In gym at a table with some cool girls eatting cake and watching a movie.I wish every day was like today,this is so cool I get to blog in class and jam to the best band in the world MCR.Love it, and I get soda,man I thoght it was gym oh well the hell with working out I don't need it.LTCI rocks!
''she is sad and tired, quite weary, while the rainy day was quite dreary. people ignored her, people hated her, people misunderstood her. oh, how she ever wanted to fly to the rainy sky, as she started to sprout out wings on her back. she went on the highest building, brought out her arms,and she flew away as her wings grew.
Preaching a doctrine of illusion, celestial dogma want is power, reap the sweet fruit of believing, to believe in despair and strife in this, our love devoid of pits, soft source of endless illusions in this love for two heroic hearts and a sublime feeling itself.
Erígete as the muse of my emotion, make common sense of nonsense. It comes from my soul the Divine Word that would obliterate the halls of pain. Sweet Falls wasted passion, clavams the standard chest your blessed and glorious love!
Strange hobby of my life do not miss you more than, of feeling adrift where tie found no heart. Simulate strange hobby hate you, I feel desperate attempt to get away, convicted without the slightest mercy to be the only
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume.
The sun is shining, But my eyes see no light. I see black, I see people laughing, But all i hear is the screaming. What is wrong with me? All I feel is pain. I see my blood gushing from my wrist. Sitting in my room all alone, I feel crowded, My mind is yelling "Nobody loves me!" Is all I hear all day long, when I sleep I dream of death The blood has covered the floor, I feel light headed The pain rushes through my body like lighting hitting th ground.
Death is in the flower's heart – don't Ever cry for life of any petal; and so is
Death in purple ink of weary pens: the Written yearnings on her scented paper;
Death is laughing in her cry: the Beating heart disclosing from a sleeve.
Death ignores the plight of any purity – He Doesn't care or seem to be aware
Of what her dewy eye desires, for Death beckoned: 'Embrace the jar! '
And yes, she did – for Death of course. No other man would open up her hand
And bid her with a kiss, so Death became her bliss. WHIT LOVE LILCHULA93