Life is a fucking insane carnival... all these little munchkin clowns are thrashing about on a ferris wheel... biting toes and fingers off of little girls with big lollipops and pig tails. someone let me off this maddness. It's not too late, I promise! One day I will find a way out of here and I will not look back at the frozen faces of my nightmares that only hold my deepest inner FEARS.... No more tears will I cry for those sick souls that wander aimlessly with rotting limbs stinking to high heaven. the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out.......
Runing like a black stallion in the night. Wind at my toes... trees at my feet. I am the bastard. I am the Pegasus. I have become the very things I hate... the ingorant and mother fucking vein woman I shun, they are my kind. They aren't real. Nothing is. Pale in complexion and weary in mind. I am searching for my sanity... for any sanity in this creeped out illusion of a world. Dead poets and maidens in waiting follow me now. I hear them sigh when I sit. And there it is, in the pit of my stomach, in the core of my soul... that peach... that growing illusion of a mother figure.. perfect in every way. Perfect to the core of her.. to the pupil of her eye. Yet, She has nothing to offer me. Fading again,.. this dream was drawn like your swrod.... just sharp enough to slice me up with one thrash. I will become the trash that you base your happiness on. That you expect to fulfill your emptiness, your loneliness.
Pillar. Where did it go? Trouble is I am inclined to fade away. I am made to fade away. I am fading. Like the picture you stole of me. The one where I've fallen in the ocen and am drowning. You're watching me as I suffocate....
and
there's
nothing
you can do.
is there?
By Miranda Blankenship
written free-hand at 2:44 AM
Runing like a black stallion in the night. Wind at my toes... trees at my feet. I am the bastard. I am the Pegasus. I have become the very things I hate... the ingorant and mother fucking vein woman I shun, they are my kind. They aren't real. Nothing is. Pale in complexion and weary in mind. I am searching for my sanity... for any sanity in this creeped out illusion of a world. Dead poets and maidens in waiting follow me now. I hear them sigh when I sit. And there it is, in the pit of my stomach, in the core of my soul... that peach... that growing illusion of a mother figure.. perfect in every way. Perfect to the core of her.. to the pupil of her eye. Yet, She has nothing to offer me. Fading again,.. this dream was drawn like your swrod.... just sharp enough to slice me up with one thrash. I will become the trash that you base your happiness on. That you expect to fulfill your emptiness, your loneliness.
Pillar. Where did it go? Trouble is I am inclined to fade away. I am made to fade away. I am fading. Like the picture you stole of me. The one where I've fallen in the ocen and am drowning. You're watching me as I suffocate....
and
there's
nothing
you can do.
is there?
By Miranda Blankenship
written free-hand at 2:44 AM
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