i don't know. i feel crazy sometimes, more than others. i see people, and i see what i wish i could be; fine. everyone has **** going on, but when my friend told me she was stressed and i asked why, she replied "i don't know what to wear tomorrow." if she asked me what i was stressed about, it'd be "i don't know how to stop hating myself."

I often find myself wishing the best for everyone *except myself

Can't anybody see that I'm just a mess? A blue haired freak wonderin' the streets. Cigarertte in hand, blasting my bands and could give less of a **** about what you think.

-
                    "Who's with me
                     To **** that tree
                In the middle of the sea?

Hanging between boundaries,
Golden leaves, mouth-watering
Sent war on countries neighboring.
Blood spilt, on heaven's ground
Where no innocent souls found.

                     Oh, those leaves!
                       A single piece,
                  Could worth a feast,
            But of what origin, atleast?!

But no! Let's **** that tree.
Draw our swords,
For a mighty peace!
Let's **** that tree!
Whose roots are

Fire burning on the horizon.
Rising smoke eclipsing the sun
riding on the wind without an aim.
If nothing changed, it wouldn't be the same.

How many words can you fit into your mind
telling you what you'll lose, what you'll leave behind?
You're tearing out your roots trying to find food
but it'll be much sweeter if you wait for the fruit.

How many days can you fit into your life
sitting in a sweaty room trying to stay on time?
Are you losing your days in the arms of the night?
When the stars are all shining are you bathing in the light?

How many times have you sat in reverie
rejoicing in the moment and letting it be?
Lately I've been thinking how I seem
to only be as real as the eddy of a stream.

Fire burning on the horizon.
Rising smoke eclipsing the sun
riding on the wind without an aim.
If nothing changed, it wouldn't be the same.

1105

Like Men and Women Shadows walk
Upon the Hills Today—
With here and there a mighty Bow
Or trailing Courtesy
To Neighbors doubtless of their own
Not quickened to perceive
Minuter landscape as Ourselves
And Boroughs where we live—