Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
CNM Feb 2018
Take a drink everytime you find yourself absentmindedly hurting yourself (stop itching your scalp it isnt itchy blood its bleeding)
Take a drink everytime you can't get out of bed
Take a drink everytime you consider suicide (wouldn't be this tired anymore sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep)
Take a drink everytime you eat too much
Take a drink everytime you eat too little (I can see my ribs again bones bones bones bones bones)
Take a drink everytime you become unhealthily attached to someone
Take a drink everytime you feel alone (my friends don't seem to call anymore forgotten forgotten forgotten)
Take a drink everytime you isolate yourself from your friends
Take a drink everytime you hate your body (Its only flesh after all skin and bones bones and skin)
Take a drink everytime you compare yourself to your father
Take a drink everytime you can't turn off traumatic past experiences (when will they stop playing re-runs this show makes me sick get off of me get off of me get off)
Take a drink everytime you really are becoming your father
Take a drink everytime you blame yourself for not saying "no" or "stop" (he wouldn't have listened anyway too weak too weak too weak weak)
Take a drink everytime you forget to shower
Take a drink everytime you remember your ex too fondly (I am not your toy anymore I exist exist I do)
Take a drink everytime you acquire unhealthy coping mechanisms
Take a drink everytime you bottle things up (my therapist doesn't need to know how traumatized I am dont touch me dont touch me dont touch me dont)
Take a drink everytime you sleep the day away
Take a drink everytime something little sets you off (you just spilled some water, relax water water waterwater)
Take a drink everytime someone uses you to their advantage
Take a drink everytime you consider quitting your job (who needs money when you can be dead dead dead dead dead)
Take a drink everytime you consider dropping out of college
Take a drink everytime you get false hope that you'll get better (it always ******* comes back it always ******* comes back it always ******* comes back it always ******* comes back)
trigger warning
Sarah Radzi Aug 2018
Everytime I close my eyes,
Sunday afternoon comes to mind.
Sometimes when I close my eyes,
there is only white noises.
The Sunday in my head is always sunny;
rarely it rains.
When it rains on Sunday,
I am reminded of school uniform;
sweaty and sticky,
but it is still Sunday.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I can smell Sunday.
The smell of Sunday in my head—
consists of jasmine, pandan, and milk.
The Sunday in my head rarely rains.
When it rains, it smells like **** and soil.
The sunny side of my Sunday is not always bright—
and my wet Sunday is not always gloomy.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see myself tracing Sunday.
I run my fingers through the odds of—
possibilities and the ambience of the present.
You see, I cannot imagine anyone but myself—
in my Sunday.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see no one.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see silhoutte of myself.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see myself leaving trails.
Everytime I close my eyes,
It was all in my head all along.
Blessed with the odds,
my Sunday goes by very slowly;
so slow sometimes I caught myself in turbulence.
From violent shower to the still lake,
I avoid meeting myself on the foreground.
If I ever crossed path in the middle,
I would be non-existent;
none of this would matter,
and there will never be my Sunday.

Sarah Radzi
In Between Four Walls,
christa coburn Jun 2010
Everytime you call me,
I hear the same old ring.
Instantly I smile.
as I listen to you sing.

Everytime you call me,
I feel the same old shame.
To hear your voice once again,
brings back hurtful pain.

Everytime you call me,
I see another open door.
behind the door are old memories,
that make me miss you even more.

Everytime you call me,
I make a bad mistake.
I fall for you once again,
with a chance I'm willing to take.

