2001-10-04 - 12:18 a.m.
sleep isnt working... i dont feel like emailing. i think its too early for bed anyway. its cold in here. i always seem to get mosquito bites on my ankles. i might have mentioned that in my last entry... i really cant remember. i thought about remember mentioning it in my last diary. i dont think the mosquito bites were worth it now... i did at the time. i wonder how much of this i will regret in the morning. it doesnt matter... im not stopping. so... there are some good shows coming up, but apparently one months notice isnt enough time. remember the time when you gave me the stars... the only thing that i thought could possibly be given in exchange was a ticket. as much as i hated it... i was gonna do it and it was all i thought about... for about an hour. not neccessary... i hope you have fun. anyway... enough of that... i moved over all of my diary links over and i added 2 more buds. cranberry gingerale is awesome. those old fans know what time talking about... and if you do... i love you. my nose is cold. i really dont like the color red. cept for the gingerale ofcourse... but thats kinda pinky. pinky toes are usually ugly. i dont like my pinkies... my hand pinkies... i really dont like my hands. or anything else. if you recall the line "i scrape my face across the floor so it wouldnt look the same as it did before." thats how i feel right now. it looks like someone already did that to me. i think im gonna cut my hair off tomorrow. seriously... like really short. no joke... not jokingly at all. the joker was an asshole. wait... that was the riddler... he really pissed me off. the joker was cool. he would always make me smile until he killed someone... then i would ball up my fist at him. no more cranberry gingerale. -weep- i remember starting a song, but i dont remember hearing any of it. -presses the triangle again- "close my eyes and make believe..." i really dont know why im still signed onto AIM... 4 people are on... all of which are away... including myself. im not really in a mood to talk to myself right now. i might hurt my feelings too. i really dont think i should click "done!" on this. if i didnt... how would anyone know? id probably tell everyone... but... what if i didnt? what if i broke into diaryland right now and made it a website for milk or a website for tiger from the brady bunch. or i could leave it... pita needs competion. peta. la femme nikita. peta wilson. that was a good show. i dont think it comes on anymore. does daria still come on? fmoss three... fmoss three... if i updated this and no one read it... i would feel pretty bad. its like... remember that time eric talked about gingerale all night? double-you-tee-f-question mark. its really good though... especially with a lime. we dont have any limes though. where do limes grow? probably jersey... =/ or... or... or... england. i dont like it when the bubbles go up my nose... it tickles. elmo. emo. tickle me peta. pita. 27253727343... thats my amp settings as of right now. can you break the code? or the riddle... its all coming back now. call. rival schools was on 'mtv news: you hear it first' today. i found it weird. most scene points in a band everrr. joe cockie says... well... i cant remember how it ends, but your mother is a whore. effexor. kitty... kitty... once again... if i was a dog... id be garfield. God* something else for you old fans. sweet dreams.
when will we see eye to eye where were you when this died? generous trophies of affection burden a parade of frowns.
addiction to narcissism
hands in handshakes... hand in hand shake. service becomes competitions, friend become strangers walking hand in hand. suddenly we trade kisses on cold cheeks reminding me a thought: no heaven, no hell, but an emptiness in between heaven and hell eclipsed with letters of your name.
make me believe... make me believe or is it change that i fear(make me....)
a blind history of 4000 years anointing pillage in absurdity's name -sleep in silence along with your your pride. failure began when i stopped standing up for what i died for. i will be forgotten someday, but not before i carve my memory into your face.
we will never stare eye to eye. where were you when this died? the poor, tired, wounded soul (left alone in her pity). still stands holding the empty box you gave her. filled with lie after lie unknowing that you will not return. her heart cries out to you, only to be heard by me. i think it is time to look in the mirror. stare deep into the eyes of the empty soul you possess. every hand you hold, every lip yours meets, every innocence you take means nothing to you. how can sincerity mean nothing to you? because of you, there is nothing left. you dont know how it feels.
i was two cubits away. would it helped if i said? it wouldnt have helped if i said. but i find hope in your insincerity.
hatred scourches like 7 suns afire, leaving a wake of charred desires. you have come along with your blasphemous beliefs -tearing through the most innocent of hearts -tearing apart the ties that bound us together. you have lied, you have eaten away the passions by which i must live by, i will not leave this ungodly earth until you have felt my personal hell, until you have lived the life that you have set forth for me. these losts can never be reconciled, you have had your last chance at having a son ....you have failed.
you promised me.
