i no longer have the time,
to coddle the feelings of others
who have disregarded the emotions
i have confided

i no longer have the will,
to beg for the love of people
who don't deserve mine...

i no longer have the heart,
to hold on to, and give my all to
someone, who will
not give even a fraction to me

i no longer have the patience
to apologize for things
that are not my fault

i am growing out of the mindset,
to be upset.
to rant and to rave.
to hurt, and to hold grudges.
to be petty,
and to strain my heart.
... my patience has run thin for those types of things


..... and for things of that such

There are moments when inside you is so wintery cold,
your night's secret is flipped over by the death's perfume,
you are in a turn, at one last intersection, but you're old,
wanting to **** the sadness, to let life once more bloom.

There are moments when you are so full of desire,
your destiny seems so cruel and you don't have the will
to heal your dark thoughts, the gloomy fears are on fire
but the cross, you have to carry it on your shoulders. Still.

Moments in which you spice up with nothings your existence,
you're satisfied with dead souls, with the remaining crumbs,
you run to the silence of the crying willow tree, for assistance,
you look at the mad fire from heaven... life hurts, death comes.

Moments when you're in front of the execution squad
without having one more chance to one last discussion,
you think that life is a mask worn in Venice, that it's a fraud,
the sky seems like a wallpaper of demons in combustion.

There are also moments when you want to start over,
to turn the book of anxiety into a beautifully painted panel,
you decide to meet your shadows in the valley of a loner,
thirsty for air, for life, you decide to change the channel.

MY (MILD TO MODERATE DEPRESSION IS ACTING UP AGAIN) PENCIL BROKE

AND MY (ANXIETY NEVER EVEN WENT AWAY) PENCIL WON'T SHARPEN

AND , BY GOD , ALL I ASK FOR IS (ANY IDEA OF WHAT MY FUTURE WOULD HOLD. FOR I CANNOT STAND THIS TEDIOUS WAIT BETWEEN GOOD AND BAD, JOY AND PAIN, I'LL YELL AND I'LL LAUGH AND THEY'LL FEEL THE SAME) A ******* PENCIL WITH LEAD THAT DOESN'T SMASH WHEN I PRESS HARDER THAN A ******* BABY WHEN IT GNAWS ON THE FINGERS OF ITS LARGE BREASTED MOTHER

anger , haha. anger who? my name is blueberry bubblegum and i exist only to chew. nom nom.

:-)

Funny how it is.

A bright light, morphing through the clouds

The soft touch of droplets, melting into shingles

The only time you're really able to look.

Wandering along the roads and banding together, they are everywhere at once!

a political movement--libertines, belligerent against the rule of continuous airs

The princely stream that does not love them

Raised into fists, falling to bombard a defenseless floor, the poor baby of collateral

In it there is hope for the cloud

the ground does not mind being wetted again

Halfway around the world the deserts are still empty and warm, where the sands of oceans taste wind

On islands the land is a pinprick between a cloudy sea, it is green and bleeding and drinks in the light

All the baby birds of earth look up into the raining sky, asking for?

And given no answers with godly warmth.


I dream to show you this world of mine-- the one all too unreal and divine

You are a moment of rain, rapidly becoming Ingrained within the concrete
Lost in the forever of this place

I am greedy and wanting to leave my mark, I invent hydrocarbons to build smarter oxygen drops

they one day become us

They always become us

I am an early storm, violent and unkempt-- I seek immediate retribution,
I ravage the lands

With no further to go, I will dissipate

Precipitate

And give the light space to show.

Enter scene:

A girl sits on a bed in a room.
The room smells like cat **** and Fabuloso
(whatever the name of the yellow scent is).
The black-out curtains are open,
letting the moon shine onto the bottom of the bed.
The lavender fitted sheet has come undone.

The girl hasn't slept in a day.
She hasn't eaten in two days.
There is an empty handle of Jack
that she bought three days ago.
The scabs on her leg were four days old,
But she reopened them three hours ago.

The girl had chestnut hair that flowed,
cascading to the small of her back,
but she cut it herself, drunk in the bathroom.
The girl has chestnut hair that spills
in a mass of tangles to her shaking shoulders,
uneven, moving with her as she readjusts.