Everytime you call me,
I hurt another friend.
So when it comes to loving you,
it's my friends I must defend.
J Aug 2020
Frenchie. there's a lot that i'll probably never tell you. either in fear that it will drive you away, in spite of the numerous times that you've told me you won't leave or run because the chance of something scaring you off is slim. or simply because it slips my mind. trauma, am i right? you say a lot, and i mean this in the best way.  you can talk, and you can tell me as many things as you want, and i'll never properly believe them because i've learned that words are ****. then again all we have are words, smiles, and through-the-phone, air-blown, crush-induced kisses that bring back memories, and yet rewrites them as something entirely new and, of course, much much better. something ours. i hope it's never given to another person, this sweet kiss of life, the final kiss of death, an angel brings me to heaven, enter whatever aesthetically pleasing line you want but it will never be as good as, "and so the lion fell for the lamb." haha. it's 11:16 pm, August 9th. and i'm laying in bed. for reasons i'll try to explain in a second, i'm tearing up, as i have been for a while. i think i first started tearing up the first time we called, which isn't so much a bad thing as it is a surprising thing. because it was a sad happy cry. it's similar to breaking a piece of jewelry that you really enjoyed, but then buying something much better. you loved that plastic, feeble, oversized, first love bracelet, but now you have a moonstone or (enter favorite gem) filled, perfectly fitted, wifey-made promise ring. you'll keep the bracelet somewhere, forget about it, find it again, and again, and again. discovering it under blankets, and pillows, and promises that we've tossed around ourselves. it will peek from inside my black coffee, in the dirt i praise, in the trees, in the music we'll listen to together. in the color brown, Frenchie, that's where you'll see, i'll see, we will see, that piece of plastic. dark brown, the colors of his eyes. my favorite color for the longest time. i don't want it to mean him, so it doesn't. but that's where it comes from. i'll find it, we'll find it, up until you get tired of seeing it, of seeing me see it, and take my hand, begging to throw it out. but, my to be discovered favorite gem filled, wifey-made perfectly fitted promise ring, it might take a while, with me quietly begging for your help, to get rid of him. not because i want to wear it, but because i horde emotions the way i horde stuffed animals. it's a labrinth to find the bracelet, we have no map and somehow we have to get from this forever smile to the closed-off corners of my mind, where even i, as it's supposed owner, struggle to collect, and comprehend, and conquer my horrid thoughts. but Frenchie, we laughed. and it was the first time in so long that i've been able to laugh with someone like that, and not worry, and not expect, and not be afraid. except, since we're here it's already obvious, that ended up making me afraid anyways. Random, but there's this song in my head right now. "make me behave like an animal." Sir Chloe's Animal, everything by Sir Chloe is absolutely incredible. but, let's continue. you may not believe me when i say this, but i'm scared out of my mind so entirely that every second between our conversations is an hour added to my inevitable future breakdown. how weak, and pathetic, and disgusting, i know. i have told you so many times that i can't like people, that it's so hard for me to connect to someone new, and yet it's day three and i'm imagining that i'll be happy if only you'd hold me, as if that's what you want to do, as if that will heal me, as if that should happen. as if i'm taking things slow the way i want to, and yet don't want to. if i could properly explain in words, i'd tell you with lengthy descriptions, both vastly and vaguely, calmly and excitedly, slowly and quickly covering deep hidden and obvious and in-between meaning, proving how desperately i want to be with you, be yours and you be mine, and how, ****, how i hope you don't **** me up. because all i can think when we talk is "****." you breathe, and, between each of your heartbeats, i figure out that i like you more, and more, and ****! the way your face looks so angelic when you sleep makes me just think "god, she's going to really hurt me. she's gonna **** me up, and chances are i'll thank her for it." to be hurt by you? that would be a blessing, and yet i'm shaking. what a interesting concept. i'm sure this is proof that i'm ****** up already. i keep bringing up the time. three days, Frenchie. Three. and that's it. that is literally it. that's all we've been. so explain, please, why the first few words you said had me ranting to my friends. please, tell me, how within a day, everytime your name popped up on my screen i would giggle like a child. please, explain to me, why everytime i talk about you, my cheeks hurt so much from smiling. i'm crazy, absolutely crazy, and i know my friends have to be thinking so too, because it's been. three. *******. days. but why? as in, why is that so bad? three days, what's so wrong with that? why does liking someone have to have a time? let me explain something that i've been thinking about. two years, on and off, thirteen breakups. that was Justin and I. roughly six months after the final one, i met you. "cause everytime you hurt me, the less that i cry." i'm way too good at goodbye's. i never particularly got that song the way i do now. had we stayed apart the first to the maybe fifth time we broke up, i would have took longer to heal. but it was time thirteen, so it was all expected, hurtful of course, but expected and so, it was almost boring. almost. it would have been if it didn't rip my heart out. i rebounded. hard. many times. many people. zero regrets. but this connection to you, sometimes i catch myself fearing i'm picking up where Justin and I left off. which, yes, is really toxic. but then i remind myself, this is how a good portion of relationships start. if i like you, i'll act like it. if i want to be with you, regardless if we just met, i should act like that. right? right, that's what normal people do. but we already explained i'm not normal. i'm ****** up, and i overthink. i'm ******* up. so ******* up that i can't hold eyecontact with you because i was "trained" not to, because i'm not used to, because it makes me nervous, because i hate the way my eyes look and i believe that you shouldn't have to look at something so disgusting. god here we go, i'm talking about him again. blaming him with my "trained not to" rather than blaming myself for letting it  happen. i let myself feel like that, i let myself bow down. that's on me, that was my weakness. admittedly so, yes. i'm scared of looking in your eyes. maybe out of submission. or maybe i'm afraid of seeing what i once saw in his. but truth be told, i think i'm scared of looking into anyone's. maybe i'm once again overthinking things and it's just regular anxiety. "regular anxiety," what an interesting statement that even I can't properly explain. and by the way, i never want to compare you to him, not even the good things. (just realized this entire thing is bipolar and has been written and rewritten to a point where the overdramatic stuff became simple conversation). but why not the good things? because i don't want you to be like him in any way, and i don't want to be with someone like him again. i realize that i will eventually, and might have already without properly realizing it, compared you to him. but, as i like to say, if i don't look at it, it isn't there. so we're not going to pay this any mind. there's so many things that i can say behind all of  this but my mind is going too fast, and it also just realized that most of this is literally so ******* stupid that i should shut up about, i was truly overreacting. maybe if i remember, i'll retype this until it sounds less crazy and obsessive. good thing i edit before i show, so yes i was planning on showing someone. but probably not a lot. only a few trusted people. but now that i read and reread i might just keep this to myself. not that it will matter if i explain, seeing as i might never show this to you, but it's nice to give this to a ghost of you, although it leaves my imagination running wild trying to figure out how you would respond. everytime i type something i want to rewrite it, and i have been rewriting it by the way, because there's no way in hell this captures a fraction of a fraction of the surface of how i'm hurting, even though i've been typing for almost two hours trying to find better words and longer sentences. this all sounds so meek and weak and pathetic in comparrison to the metaphoric erruptions and hurricanes and other natural disasters. haha. this doesn't feel natural. it's like i'm begging for attention, or manipulating you more. fun fact, he called me overdramatic, and manipulative, and tons of other things i won't get into, so i often use the words on myself. because it was and is accurate. i keep making myself out to be a victim and he said i always did that too, that i always victimized myself. he said it a lot. let me explain: i panic so much, i get sad over the smallest things. for example, he was mourning over the death of his mother and started yelling at me and wouldn't tell me that he loved me back, which i shouldn't have gotten mad over but i did. he told me "jesus, i can't even ******* miss my mom without having to make sure you're not having one of your episodes." of course i apologized, and tried to fix my issues myself when he got tired of me or in general and hung up. literally, believe me. i'm so ******* sensitive and it's annoying and i'm annoying, i'll never understand how i got the amazing friends that i do. Apollo knows that i don't deserve them. and please ******* please, i just want to stop crying because it hurts so bad. but after writing it down i feel so much  better. i stopped crying, this is part of my editting by the way, and i feel much better writing to you, ghost Frenchie. but really. it. hurts. so. bad. so bad to a point where my heart seemingly stops, i'm left breathless and NOT in the best of ways. and then said heart explodes. over. and over. and over. in milliseconds, again and again and again, all while the usual me laughs and tries to make my eyes look lively, you might get this but there's so many hours of the day where i hope no one can see the pain i'm in. because i literally have zero ******* clue how to explain the way that i feel. eeehhhh, how edgy. i'm sooooo misunderstood haha. when it hurts, my jaw clenches, i'm no longer in control of my breathing, my head hurts, my brain becomes helium and all i can think is "fuuuuuuck." but ****, as well, because. "i don't wanna be your friend, i wanna kiss your lips." i just want to touch you, and lay on top of you, legs around your waist, snuggled into your neck, breathing in your scent and finding shelter in it, listening to you sing whatever song you put in the background, the smell of **** and cigarettes and us. and beg you please, between each kiss, each time my hand finds yours. please, promise ring, please, please. please. learn how to love me. love me, please. heal me. please fix me. please make me okay. because i'm not. and i haven't been. and i don't know if i ever will and, ****, i swear i'm calm now. but knowing that, knowing that i will never be okay? that hurts worse. because it's proof that i'm aware i'm nowhere near good enough for you. i added on to Justin's issues. I don't want to add on to yours. "But J, remember, I told you that making sure you're okay is giving me something to take off of my life." but you need to focus on you, i can't just take all of your attention. i know that seems like i'm wanting you to tell me "i want you to have it," but that is literally the way i feel, please don't tell me that. i want you to drink water, and eat, and call me. god i feel awful for not calling you today, holy absolute wow. Frenchie, you're hurting on your own without my added everything. You deal with so much, you've dealt with so much, from your birth to the girls and boys of your past, and **** it. ****. we're talking and i should make the most of it, but i really just want to make you okay. i lied to you, y'know. you asked me about my best quality. i told you that i gave good advice, but truth is i probably don't. i think that my best quality is that i make jokes out of everything, i try to make people laugh all the time. that's not always a good thing. last time i texted, i said something about holding you and giving you a watermelon to make you happy. that might have ****** you off. truth is, i doubt there's something only seen as good in me. there's always a second face to everything that i am, i'm a two faced, four faced- no no. twenty faced *****, and not even like a bad ***** i mean like. little ***** baby type faces. and i know for a **** fact that your life has been worse than mine, Frenchie, my issues are literally nothing compared to yours. so, once again, i can't let you add my issues to your own, and yet here i am pouring myself out and begging ghost you to fix me. i mean what you don't read can't hurt you, but something tells me that i want to give it to you. everytime i think about showing you this, i cringe. because jesus three days, man, and i'm writing this absolute *******? and yet i can't just stop. i can't just leave. i'm too selfish for either of those. i have **** to say, and call it growth but i'm gonna ******' say it! y'know? someone's gonna read it eventually. half of me hopes that they send it to you without my permission, but the fact that i'm writing this out proves that it's more than half of me that hopes. and yet the thought of you reading this makes me wanna swallow rat poison. i can't just let you free, y'know? give you the chance to run without wanting to grab you by your legs, pull you back, breakdown and just ******' scream that you're mine, MINE MINE MINE, until you feel sorry for my hoarse voice from crying, scared because now you know, now you ******' know, Frenchie. the opening to run, the ability, it's here, it always has been. but you won't take it, you won't, will you? will you? no, i don't think so. because you've been through worse, because you want to convince me i'm not as bad as i make myself out to be, because you're not afraid, because "it takes a lot more than this" to scare you. don't you see? i'm manipulating you into liking me, Frenchie, i am. i know what to say, how to say it, i read people, i get under their skin, and then i play victim when they flee my spiders web. and i love it and hate myself, haha! ******* ****, please, ****, oh, please, like me. oh, Artemis. please. i want to try, and i will, but, seriously, don't. do not trust me. don't love me. don't like me. run. please. please. you shouldn't, i'm not good, i'm really not. and no one gets that. i'm the Jerry of the world, people are attracted because they feel sorry for me. that's my magnet's secret. pity. **** it. listen, i'm proud and upset at the fact that i'm doing this to you. i've admitted it, dearest Ghost Frenchie, and yet continue. because in the ways that i want to show you my crazy, use it as a "please help me" and keep you here, i do actually want to try for you. read that as many times as you want, I want this. I want to try, but this is my warning that maybe no one will read. this is an entire universe of new things and old things i haven't or thought i couldn't feel. i've thought about it, and i've almost done it, but i can't block you, save you, and leave it at that. because i actually want to try and be good enough. i had cried to my friends saying that you would hurt me, but i wonder if i'd end up being like your exes and just be more proof that you don't need that this world is ****** up. oh wow, there i go again with my manipulation. just. ****. i want to be with you, even though i don't deserve it, even though i have no right to, even though i know that you, lovely butterfly, have a life ahead of you. though small, i'm still a spider. this has been on my mind for so many hours that i've spent typing this, but i should have said so much more to you when you told me that you were having a bad night. you admitted that you were too stressed to even eat and that you didn't want to take it out on me, calling wouldn't be a good idea because you didn't want to snap at me. can i please just say that, good Aphrodite, the fact that you're humane enough to say that, to warn me, means so much. you don't want to take it out on me, you didn't know for sure if it would happen but you wouldn't even let it happen because? ****, because you're, ****,  you're a good person. you care about me already, and that's so ******* heartbreaking and heartlifting at the same time because, AH! ****, she LIKES me? likes, me? likes. me. Frenchie. likes. J? and at the same time. why? Frenchie seriously likes J? Haven't they warned her? i almost didn't text you, i almost just left you on open, just so you could come to me when you wanted to. i don't know why, but i responded. sort of like a puppy, y'know, that's just been yelled at. or, rather since you have cats, a kitten literally just purring and rubbing themselves along you even though they clawed your wall and you screamed. i was hesitant, but i knew that you'd try to be nice, i think? truly, i don't know my reasoning behind that, but you responded anyways. and maybe i'm wrong, but you sounded so soft and it made me smile. because you were trying, and it's dumb that i have to say that but, relationship wise, it's been so long since anyone has TRIED. when you leave me on opened or when you don't respond, my heart drops. which isn't to make you feel bad, because i know you're either frustrated, or busy, or it's a habit, but it scares me. because, again, three days??? and yet you leaving for a little just freaks me out. also, allow me to admit this. while we called, i have reasons for why i'd wake up everytime you moved. i was scared that i'd wake up and you'd be gone. not to be creepy, this is supposed to be romantic, but at least twice i remember waking up, and you were asleep, and i looked at you. god, you're literally so beautiful, Frenchie. you're literally so unbelievably gorgeous that the sun pales in comparison to your radiance. can i say more depressing, Justin related things? i shouldn't, because him being mentioned is literally making me look worse, but i never really feel up to talking about it with anyone besides, well, you. talking about exes with you, it's just, comforting. you telling me you were having a bad night gave me these wretched flashbacks and- oh, ****! this isn't meaning never tell me, like, please, please, always tell me, just, uh, let me explain cause, uh, ****, oh, Hades, it hurts. it's dreadful, really. he, uh,  he would get upset about something, or really anything that he could think of, and uhm. just, haha, stop talking. for uh, for literal hours.. and hours. and hours. out of nowhere. i wouldn't know why, so i'd blame myself and then i'd spam him, thinking that would make him want to answer and begin my whole, "please, don't leave, please, Justin, please, i'm sorry, i love you, don't leave, you're supposed to be my daddy, please, you're supposed to be mine," skit. i mean, see? proof. he couldn't deal with his own issues because i needed attention and reassurance. all. the. ******. time. i won't give excuses, he really just needed space. but space felt like a break, which sometimes he made for. but, right, for me, Justin was famous for his "just leave me alone's" and then the "i don't want this anymore" or "i'm really tired of you" haha. or it was the whole, "you're just not what i need in my life." or i mean "there's someone else" or, of course, haha, the, uh, last one, my personal favorite "we're just not compatible." like, oh, really? i mean, yesterday you hit me and told me that i was a ****, like? we're not? we? we aren't? compatible? wow, like, really? so, no future together? like, uh, oh! c'mon Mistah J!  ouch that hurt to say, but please laugh because haha, TRAUMA, am I right? but, wait? does that count as trauma? hm, i mean some of it was traumatic, right? wait hang on, yes. wait. being beat- ? well, not beat! i mean, like, i could still, y'know, move-? jesus **** what is wrong with me. i don't want to call it traumatic cause victimizing. haha, ****- but uh anyway. i'd be left trying to off myself in some petty way. because i felt like if he couldn't love me, if he, Justin Ryder, the long-legged **** who knew me better than anyone, couldn't love me, honestly, who would? "But, J like. you have friends!" yeah, i do, and i did then, too. but these lovely, amazing friends didn't come to mind the way they sometimes do now. sometimes. i mean, why do i feel like it has to be romantic for "i love you" to count. i say "i love you" to my friends all the time, honestly, because they need to hear it and i've lost so many people without telling them, y'know? but anyhow, right, no one came to mind. just him, and his lack of love for me. i mean, he was God. he was MY God. he was my world, everything, my reason to breathe, the reason i existed. i loved him. more than i've ever loved someone in my entire life. and, i mean, that's why i let him come back so many times, with open arms and apologies from me that should have slithered from his own serpent lips, the reptile. they rained from mine, eagerly, harshly, on repeat, no questions asked. he hit me, i apologized. he made a mistake, i said "i'll never do it again." i blamed myself for a lot of things that he did to me, gave excuses for him, too. y'know, the cliche "you don't know him like i do." god, i mean, i was right about that. no one knows Justin Ryder the way that i do. i hope no one ever does. Frenchie, dearest promise ring i keep referring to for poetic purposes, you asked me if i was over him. i am. i don't want him back. but if he ever texted or called, i'd break down, lose myself, hysterical hurricane J. not because i miss him, just because of the **** that i went through with him, Frenchie. it's small, y'know, compared to what others have went through. but it really, i mean, REALLY, made a huge impression. i don't want him. i keep saying that, everytime i do it becomes less believable but please understand that it isn't him, it's what he did. but **** there i go putting the blame on him again. Frenchie, are you over her? see, the fact that someone came to your mind means that sometimes you question it. unless you really just thought to yourself, "who, am i over who J?" maybe i'll never know. but you should know this. desperately, quite desperately, i want to tell you that your smile makes me feel safe. and i haven't been able to feel so safe from such a small thing in months, almost a year. because how could i trust his smile, y'know? even before the very end, in the middle, in the first time, how could i ever trust his soul-stealing smile? especially when i saw him making it at whatever girl he chose next or, funny thing, even during our time together. i want to explain to you, Frenchie, that i know you need space, and that, even though i realize that, i'm so terrified of ******* up the way i did with him. when i'm upset, i need to be smothered. not everyone is like that, i have to cope with it. haha, wow what a *****, i have to cope with your ways of coping, god i annoy myself. but. regardless of the amount of friends i have who assure me that, "J it wasn't your fault, Justin was the issue, J you weren't the toxic one" i can't believe it. i refuse to think that it was just him. another lyric so a song i enjoy "it takes two to toxic," i keep thinking of songs, but i think you understand that, too, my adhd love. i should have, could have, done better as a person for him. not saying that i regret not, but the fact that i could and i didn't? maybe i should have shut up, maybe i should have said more. everything was beyond the severity of walking on eggshells, which he said often that he had to do around me because, i mean, i've explained that. it's just more proof, you see, that i was too sensitive, proof that i should have been tougher, said less, comforted more. but didn't he know how he made me feel? that i was trying, truly trying my hardest? didn't he know that i loved him so entirely that i gave up my best friends so he'd look at me. didn't he know? didn't he? honestly, how could he have not. i worshipped the literal ground he walked on, didn't i? did i? or am i exaggerating again? should i have ran? yes, no. yes. maybe, or maybe he should have? i don't know. **** me, this? this really, this isn't about him. but it is. because he made my head all ******, the time with him anyways, cause once again it was me, too, and everything is like, oh, ****, a minefield or something. and i don't want you to think that i'm not over him. because i am. him, as himself, i'm over. but the way he made me feel, the experience, the way he changed me? i don't know. did i change for the better or the worst? i wish you could have known me before, maybe you would be able to tell me if the me that i am that now is better. but maybe if i knew you before, my time with him never would have happened. but i hate myself for it. "it" as in everything from the time i got with him to now, every word i've now spent almost three hours revising and rewritting, i hate myself for. that's what's ******, i don't even hate him for it or this, i literally just hate myself. i sound like such a ******* idiot for all of this,  but i'm not, Frenchie. i'm not. well, hang on, i mean i am. i'm a literal ******* *******. haha. but this is how i'm trying to explain to you, and if you ever read this maybe you'll get it. but, i want to make you happy. me. i want to make you smile more and laugh like you did, like WE did. and i know that i got attached so ****** quickly so my whole "it's hard to love people" thing seems fake. but it isn't. i can't. i literally can't tell you how hard it is. and this right here, this is hard, too. because i'm fighting with the "oh, J!! this is different" side of me and the "**** her, *******, everyone is the same" side. i'm pretty sure i told you this, but i broke up with my last girlfriend because she actually gave a **** about me. and it made me want to puke. when i did, when i left, she told me that she was in love with me. and i ran to the bathroom. and proceeded to cry, getting rid of my lunch and dinner, and almost just ended it right there because i thought, "****. if someone can love me, can say those three sacred words, to me? TO ME? i must be hiding so much from them." i just want to scream. yknow? to the world, to my friends, my family, you, that "i'm ****** UP IM ****** UP IM ****** UP PLEASE LEAVE" but "oh, gods, don't leave." please, ******* ****, if you're not ready, if you don't want me, please, tell me. if i'm too much, especially after all of this, holy ******* ****, please, tell me. because i can't take it. i can't. tell me now, these three days in where i'm confessing i want to be with you, that you can't. because i wouldn't be able to handle it much longer than from here. oh, **** yeah, it's going to hurt so much. i kept saying that i didn't want to like you. but everything draws me in, dearest Edward, and it ******* *****. it. *****. because i'm beyond aware of possibilities of the failure. and, yet, i couldn't be happier. in the middle of my frequent breakdowns, i'm so entirely full of joy. my mother tells me that i'm glowing from how entirely, like, happy i am. you're miles away, Frenchie, and yet you make me happier than i've been in a long, long, LONG time, dancing and singing around my room like an absolute idiot because i'm thinking, y'know, MAYBE. MAYBE THIS IS THE ONE. "J MAYBE YOU CAN BE LOVED, AGAIN. MAYBE SHE'LL LOVE YOU, MAYBE YOU AREN'T AS BAD AS YOU MAKE YOURSELF OUT TO BE." and everything looks so ******* amazing with you in the picture. and, still, i always ask myself, is this too fast? am i still not ready, still taking things too fast, should i shut up, am i hiding too much, doesn't she get my bipolarness and bpd? you do right, you do? oh ******* ****- **** all that, those last few questions are entire other things, and it's now 2:07 in the morning and i'm ******' done. the end done, I won't write anything else. except this. Frenchie, I know you love being called that, but there's something so entirely personal about being called by your name. sometimes I catch myself slipping on typing. maybe it was a mistake to tell me your real name.
a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet
this literally has zero reasons to exist. but I wrote it anyways. because I've always wanted to write something. even if this doesn't particularly sound like a poem, I feel like maybe it belongs here. so if anyone ever reads this, hope you like it.
Nolithando Nov 2014
My biggest prayer is to love her right
I want to…
Love her like Christ loved the church
Love her like her Father in Heaven
Loves Her Love her like the Holy Spirit loves her soul
And love her like she was created to be loved

