going to a Pink Floyd concert down near Towson. It's not really Pink Floyd themselves, but it's a cover band. I guess that's good enough. Jimmy, Corinne, Kat, and I will all be going. Plus, Corinne's boyfriend(s) and company will be joining us. I don't really know Corinne that well, but since it was her mom that got us all the tickets before they sold out and is taking us there, she's cool.

Another note: My dad has fallen deeply into depression and hanging all his emotion on me. It is not fun being the support he rebounds off everytime he's in a crappy mood. Not fun at all. Today he went off yelling about how it was my fault he bought the wrong kind of pencils, and how I just knew he'd hate them. Yeah. "ALL my fault." I feel bad about telling people my insignifacant family problems. Sorry.

Fleur IMed me a while ago. Conversation:

Fleur Porcelaine: Hey
ReneeOfTheMafia: Hey.
Fleur Porcelaine: So, how are you?
ReneeOfTheMafia: I'm decent
Fleur Porcelaine: Just decent?
ReneeOfTheMafia: Yeah. Just decent.
Fleur Porcelaine: So... I g2g.
ReneeOfTheMafia: Right. Cheerio.

...Seriously, someone could have ate a bowl of alphabets and crapped out a better conversation than this. Maybe I'm just boring... Crap.

I have more to say and not enough time to pay for it all. Pretty much like the rest of my life.


Cheerio.

Colourless arc-en-ciel.
All right...
Alright.

The one-word spelling alright appeared some 75 years after all right itself had reappeared from a 400-year-long absence. Since the early 20th century some critics have insisted alright is wrong, but it has its defenders and its users. It is less frequent than all right but remains in common use especially in journalistic and business publications. It is quite common in fictional dialogue, and is used occasionally in other writing.


...Yeah, I'm that type of loser.