But sometimes….
Sometimes my flesh tries to intimidate me with that kind of love
Its like my spirit cries out from the depths of this corrupted prison
With the voice of abel screaming that
I have not loved her to the extent Christ loves the church
I want a crucifixion type love

Everytime I hug her I want my arms to be spread out on the cross
And I want to die to my childish ways
Everytime I look into her eyes
I want a crown of thorns to be placed on my head and surrender my thought life to her honor
I want the walks we take in the park
To be nails driven into my feet so that they will lead her with the authority of Moses
I want a crucifixion type love

I want my side to be pierced every time we laugh together
so that ill always remember that she is my rib
Everytime I sleep and dream of her
I want my back to be beaten with a catonine tails
so that I’ll always carry her burdens for her
Everytime I’m not with her
I want to stand before pilate and stand true to my relationship with her
I want those who have seen me to have seen her in ME when we are apart
I want a crucifixion type love

I want a love that will cause dead men to rise
When people gaze on us, they want to know who is this Christ that we speak of
Everytime she falls I want to take her in my arms like my cross and carry her up to calvary
I want men to mock me for not wanting to be like them
For not wanting to squander my love on various women
But to have the passion to pour out my love onto one soul for all of eternity
I want a crucifixion type love

I want a love that was predestined before eternity
I want a love that was birthed in my mother’s womb
I want a love that is willing to give up this world for her
I want a love that is immaculate
I want a love that makes the angel’s wish they were in our shoes
I want a love that will make me pray to God and say
Who am I that YOU are mindful of me to bless me with her
I want a crucifixion type love

I want a love that bleeds purity
I want a love that people will lie on us just to see us split apart
I want a love that will make me run away to a far village,
build a mansion for you with my bare hands
and send you love letters every day reminding you of me
letters that you can keep in a book and spend time reading them every day
I want a love that will make my spirit pray for you
I want a love that will make me walk on water
in the middle of the most dangerous storm for you
I want a crucifixion type love

I want a love that my friends will betray me because of my affection for you
I want a love that after we’re gone,
that for centuries to come men will aim to follow in our legacy
Everytime I rise in the morning
I want it to be my cross being raised upright for you
To stand on the hill of my life and portray a beautiful sacrifice
I want to be placed into the tomb of your heart
The Tomb that your mother and father built
I want a love that will rise with all power over adversity
I want a love that people will flock to see if it is real
I want a crucifixion type love

I want a love that shows my yearning for you
I want a love that even when we argue,
I still have a burning passion & desire to be with you
I want a love that heals
The kind of love that covers the wounds that were dug deep by the knives of infidelity and insecurity
I want a love that makes God get up and dance around his throne every time he sets his eyes on us
I want a crucifixion type love

So with all of that said
Lord, give me the strength to love her like you love me
Like the way you didn’t consider being equal with the Father a thing to be grasped
But you came and gave up your throne for the filth of this world
And in love, you served In the same way
Let me serve her unconditionally infinitely
Let me MAN UP
And quit wasting time playing games
and pursue her like you pursue your church
Because you have chosen me to be entrusted with her heart
So let me cherish it like a jeweler cherishes a diamond
Let me examine it and find out every minute detail about her worth

I want to love her
like Abraham loved Sarah
Like Isaac loved Rebecca
Like Jacob loved Rachel
Like Boaz loved Ruth
Like Solomon loved his Queen
I want a crucifixion type love

So into your hands I commit this relationship
Because I want to love her like you Love your church






A fell in love with this Brent Rice piece the moment I heard it.
Reemoatpeace Dec 2014
Everytime I look into your eyes, I feel a stab in my heart
When you touch me, electricity goes through my head -I feel a big explosion, full of confusion and erosion

Everytime you walk into that door - I feel safe
then I remember what you have said
I quiver and shiver
a deep cry inside waiting to erupt

Everytime you hold me - I forget
then I realise the truth behind reality
we are on two different paths

Everytime you smile - I feel warm
you are my family no matter what
my love will diminish slowly as you have chosen your own orbit
it's sad but true
our book of love has ended
Jason Schnepper Feb 2015

Last night I had a dream of you and me together
Like you always said it be
always and forever
You would never leave
But you left me now my life is filled with misery
Everytime I close my eyes I dream about baby

Last night I had a dream of you and me together
Like you always said it be
always and forever
You would never leave
But you left me now my life is filled with misery
Everytime I close my eyes I dream about baby

Verse 1

Hear my words feel my love coming from my heart
Seems like a life time that we been a part
I really miss you girl
All the times we used to talk
You was always there for me Baby please don't forget me not
I swear to you what I say is true
I never loved or cared for anybody baby more than I do for you
and you know it's true I love you


Last night I had a dream of you and me together
Like you always said it be
always and forever
You would never leave
But you left me now my life is filled with misery
Everytime I close my eyes I dream about baby

Last night I had a dream of you and me together
Like you always said it be
always and forever
You would never leave
But you left me now my life is filled with misery
Everytime I close my eyes I dream about baby
Baby B-A-B-Y please don't do this to me

Verse 2

Words can't describe how I feel inside
Cant' deny the truth Baby now I realize
It's you that I always Love
Take me back to times when you used to kiss and hug me
The sweetness of your lips so soft and tender
I swear they taste like honey
Baby please don't forget me not
Because I love you
Always have and always will
let's set the record straight and tell you how I feel
I climb the highest mountain any hill
I walk a million miles til I reach you baby
Now tell me Baby do you love me still

Break Down

I Just wanna talk to you I know you
in your world I dont exist I mean nothing
at all to you. I cant make you change
or even make you love me I have no control over that
that is entirely up to you. Im not going to say
that I dont still think about you because baby
I do and sometimes I cry because Im missing you.
I just dont know....Maybe Im just ****** up in the head
but I love you.......


Last night I had a dream of you and me together
Like you always said it be
always and forever
You would never leave
But you left me now my life is filled with misery
Everytime I close my eyes I dream about baby

Last night I had a dream of you and me together
Like you always said it be
always and forever
You would never leave
But you left me now my life is filled with misery
Everytime I close my eyes I dream about baby

Verse 3

listen to me girl cuz there is so much i need to say
you mean the world to me baby
please don't let it slip away
i never want to be without you
i could never face the day
i need here by my side
so baby please won't you stay
it's been a long road
we both driven our lives on
so many years has passed us by
so many thing come and gone
but one thing that has never changed
is how i feel about you
don't want to give up this fight
because i don't want to live without you girl
cuz you became a part of me
much greater than a bond
this family means more to me
that's why i wrote this song
there comes a time in our lives
we all need some direction
a shoulder to cry on
share love and affection
you know i guess it's really true
don't know what you got til it's gone
living in the shadows
thinking about what you did wrong
i just want to get back to the way it was before
when you gave so much love couldn't ask for anymore
DC raw love Apr 2015
If I had a dollar
for everytime she hollered
I could be a millionaire

If I had a stitch
for everytime she *******
I could mend everyones clothes

If I had a bread crumb
for everytime she cried
I could lead a path to paradise

If I hand a grand of sand
for everytime she lost control
I would have a hour glass with unlimited time

If I had a chair
for everytime she cared
I would have no place to sit

If I had to walk a mile
for everytime she smiled
I would never go anywhere

If I had a perk
For everytime she hurt
It would never run out of benefits

and so on
and so on
and so on
AndIFell Aug 2015
I will not ever forget
How much I relentlessly could never wait to see
The numbers behind your eyes
How, when I saw 10
I knew instantly you were sad
I saw 10 when I saw
How you kissed that pretty girl
More passionately than when you kissed me
How you saw me
As a shattered piece of China
Regretful of what was
And In pain of what you couldn't fix
I saw 9 when your dog died
And I saw 9 when I left
I saw 8 when we fought
About something you didn't do
About something important
That has now been lost in the void called memories
I saw 7 when you called off our anniversary
'Cause I got hospitalized
And you were worried sick
How you couldn't live another day without me
I saw 6 when you got sick and I called off our date
I saw 5 the first time you confessed
With all the effort
And all the flowers
In stems and in words
And I without remorse
Turned you down
I saw 4 when I confessed
With none of the flowers
Nor intentions because I thought
I was being unfair
I saw 3 on our first date
How your eyes lit up
When you saw me
In that little blue dress
And every single date after
I see 2 everytime you saw me
2, everytime we held hands
2, every single time we were together
Here I am
Wanting to go back to 1
I saw 1 the first time I kissed you
And you kissed me back
1, everytime we kissed
1, The first time I spent the night
1, Everytime I spent the night
1, The first time I told you
Oh My God I think I love you
1, Everytime I told you
My God I still do
1, The first time I told you there wasn't a forever
But I promised you
Infinity exists
And everytime single time I called you
My Infinity

My Infinity,
Infinity does exist for us
My love
It lies in what has happened
And how much we remember
How much we can grab hold of
Inside our void of memories

My infinity,
How much of a fool I am
To realize your eyes
Are only reflections of mine

My Infinity,
You haunt me every nanosend
Of every second of my life

My Infinity,

My Self,
Find the person
Who doesn't have all those sparkly numbers
Deep within their sparkly eyes
Who never speaks of math
Nor numbers
Nor anything related to Infinity
Forget your love  for numbers
And never ending endings

Dear Self,
Saloni Dec 2012
Like the music that echoes, among the songs unheard,
The face that smiles, among the pictures unseen,
The words that appear, in letters unwritten,
And the rainbows emerging in the sky unobserved,
I know for people I do not exist,
But there’s bugging confession that I cannot resist…
“Who said I am not there around anymore?
Everytime you call, everytime you do, I am there always, standing at your door.”

Like the flowers blooming in the plants, ungrown,
The images flashing in the dreams unseen,
Colors glowing in canvas left blank,
And the rooms resting in the houses unbuilt,
Its true I am gone, and I won’t be seen,
I have left some mess, that can’t be cleaned,
And that’s precisely, why I am not worth your tears,
Neither do I deserve your dreams or souvenirs,
And it’s a well known fact that I do not exist,
But there’s bugging confession that I cannot resist…
“Who said I am not there around anymore?
Everytime you call, everytime you do, I am there always, standing at your door.”

Burn me to ashes that’s what you need to do,
And I know, precisely, that you don’t have a clue.
Why should you cry and pray for me to come back?
Your life is complete, there’s nothing that you lack,
But still I am here, yes, I am right here.
I am here always, I will never disappear,
But I won’t be seen, and I won’t be heard,
You have had enough, I won’t say a word,
But in the chirps of the birds, you will find my voice,
In the light of the sun, I will help you make a choice,
In the darkness of the night, I will be the moon,
And in the sadness of melodramas, I will be your cartoon,
In the greatest of your times, I will be your smile,
And I will be in your hope, when life is fragile,
In the beats of your heart, in the memories of our past,
In every second of your present, I was never outcast,
So wipe your tears, I am not gone,
The night is over, and there’s a new dawn,
“So, the who the hell said I am not there anymore!
Everytime you call, everytime you do, I am there always standing at your door.”
Copyright© Saloniprasad2013
july hearne Jun 2017
when Merry Clayton
sings "Southern Man"
i think of all of you
and i think *******

and if i was Neil Young
i would start a band called Hateful Bigot
and Mike Watt would be the bass player
and i would write a song
called "social justice warrior"
(in all lower case)
and dedicate it to all the children that have been ***** by the gay mayor of your tiny house town
and Merry Clayton would sing that song

there is a parade in tiny house town
for everyone who's arrived 50 years too late to the civil rights party
and the  mayor is coming round
to shake your hand

all your tiny houses coming down
all your tiny houses built upon the sand
tiny, tiny houses get smaller and smaller before blowing down

everytime you shake his hand
you have even less to say
about all the children he *****
than the NRA

even less to say than the NRA
everytime the gay mayor rolls down the windows
before he rapes the children in his hot car
everytime he's comes around
to shake your hand
he's got ten dollars in his other hand

tiny, tiny houses blowing down
all your tiny houses built upon the sand
i can't wait til they come down
all your tiny houses coming down
tiny, tiny houses coming down

(nothing to do with the fact
he's a gay democrat
nothing to do with the fact)
ed murray is the gay mayor of seattle. he ***** children and is likely still ****** them. one of them was his foster son. he denies these allegations in the manner of a text book lying child ******. he lied about ever knowing his foster son who he ***** (and who was later then proven to be his foster son). he also had wanted to be a catholic priest but left the seminary (probably got kicked out for child ****).   he was not forced to resign because it is not convenient to ask a gay, democrat mayor to step down, which is why i will always refer to him as the gay mayor who rapes children.  he gets a free pass on ****** children. this poem is dedicated to everyone who turns a blind eye to child **** and excuses it (especially ***** like sally bagshaw), and sadly that includes organizations such as glaad.

ed murray, gay mayor of seattle who rapes children, attended the gay pride parade and shook hands with the parade goers, who were delighted to shake the hand of a child ******. only it's not ****, since he is a gay democrat who gave the children $10 to **** them.

seattle has become unaffordable because of amazon, high levels of taxation (by a city cuntcil who supports a child ****** as mayor and the child ****** mayor himself), a housing shortage (caused by amazon and citizens of china who make money on slave labor and then make inflated all cash offers on the real estate here so the people who actually live here can't afford it).

something tells me this one won't go over well, but that's ok with me, since people who turn a blind eye to child **** are the **** of the earth. my next poem will be about what a **** sally bagshaw is. she loves our gay mayor who has done nothing but lie, flounder around like an idiot, allow amazon and comcast to **** us over, steal money, waste money, increase homelessness and **** children. ed murray also loves sharia law, since it conveniently has no laws against ****** children.

the NRA had better make some sort of public statement of support for philando castile and his family and  should have already done so. that man and his family were not shown any justice and neither were the children that ed murray *****, not to mention the children he is still ******.

we live in ******* times and the ones screaming the loudest are the ones who need to shut the **** up the most.

from ed murray's twitter page:

Ed Murray‏Verified account @MayorEdMurray  May 19

It's finally warming up, which is great - but not for all. Beware of the danger pets and children face in hot cars!
Everytime i read those letters

Everytime i see those pictures

Thats when I realize
  how much I truely miss you

Everytime  I think about you

I cry my tears of pain

There is nobody else but you
  that I could possibly love

I will stay true
  as long as i'm with you
Tim Benjamin Apr 2014
To the girl who will one day take my last name
I want to tell you that you look beautiful,
Beautiful like in the way the summer sun bends around the north pole because it refuses to set its constant and lasting
Just like the way my heart jumped the moment i saw you for the first time and it has refused to come down
Everytime since, when i see you, although i have never been much of a dreamer, i daydream about all the things i want to do to you like...
Make you smile... or blush
So that my daydreams will have the perfect backdrop of love to memorize your every freckle, and then i want to drink the smile i put on your face beause i know it is the only thing that can quench my thirst
I want to tell you that I want to learn ballet, just so i can catch you everytime you jump and make sure that ill never let you fall... unless it's for me...
I want to learn to draw
Because I want to draw my way into your life, van gogh my way into your past present and future, i want to spend my whole life with you, and on your dying day i want to roundhouse kick death for even thinking of taking you away from me
But most of all i want to make you... happy
Happy in a way that is unexplainable
Like why do birds suddenly appear everytime you are near
It would be to easy to say that just like me they long to be close to you
And i want it to be unexpected like when you fall asleep after a long day
Slowely at first and then it engulfs you completely
I want to tell you that I want you to be able to feel the sunlights warm caress even on the darkest of days
And on days when you can't see the stars in the night sky
I will cut stars out of my paper heart
Even though they always seem to rip when held in hands that aren't careful enough
and then I want to hang them from your ceiling
So you will always have something beautiful to look at
And if you would just notice me I promise that I can love you like that...
But instead when I finally noticed that you caught me staring at you about 15 minutes ago... I opened my mouth and instead of all the soliloquies that dance through my head whenever you saunter into a room all that came out was hi.....
I think it was a good start.
bcg poetry Jan 2015
Everytime I say goodnight, I'm saying I love you.

Everytime I say Hi, I'm saying I miss you.

Everytime I don't return a text, I'm saying all I want to do is respond but I don't want to look too desperate.

Everytime I encourage you to go after another girl, I'm saying I want you to tell me you don't need to, because you've already found one.

Everytime I say nothing's wrong, I'm saying that living this lie is killing me, but it's worth it whenever I see you smile.

Everytime I say goodnight, I'm saying I love you.
Jellyfish Nov 2014
I ignore you because I'm sick of your foul words.
Yes, I'm aware of your intentions to hurt.
And everytime you walk by,
I turn away and act as if I were blind.
But I only do this because you hurt me so badly inside.
I don't know why it makes me sick to my stomach everytime I look at you. You're beautiful and cunning and interesting and I hate you because you're so different than me and yet I'm fascinated by everything you can be that I can't, and I'm in awe of everything you can do that I can't. God you have so much talent.

Yet everytime I look at you I get sick to my stomach. You're perfect because you know that you aren't. And you're so wrong sometimes, but I can't even know this because I hardly know you and just writing about you and ranting about you makes me feel so weird because you would feel so weird if you knew that I was writing about you and ranting about you. This must mean I care about you, but I don't know why. I care so much about someone I've never even met.

Everytime I look at you I get sick to my stomach. I guess this means we should meet. "Hi, I'm Peyton." Oh, wait. You don't know this is about you or who I am for that matter.

So I guess all I can do is keep getting sick to my stomach everytime I look at you. And all I can do is be jealous of you for some reason that I still can't figure out, because there's no way that I'd ever want to be you. You're so ******* fascinating. I wish you knew how fascinated I am by you. Wait, no I don't. If you knew then you would know that I know who you are and that I'm writing and ranting about you and I would get embarrassed about how creepy I am.

So I'll just keep looking at you and getting sick to my stomach, because no matter how hard I try not to, I still can see you everywhere.

I don't know why I get sick to my stomach everytime I look at you.

Oh wait. I guess I just told you why.
A letter to my alter-ego, to whom I've never met.
Angel Jan 2021
I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Scrubbing my scalp until it bleeds
Red running down my face

I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Spraying my hairspray and dry shampoo after
Perfume fills the air

I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Picking up the strands falling out
The shower wall filled

I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Hoping when she grabs me in for a hug
I no longer smell like home

I use a whole bottle of shampoo everytime i wash my hair
Looking in the mirror hoping to keep her out
But realizing i'm just like her
This is a poem for my English class so please feel free to critique
Creep Dec 2014
I'm a photographer, and I can't picture you and I together.

If I were a stop light, I'd turn green everytime you passed by, just so I don't have to see you any longer.

I thought happiness started with an HAPPI. Why does mine start with NOT U?

Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you, I run and hide.

Do you have a map? I need to figure out a way to get the hell away from you.

Do you live in a corn field, cause I'm just gonna harvest you and sell you to someone else.

Are you a parking ticket? 'Cause you've got Violation written all over you.

You look cold. Good. Freeze to death.

Can I have directions? [To where?] To get the hell away from you.

I'm not drunk, I'm just intoxicated enough to tolerate talking to you.

I was so disgusted by your face that I ran into that wall over there. But thank god I don't have insurance, so don't bother telling me your name and number.

Is there an airport nearby, cause I'm gotta get on the next flight to Antarctica and get the hell away from you.

You look so familiar… didn't we take a class together? I could've sworn we had physical education, where I was educated how to physically hurt you.

If you are a steak, I'd say you are too meaty.

Can I have a picture of you? So I can show Santa what I don't want for Christmas.

There must be something wrong with my eyes, they've started bleeding at the sight of you.
somebody told me
by the killers
Everytime I think about my life
With you it's always the same
I cannot be a parent
I cannot have a say

Everytime I think about my life
With you it's always the same
There is no us she ruined you
The real you never became

Everytime I think about my life
With you it's always the same
I'm sad you never knew me
So you could get out of the rain

Everytime I think about my life
I realize there's only his and hers
There never was an ours to live
You don't even trust what's his

Ugo Victor Feb 2018
I can't sleep
Everytime I remember your words
They snap and recoil
And hurt me awake
Next time when someone
Promises me forever
I'll just smile
Look them in the eyes and ask
How long is forever to you.
jeffrey conyers Nov 2012
I see her smiling.
More than she ever done with me.
Everytime I see my baby.
I have regets.
But I'm glad you're the on that makes her so happy.

No, I'm not jealous in the least.
I'm just glad she found the happiness tht she needs.
Still, everytime I see my baby.
I have regets.
Cause I cause her so much misery.

She deserves more than even I could have gave.
Cause all I ever did was cause her pain.
So everytime I see my baby.
I have regets.
But I glad you're the one to make her so happy.

And I don't wish her back.
But wish the best for her.
All because.
All because.
All because.
She just so wonderful.
Linni Krieg Apr 2016
Every touch of your fingertips
Every blink your eyes make
Every breath of Air you take
It is all art

Everytime your lips smile
Everytime you shed a tear
Everytime you turn away
I let you deeper in my heart
A Mar 2014
Everytime I think of you.
Everytime I think of you my skin tries to run away, and the goosebumps infect the people next to me. My stomach contents heave-** and tango to the beat of my limping heart. The tears swirl and tickle my eyelashes, but they do not fall, like I, for you.
Everytime I think of you.
Everytime I think of you I forget how to use the 26 letters of the alphabet to spell your name. The tastes of "want" and "need" ****** my tongue because you are those flavours.

Everytime I think of you.
I try to stop.
Because you turned the butterflies in my stomach into moths.

Why did you do that?
This is actually quite a bad piece. But my thoughts were upset.
Sorry if it bores you.
Julian Revà Feb 2018
I recently have noticed
how sick I look on you
everytime you post a pic
or share a moment

I look sick following you
Everytime that you try
to make your life apart
I look sick when I follow you
not through dark alleys
but on twitter, facebook
or instagram

I am not used to write
odd modern poetry
but you deserve a reason
to why I started
unfollowing you

So, everytime you upload
a last-night-party pic
I want you to know I won't be there
looking for every guy you were
hanging around with

Because lately I've noticed
that I look sick not for following you
but for being aware
of what you were doing

I'm sick of being a post
instead of being a memory
I'm sick of social media
and their way of twisting things

Making us more a number or dates
instead of making us "friends"
(who says that you can't be friend with your ex?
maybe ancient rules, maybe an idiot
with post-traumatic-relationship-stress)

I'm sick of "follows", "tweets", "likes"
ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends

I'm unfollowing you for my health
I'm unfollowing the entire world 'cause
constantly they remind me to you
with all their fake friends and ***** guys
and ***** girls; ******* attention that
maybe they don't truely deserve

Yeah, probably I should unfollow the world
                                                     for my health
Cat Fiske Jun 2015
I don't mind if you touch them,
but maybe she did,

I don't care anymore,
to me there just a pair of flesh,

but to her,
they're still innocent,

Mine have lost the specialness in the I want you to touch them,
Now it's met with I don't cares,

For I no longer have what she has,
those first time butterflies like i'm shy when I remove my top,

when it's the first time I show them off to you,
because they're not special anymore,

when a time in my life my brest made me happy,
were I could look in the mirror and feel good about something,

but they became nothing,
so now I look and see nothing but a black canvas of disappointment,

everytime I stare at my reflection,
every time I see my wound,

our wound,
because that's the one that everyone sees,

the rest I made are hidden just for me,
and I wish our wound was like that,

I wish I could totally remember what happened to my breast,
but all I remember was burning right over the year old scar again,

because the pain of remember hurt more then my second burn,
but the first time you were the one to burn me,

and I had hid it so well,
but there came a time where I didn't care,

and I showed it off,
battle scar? call it what you want,

if you wanna grab my **** go for it,
they have gone through worse assault,

if you wanna see them,
it's not going to mean **** to me,

and I am really sorry that thats hows it's been for me,
but it's not my fault my ***** innocence was stolen from me,

because of a *****,
with what used to look like the end of one of his cigarettes,
a **** poem, go figure......
Kim Denise Oct 2014
When the waves carried my tears to ocean,
I hope you remember my name everytime it rains.

After the mountains echoed my sobs,
I hope you remember my name everytime my song plays.

Before the stars start forming constellations,
I hope you remember my name everytime you look up.

And when the full moon shows her face,
I hope you remember my name everytime you whisper to it.

Because I have my hands covered of dirt
and I feel my feet slowly sinking,
I just hope you remember my name everytime you see
Plumeria albas on the way home.

*I just hope you remember me
Aridea P Jan 2014
Palembang, Senin 4 Oktober 2010

Oh, Shane...
How beautiful voice you have!
I always want to hear it one more time
I admire you from the start

When you sing a love song
I feel you touch my heart inside
When you say word by word
You makes me adore you too much

I want to take a rest
I can't close my eyes
Cause I always thinking of you

What a lovely smile you have!
You're beautiful everytime I see
You are great the way you are
Don't know, will I forget you?
I hope not.
Cause I can't live without your voice.

(edited Thursday, January 2nd 2014)
Lee Ariel Mar 2015
WHENEVER I stare at her glowing eyes I can see the projections of her memories and sorrows
WHENEVER I listen to her talk I can't stop hearing her own tears drowning her
WHENEVER I smell her I can't stop thinking about the struggles she's suffering from pain detachment
WHENEVER I touch her skin I can feel her weak, fragile bones from the coldness
WHENEVER I kiss her I can taste the bitterness of her hatred to those who ruined her life


EVERYTIME I gaze her two perfect worlds, I see the exact same utter beauty that became ubiquitous since the first time I saw her
EVERYTIME I heed her voice, I highly doubt about the universe being larger than my ears
EVERYTIME I smell her perfume, my brain becomes more active than when dreaming
EVERYTIME I slide my fingers to her body I can feel her pleasure of being taken cared of
EVERYTIME I taste her lips, the softness of it unables me to feel the surface of it

And both hers make me want to love her infinitely
Keith J Collard Dec 2012
I still have flashbacks, horrifying and spectral: of conference meetings, projectors and efficiency meetings...corporate metrics, acronymic value cards that read like a Masonic Temple's pledge.. ...honesty, commitment, sacrifice, the dutiful worship of mercury and saltpeter; also customer satisfaction.
           Those flashbacks frequent my mind alot--especially when I am ramming my co-workers into the trash compactor with the blades of the fork truck. They say " ooooh" and " ahhhhh" as if they are getting a massage. They dull my blades with their dull heads.
          I have to ram them with the blades of the fork-trucks, or they will scramble out. They still say things like, " make sure that has a tag,".....and " wear your safety goggles," making chills run down my spine. I haven't put all the workers from the " Do-Wee depot" in the compactor only corporate cadavers and not zombies.
          But I have to forewarn, the zombies are not a threat, it is a few cadavers and the "consumers" that pose a threat to me and what I have built. The zombies are producers, even only if it is moans and putrefaction, but they are good sports, and my only friends.
         Some co-workers, who I was friends with before, I have spared from the compactor--owing mostly to that the part of their brain that was corporate, either fell out on the floor, or was gnawed on by a fellow zombie rendering them good sports and not cadavers.
        I use the building material section to chain them to their previous aisles. Jose, was my best friend, he was shaped like a slug, with a huge lower lip, and slicked back greasy hair, he always cheered me up, how busy it was and how slow he remained. Him and I worked together in the ' outside-lawn-and-garden' section. Even his zombie self has kept his lisp.
          I chain him to the outside lawn and garden section, where he likes to water the flowers. He lunges at me sometimes, but the chain is thick, and Jose is still a cool zombie.
Angry Joe is out there too. He is chained to the 'reach' truck. He is always mumbling about overtime.....or " Im not staying late."
         I have disabled the riding engine, so he just stands on it and runs the fork blades all the way up then all the way down, beeping the horn the whole while. He is the only one I kept, that has some vestige of corporacy in his brain, for the reason that he watches the back gate. The consumers are constantly probing this outside metal fence gate, and Joe has eaten all of them. Don't get me wrong, Joe can be a good sport, when he is not drooling about 'overtime' or ' I havn't took a lunch yet.' He can be quite funny.
          He banters with Ryan from inside 'lawn-and-garden' all the time. Ryan is alot younger, alittle younger than me. He has a mullet(what I call a mullet and he say's a hockey cut) and verily is--before he become a zombie-- the laziest person ever, and now that he is a zombie, well let's just say, I don't have to chain him anywhere, I know where to find the back gate smoking a ciqerette backwards with his mullet on fire or in the break room. He had the most squeeky voice when he was a human, but now odd fully enough, he sounds like Tom Jones.
         " You ate my cosumer Ryan," drools Angry Joe, " No I didn't Joe, you ate your own consumer," Ryan rejoins in his acapella voice ( I like hearing Ryan's deep zombie voice).
There are others, in the various departments of the Do-Wee Store, but this journal is to relate the first most pressing concern, two cadavers have escaped the compactor.
             The store manager Joyce and her minion(the assistant manager Damien) have escaped. They were ******* humans, and remained so in corporate cadaver form. They hide from me, as I plow through the aisles with the inside forklift. I have used wire from the fencing aisle to reinforce my forklifts. Sometimes a cadaver co-worker will jump out with a price gun, drooling " where is your spootterrrr...."( a safety regulation in the store).....I run them over with great gladness, but then wishing I heeded their advice of safety glasses."Splat."
            I have my theories, on how everyone turned to zombies. It started with over-ocurring routine, which my a.d.d could have been impervious to. But I couldn't have been the only one in the store with a.d.d? But that seems the case. The first day when I showed up to ' outside-lawn-and-garden' it took me six hours before I noticed everyone was zombies. I didn't notice they were zombies until I noticed them in good spirits.
               But the first day of the zombies, was concurrent with the rise of the consumers--ever more dangerous, greedy, and audacious are the consumers. They consume everything in their path, they consume good conversation, good manners, and replace with their mark, which is this....your life with the current moment is to be sacrificed to get them what they need to continue resuming their lives. They do not enjoy shopping, but enjoy holding you in place, consuming you and your values into their value, which has no value at all, since their mind has consigned the present moment that has you and not them, to a number that always has too much value, and they will bring you and it down while you are subject to time and they are not.  
             They turned my friends into prisoners of arbitrary time; and like putting a rabbit in a dank dark basement, with plenty of food and treats and space, it will slowly get diarrhea and die.  Everyday I marked the sunrise, and I would always pay thanks to it, no matter if I was on break or not.  The nine hour day could not ruin me, but my friends being ruined, that started to ruin me.
                       And that is what I believed started all this, nature has no room for two kingdoms of Consumers. So the producers(zombies) were created from the routine of being divested of life, and from nothing they came to produce: producing gases, vile ****** smiles, human  cannibalism, hearty conversation, practical jokes, moaning questions to the infinite sky.... they were created human again, given value, and most of all, I have my friends back, and they are happy again. But, the corporate cadavers that escaped the compactor , put my creation in risk, they look to let in the consumers again, they are up to something...
             But presently with the corporate cadavers gone, and the consumers held at bay, I have my Depot of Eden, I can grow anything, make anything, and soon will be able to ferment everything, especially fuel.   Now monday morning conferences that threaten you to pick it up because there are alot of people out there that want your job( iterated by the frizzy headed gangly Joyce) are replaced with 'zombie dance parties'.  
            " Zombies, what is the first rule of zombie dance party," they reply to me, " dohmp talk bout damp party," then we make a music video.  I let loose a couple of cat's in the break room, and presto, an agile cat make's flesh eating zombies look like Micheal Jackson.  Even I get busy with them, I feel so comfortable with them; dancing to Juvenile "back that *** up,".the best dancer gets to eat the cat...sure beat's listening Joyce's depressing morning pep talks about quotas while I am watching a bird outside the front glass trying to eat a dragonfly, " Keith you paying attention."  I just want to say, " No I am not you frizzy headed gangly walking skeleton key(she is skinnier than the gang of keys jingling on her belt)."    I will find her and put a roofing nail in her temple and her plans.
                The sound of zombies walking in here is music to my ears, like gypsys walking barefoot on a strawberry patch.  I don't know what that has to do with anything, but I like it, and don't care who knows.

            I fortified the outside of the store with everything within the store. I grew a garden, with all the fertilizers, and acids and alkilines of outside garden. I also use the garden chemicals to sprinkle on the brains of my co-worker zombies to change their acidity(almost like a hyrdrangea shrub). The purpose to get them somewhat coherent to play poker and darts in the breakroom. I figured out how to make explosives, with the nitrogen fertilizer and pool cleaning acid, well actually HeyZues did, he always eats both, and one day he moaned really loud  " BLOOOONDEEE " ( his nickname for me from The Good The Bad And The Ugly) and  gestured his expanding stomach, he blew up and gave me my first wound, he destroyed my dart board.   I took his head and posted it on the back loading dock, I know there are consumers trying to infiltrate when he sounds off with " BLOOONDEEEE..."  resounding through the whole store (almost like when he was a human).   I created another dartboard, I can create anything here, sometimes I think, that feeling is what........
                But the point of this journal is the two who escaped the trash compactor, Joyce and Damien. They haunted me before and haunt me still. When I leave to venture outside for gasoline for the generators(the only thing I need, not for long hopefully) they run amok. I will see new ' sale signs' in zombie penmanship, and I can see that they have hidden co-workers to have cadaver meetings, where they talk about ' customer satisfaction.'  I can sometimes hear keys jangle, it has to be Joyce, for the sound is to the cadence of her John Wayne walk, like she has been on horseback her whole life.
            Outside is very dangerous. There are many consumers out there.
                 I was outisde in the parking lot, where consumers still wallow around when a consumer asked "which product is better." I had to drop a cinder block pallet on him with the forklift; they are more adacious then my zombie co-workers. Even after a pallet of concrete is forklifted on them, they wave fliers with sale advertisments from underneath.
            Well, this particular trip, I returned inside and was startled by the loudspeaker, it was Damien's voice, the same as before, paging the hardware department. I jumped on the fast slim forklift to hunt for him. There are phone terminals everywhere, and he could be in the upper level offices. I saw Joyce's shape through the window once.
          They are up to something.
Everytime I ventured outside, the store became altered. I even saw a consumer waiting in line with the cashier machine now on. I sent the consumer to Angry Joe, who was due for a lunch break.
          There is a gap in my wire somewhere, I know it.
            I was at the gas station, getting propane and gas, when a consumer was scowling " where is the gas attendant, is everyone stupid or what?" while he was trying to figure out how to pump gas. I disabled the safety pumps, they do not shut off, and do not coincide with numbers, you hold the handle it pumps out as much as you need.
              He was pacing around like a little kid denied recess and suffering from sounds of frolic and kickball--dragging his feet due to the fact he had to pump his own gas, I heard a scraping metallic clicking noise. My eyes were caught by a bright glare on his shoe tread, I gripped my nail gun..... then he dropped the hose and walked back to his car with gasoline gushing as his wake. I saw what it was on his tread, I had no time to was a push button grill ignitor with the orange tint of a " Do-Wee" label on it......" ****."
              The last thing I registered was the consumer saying " ahhh don't touch me," apparently talking to flames. I woke up in a ditch, the big fork truck and my gas station destroyed.
I limped back to the " Do-Wee" store, and utter horror greeted my singed and surprised eyebrows.
              " Grand Re-Opening, 50% off everything." I squeezed the trigger of the nail gun, the nail harmlessly echoed off the parking pavement at which it was aimed. "They set me up at the gas station. "
               They had to do better than that to separate me from my zombies.

             I entered through the store in a nun-plussed state. I woke out of my unbelieving stupor with the sound of Jose's voice. " Welcome to Doooooo-Weeee....can I eat your...."
            "Jose it's me, who chained you to the entrance?"
         " Dammian, Keeeeeth, they are's a newsletter...." --he smacked me across the face with the newsletter.
        " I don't want that ****.....' as I clutched the newspaper the loudspeaker went off in Dammians annoyingly over-polite and late-night-voice.
       " Attention shoooppers. all prices are feeeefty percent off, ask our associate Keeeeeth for a 80% discount, he is the skinny deleeecious looking kid with spicy skin, and a boston red sox hat on."
Hundreds of consumers pivoted their heads to my direction. " Hey, that kid has a Boston Yankees hat on."
         " Run Keeeth," zombie-lisped Jose.
           Fifty million imbecilic questions assailed me at once......" can I return this sprinkler for a jacuzzi.....can I get 120% off.....can you come to my house and fix my television for free"-- it was unabashed audacity, survial of the most annoying and repetitious; and the corporate cadavers have let this consuming flood in on me and my poor zombies.
           I needed to find my steed, my inside forklift. It was not where I left it near the entrance.            
        Surely they have sabotaged it. " the riding mowers," the thought uplifted my fading resolve. I darted past wallowing consumers before they could get my scent. I heard a consumer, " you obviously don't know what Im talking about," talking to zombie George, who was munching roofing nails.
         The consumer grabbed me, and said "here he is, this is Keith, he is wearing a Phoenix red sox cap"--panic bit into my brain, this consumers grip was implaccable. The grip that holds the steering wheel tightly driving nowhere fast, with anything in that interstice of commuting, not worthy of manners and the least of which being a friendly wave to 'go ahead.'
           They formed a wall of uttering stupidity, escape was cut off. They scratched at me, hissed, tore at my flesh and screamed demonistically in my ears. I caved and and called the hoard m'am and sir, they choked me, and loosened their grip only so I could tell them " Im sorry, sorry for your inconvenience, take my life and personality as tribute, take my imagination rendered prostrate by these sceptic corporate words that this mouth emits, betraying my personal form, the human element to this lifeless purposeless machine....destroy me, for finding the infinity between letters of corporate law and none between nature's laws......"
        I was almost unconscious, giving a speech to imagined hooded phantoms......" destroy me, for valuing friendship and imagination, and seeing infinity, in the shadow of a letter, eternity in the numeral of a number, and for defying the order to see things as others do....."...." destroy me, for seeing that people are unhappy and trying to uplift people for the sake of seeing them smile....destroy me, destroy my smirk, and add a lifeless smile to my corpse."
              I heard a horn, the riding floor mopper/buffer, it was Ryan, he commandeered the machine with precision-like drunkenness. He knocked down the consumers like twenty pin bowling. " What's up ***** cat," he possibly said, and I climbed to my feet.
         I walked to the riding mowers, and turned the key on the floor model. I sped the main aisle, with caresses of consumers that would be deep clawings at a slower speed. I dodged stupid question, and swerved from unabashed frugality. I turned up the tool aisle, grabbed a battery nail gun.
              " It says batteries are included, but are they included?" I answered with a 12 gauge nail, and resumed my course to the upper offices, that for too long looked down on me and my friends. I climbed the stairs and entered. The office was abuzz in corporate banalities. " Hello, this is Damian how may I help you.....oh helloooooo keeeeeth, one minute.......sir hold one second thaaaanx."
                I aimed the nail gun muzzle at his ugly overly polite mug." I finally found you, I will get the store back in shape Damian...."
          He cut me off, " no yoou woonn't, they are pouring in, we will meet our quota for the year...."
        " Me and my friends
Sreeyaa May 2023
everytime our fingers brush,
i can see sparks flying,
two bright stars colliding,
feels like i'm on a sugar rush

every time our eyes meet,
i can see your eyes glowing,
so like the sun, uff, burning,
oh, i know it's a treat, so sweet

everytime you smile at me,
i can see meteors showering,
soft stardust falling,
eyes light up with so much glee

everytime our lips touch,
i can see the sky exploding,
so many fireworks shooting,
god, it all feels a little too much

everytime our bodies fit, so right,
i can see the nebula glittering,
little asteroids shattering,
gleaming pieces, our souls lit so bright

everytime our fingers brush,
i can see sparks flying,
two bright stars colliding,
feels like i'm on a sugar rush
I'm so in love
Erenn Sep 2014
I really wonder everytime
How they feel
When they crush every norm’s entities
Is this part of a ritual you religiously do?
Do you smirk or grin everytime you did?
Do you feel better perceiving lives too see them ache?
You do don’t you?

Because you've been there
You felt that pain, that agony that preludes
That melancholy past precedes you everytime
"Why always me?"
Why do you end up in bruises and blood-
Dripping from beginning to the end?
There’s no end to this
Unless you make it stop

But why relay the pain on others?
You created that villain in your head
You've become what you hate
Do you like that?
Making others suffer for what ‘they' did

You were once good
You still are
Well your pretense won an Oscar for the 'Ignorant'(s)
They know what you did
You broke their wings and the mettle they believed in
They don’t want to lose a 'Friend' like you
Their courage demised never to prevail again
You became this (****)tator
Which everyone obliged cowardly

But be reminded
Like every TV Show
The Hero always wins
Karma will be chasing you
Waiting for the right moment to expose you
You will get the retribution you deserved

You will cry
Remorse will elevate in your senses
And Every Name, Every Face, Every Sound
*Will be remembered to those you maimed.
Which is worse?
Getting bullied or being the bully?
Always remember we're all humans.
Bullying will never stop if we don't voice out or put in effort to.
This is for the voices that were never heard and their voices gone forever.
This is for the ones who are willing to help knowing how it feels.
This is for our children who would eventually become one in the future.
This is for the ones fighting till this very day.
This is for 'you'.
rebecca suzanne Jan 2015
We never took pictures together
because you don't like how big your eyes are
I would drown in them for you
but you would be too busy
watching the sunrise to notice.
You have glasses because you're blind
But they aren't the right prescription
because you still don't see your beauty.

I remember the night you had me drive
two hours away from the city lights
just so you could point out
all the constellations you memorized
when you were younger.
I let you go on and on about stars,
waiting for you to mention the way
you outshine all of them
But you kissed me instead
and I think that was even better.

Even when Summer faded out,
you would always smell like sunshine.
I wanted to live forever in the daydream
of you and me walking along the shoreline.
Your laughter was synonymous
with sunflowers
and how everytime you caught sight of them
you couldn't stop yourself from smiling.

But that should have been my warning sign
because Russia's official flower is the Sunflower
and ever since you left
I've traded water for *****
and this winter has been unusually rainy
but it's still too bright for me to go outside.
Integrity: adherene to moral principles, honesty..and the quality or condition of being whole..undivided.

Cheating:  to deprive someone of something valuable by use of deceit.

         Most, if not all of us, need, and very much desire physical intimacy (yes, sx).  Can I say sx  on here? ...I'm not sure. Sx is like the greatest thing ever invented. It's right up there with eating and sleeping.  Everybody likes it..everybody wants it. But when someone is in an exclusive relationship with another, married or not, you don't get to have sx with whoever you want anymore. True, everyone makes mistakes sometimes, no one is perfect, and at times we are weak, for one reason or another. But an honorable man or woman...a person with integrity and inner discipline...recovers..and learns from the mistake...and doesn't repeat it.  That is not what cheaters do.  Cheaters are habitual. That means repeat offenders.  Cheaters talk about things like honor and will power and integrity, but they don't practice it in the place it counts the most, with their beloved.  With cheaters, it isn't about a "mistake".... a one time thing they feel horrible about afterward and promise themselves never to repeat.  Cheaters simply don't care. It's not that they don't care about the girlfriend/boyfriend, or fiance or spouse that they have made a promise of committment to. They do care...they just care more about themselves. It is the promise of faithfulness itself that is meaningless to is simply empty of any real sincerity.  But the problem is that the promise is accepted by the loved one as sincere.  That promise is relied upon and as important as though it were tangible.  So irrespective of how much the cheater spits upon the promise everytime he or she cheats...that promise is HOLY.  Yes, that's right..HOLY.  What does that mean...holy?  Like church holy..or holy water holy?  How is a promise holy?  Well, really one could argue that any promise is holy, but how much more so when a person believes and loves and trusts another...putting all of their faith and future hope on a promise of real love and commitment.  That trust and love make the promise holy.  It is not the hollow promise itself, but that loving reliance upon the promise that creates the holiness...the pure beauty of love... and the faith that it is returned exclusively to the beloved.

          The true sadness is that the beloved will eventually find out about the cheater and then the house of cards will come tumbling down.  Not only is the relationship destroyed, but the trust, faith, and love is destroyed as well, and it may be difficult to ever trust again, in any relationship.  Such immense pain can be caused.  It is amazing that cheaters don't seem to care or think about the consequences of these indiscretions.  Do any of them think ahead of time about the people and/or god forbid, children that will be left lying in the wake of their utterly selfish acts?  The people that will be left trying to pick of the pieces of their hearts, and try to rationalize whether anything that they had believed in was actually real.

          The question is, what and who does the cheater value?? What does the cheater respect?  Do they even value their own selves?  Does a person who thinks nothing of cheating on a regular basis, or every chance they get on their loved one value and respect anything?  Clearly there is no respect for the promise made. There is no respect for the one whom the cheater purports to love.  There is no respect for the man or woman the cheater is doing the cheating with...because clearly that person is just being used to fulfill a carnal desire..and arguably the cheater doesn't even respect him or herself, because a person with an inner moral compass respects him or herself enough not to do things that will cause pain to others, especially those who love him or her.

          So maybe the cheater does not have any real understanding of what is holy..the meaning of a understanding of integrity...of sacrifice...of the pure beauty of love.  If a man or a woman is in a relationship and can't keep their **** legs closed...then that person has no business being in a relationship.  Its just that simple.  You can't have your cake and eat it too, and then want to eat someone else's cake as well.  If you are so selfish and deceitful that you can't be honest and faithful to the one you profess to love...then do that person a favor and either agree with them to have an open relationship, or let them go.  Because the act of cheating is entirely selfish in every way.  Cheaters want the security and benefits of an ongoing relationship with their significant other, and they want to mess around on the side as well because then they have the best of both worlds.

          But you don't have to go to church or believe in any particular religion to know that cheating is wrong.  It is a hurtful despicable act made even more vicious because it is intentional and hurts the person who loves the perpetrator.  How many crimes are like that?  ....the most heinous.

          So, if you are a cheater..don't ever talk about honor and integrity and code of conduct.  You have no right to utter those words.  Because when you live by  principles of ethical behavior, you don't pick and choose when to apply those principles.  You don't decide that they apply in some areas of your life, on some days, but not on others.  Think before you act..think about who will suffer from your actions...think about the destruction you will not believe that you can get away with it forever, because eventually the law of the universe will catch up to you.  There is retribution for every act in which we inflict pain on another...for every time we make a promise and then break it..whether anyone ever knows about it or not...just some food for thought
Noone Jan 2019
I write everytime you cross my mind
I write everytime I miss you
I write everytime I cant talk to you
I write everytime I want to forget you
I write everytime I want to let go of you
I wonder if I ll ever stop writing
Kaleb Vernon Sep 2015
i still remember the amount of butterflies that pounded my chest the first time i saw you
i counted each one to make sure none of them were lying
you looked at me like i had just changed the equilibrium of your universe
and talked to me so gently i had to read into every word
each word was like a novel, more interesting then the last
you told stories about passion, love, and loyalty
but managed to giggle your way through each stanza
while i just stood there, waiting for the time i could throw in my two cents
but your words were more like dollars, even larger bills
you were so rich with so much excitement, i couldn't help but think
i wonder if this person could ever love someone like me

i played the lottery for 1 week straight, hoping that my ticket would get me a plane seat with the destination being your heart
see i could have flown to fuji, hawaii or any of those places, but you were much more beautiful then any white sand beneath my feet
luckily when i sat down that night to watch the news and they called out my number
i jumped out of my seat and tried to pack as small as possible
because i knew that this was gunna be an adventure
but i had to have more room for you then for me

ever since then, i cherished everytime i get to look in your eyes.
everytime you wrapped your fingers around mine,
i feel like a baby covered in fresh sheets
tucked in so tightly that there was no possible way I couldn't have a good sleep
oh i love how you sleep, your lips so plump i can tell you kiss the dreams that make you feel happy
how you curl up against me, thinking i was pillow
but I just sit there, watching you, loving you and missing you even though your still here.
have you ever paid attention to the sky?
i sure have
every car ride
every walk outside
everytime im sad
i look to the clouds above.

the clouds have feelings
they, just like us, get sad
and frustrated at times
but they are kind to us down below
they reward us with their beauty

they are similar to us with one more thing
they too, like most of us, have a best friend
i bet they share secrets
and stories
right as they're going to bed behind the city skyline
together they make the perfect team to bring smiles all around

when the colors of the sun
and the grace of the clouds
bleed together
it puts our hearts at ease
next time,
just look up.
Vampire girl Jan 2019
Everytime she held a knife , it's more real than anything else
Everytime she wrote unsent secret letters,it's more real than anything
Everytime she got high over her thoughts,it's more real than anything
Everytime her eyes turn red without drugs,it's more real than anything
Everytime she puts up her smile and laugh a lot over smallest of things just because she don't wanna show up her fears and demons that are haunting, scaring, threatening her to death,it's the real struggle
Depression can be deadly
Except for the person who's facing it no one else can really know what they're going through
Don't call it depression
Don't call it anxiety
Call it a WAR
where the only option is to rule over it
My smoke alarm keeps going off
Everytime it does
I feel an ounce of excitement
an excitement of my death

Ī̴̢̞̤̺̤̯̙͍́͌͆͂̆͂͒͊̅̐̈̆̏͛̔̊̀͒̈́́̿̒̃͒̾͒͐͑̀̌͒͂̐͆͂̄͑͗̉͌̈́̌̾̿̉͝͠­̧̡̧̢̭̙̝̤͔͔͕͔͓̲̥͙̮͍̮̠͓̙̼͕͖͈̹͈͜ͅ ̶̧̨̳̻̖̥̲̣̼̬͓͔̭̹͎͎̱̤̘͉̭̍͌̽̄́͛͂͑̀̿̀̀̂̈̈̑̌̓͐̏̽̎̀̐̀͗̒̈́͛́̍͋̕̚̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝ͅ­̧̻͙̳̝̻͖̯̜w̶̧̨̢̲̻͍̱̯̣̻̺̲͕̲̄̓͒̈̈̃́̇̅̑̔̿̅͆́̈́͋̇̄͊̀͌̑̓̎͆̌̀͑̽͌͂̈͌̈̈́͜͝͝͠­̡̢̧̜̠̯̭͔͓̭͚̺̳̳̗̜̳̤̱̼͖̖͉͓̘̯̱̣i̵̛̔̒̏̌͗͋̆̅̈́̑̇̆͋̎͊͋͂̈́͋̇̈͋̿̄̂̑̇͌̀̕͘͘͠͝­̧̦̪̖̤͚̳̼̣̳̯̼̥͇͙̬̭̹̳̻̖͎̖̬̻̪̯̱͕̫̟͙̣̦̦̟̹̜̣̗̉̒͘ś̸͊͑̒̎̾̈́́̂̌́̃̆̃͑̏̄̀̕͘­̣̫̟̣̮̲͕͈͇͙̤̳̟̜̰͓͓̙̜̗̜̦̘͉͊́̀̓͒̎͋͌́͛͊͂̐̾̌̿̈́̄̔̆̓̀̈́̆̎͛̄̐̈́̑̿͊̕̚̚͜͝͠͝ͅ­̢̯ḧ̶̢̧̨̪̞̣͓̫̪̺̪͈̠̭̜̲́̅̇̓̄̀̽̅̀̏͆̔̽̇̐̀͛́̏̽̎͂̽̐̽̇̀̈́͗́̊̉̎͆̒̀̽͗͘͘̕̕͜͝͝­̨̨̣̤̮͖͎̭̬̘̼͎̦͖͖̹̱̣̦͉̻͍͓̞̼͙̲̝͜ͅ ̸̯̝̭̭͓̲̣̍͒̈́̈́̉̓͌͊͋͒̒͆̋̅͋̓̍̏̀̑͒͐̋̈́́͑̽͐͆̆̃̐̃̒̓̾̂̓̑̈́̓͐̅̄̀̔́̀̐͂̀̃̚͘̚͜͝­͍̞͉̱̼̙̰̪̲Ì̵̢̛͇̯̰̲͕̙̫͕̰̰̗͍̬̦̘̟̫̳͎̺̲̭͍͖̥͇̟̀̓̎̂̽́̌̍́̋̆̈́͑̅̒̀͐̊̄̏͘̚͝­̡̧̧̢̝͉͖̥̜̞̫͓̬̲̞͉̩ ̴̨̨̛̻̼̝̳̲͇̯̩͙͚̣̋̈́̄̀̆̅̂̄̐̒͌̂̅̔̓̇͗͋̉̎̏̔͑͐͊͛̈̈́̅͐̊̆̃͌͆̐͑̅̇̿͘̚̚͘͜͠͝͝͝͝­̨̱̮̰̠̫̺̠͕̗̠̝͉͔͔͜d̷̛̛̆̓̐̆̈́͆͊̆͋̈́̈́̔̔̑̿̍̈́̓̑̒̑̍̈́̄̈̌̎͋̌͊͂̊͆͊̈̆̓̕̚͘͝͝͠͝͠­̢̢̢̧̢̧̙̻̦̪̥̬̠͈̝͇̥͍̞͙͍̦̗̩̭͇̫̩̬̝̲̖̫̞͍͖̝̲̳̹̜̦̰̭̱̭̰̩͒̍͂̀̉̄͌͌́̒̅̄̂͗̐͠ͅ­̬̜̣͎̝i̸̧̘͕̗͉̟͉̹͈͉̩̘͉͖̲̜̘̻̤̥͍͗̀̐̋͑̃͑͜ͅͅe̸̔̋̾̑̍͗̑̆̓͑̉̏̀̆́̆͂̇̅̌̓̚̕̚͠­̧̨̩̮̩̺̭͖̬̣̤͈̜͇͍͈͎̺̣͎̥͔͇̮͈̼̗̞̤̣̮̜̣̜̝̳̪̣͔̤̩̟͈̥̥̈́͗̉̄̂͘ͅͅ ̶̧̧̢̛̛̼̳͈̮̭͇̯̻̱͕̲͕̩̠̹̦͉̺̘͇͙̪̯̬̫̥̉̓̾̓͗̇̑̇͋̐̈̆̿̓̾͌̉̄́̉͊̅̈̿́̋͘̕͘̕͝͠͠­̡̧̡͇̺͉̫̝̝̰̣̞̪̦͎̹̳̠̙
̶̾͑̃͌͐̏̌̃͌̓̚͘̚͝ͅĪ̸̡̞͖͙͉͓̫̯̺̬̱̺̏̓̾̊͆̒̂͋́͑͝͝͝ͅ­̡̩͍͔̠̮̲̤͜ ̷̛̛͖̟͇̦̬͇̩͗̀͒̀͗͆̒͐̄̏̇̍͌̔̄͌̒̇̔̆͒̑̓̽̋̊̀̔̈͘̕͘͝͝ͅw̸̒̋̐͗̏̽̉̆͌̉͊̓͒̌͋̚̕͝­̧̛̲̮̳̱̒̈́̂͋́́̇͒͂̃̒̐̓̀̏͗́͝ͅí̵̡̧̛̻̹͔̱͔͔͙̳̭̗̠͒̄́̈́͌̓̍̅̓̀̉̐̋́̂͗̏̅̎̀̕͜͠­̞ş̷̡̨̡̢͍̱̱͖̣͖̰̬͙̹͇̗̲̠̞͈̗̈́̿̈̈́̑̑̕͜͜h̵͂̌̒͐̅͑̑̍͐̀̓͛̽́̑͗̏̍̑̑̋̉́̇̚̚͘͝͝­̨̛̦̬͓̥͖̟̬̣̜̯͔̩̪̺͖͓̋̃̌̔̃̌͆̚͜ ̶̢̨̢͈̹̦͓͓͍͚̫͓̹͓͙̺̞̬̰̼̳͙̗̤͓͎̗̗̫̙̊̓̿̍̍̄̐̓̅́͛̒͗̋̃̅͑͛̉͑͂̅̌̕̚̕̚̚̕͝͝͠͝ͅ­̝Į̶̨̧͔̹͙͍̪̥͚̟̝̖̦͎̪̗̝̲̖̥̉̇̾̊̾͑͗͑͋̕̕ ̷̧̛̛̖͔̙͔̥̯̯͇̖͉͈̳̫̮̈́͗̈́̓̀͂̓̂̾͑́̈̾̒͒̍͗̒̓̊̌̂͒̾̽̐̆͌̽́͒̂̇̋̃̾͛͛͑͂̍͋͜͝͝͠ͅ­̨̡̧̝̺̥͖̱̰͍̺̭̮͎͖̤̥͈͓̪̬̮̱̣͓̱̗̜͔̫͙͈ͅg̷̳̙̲͖̻̭͓͇̩͎̝̼̘̪̜͙̬̼͔͓̮͖̭̞̤̟͈͖͜͠­̩͉ͅe̷̡̢̡̢͖̬̩̘͚̟̤̜͍̗̳̗̮̗͚͚̩̰̙̱͓͖̻̔͐̊̈́̀̅̅̒́̃̀̊̑̐̚͝͝ţ̸̠͉̖̞̦̣̼̤͗͑̄̋͝­̢̡̬̦̺͇̺̮͚̩͔̬̲͇̬͙̬̤̬̟͍̩̬̹̹͉̬̰͔̮̗̲̝̙̫̟̻̼̣̺̺̦̖̦̳̩͍͜͜ͅͅ ̵̛̞̓̿̿̌͆̍̎̎͂͒̈́͑̀̑̇̄͂͋͋̏̅̈́̂̿̒̃̄̓̌̈͛̾͆̅͆̈́̈͊͗̇̍̈́̃̾̈́̔͒̋͆́̂́̄̇͘͘̕̚̚͠͝͝­̨̡̧̦͈̼̮͔͔̜̱̗̞̤̣̭̗̟͔̼̱͚̦͎̖̳͎̤̞̰̘̣͇̻͓̗̗̯̤̟̖͉̣̬̤̝̪͔̖d̷̂̅͑̈́̿́̔̾̅̾͊̈́̍͠­̢̡̢̢͇͇̮̲̥͓͎͔̙̖͕̦̼̯̜͕̜̘̙̙̼͍̪̖̜͎̞̮̣̮͖͎͒͑̈́̿̈́̈́̒͛̀̂̈́͌̓͝e̸͛͋̈́̏͛̎̌̄̑̏͘̕͝­̨̡̢̢̢̡̪̰͇̪͎̫͈̰͇͎͇̳̮̞̩̙̘̤̞̞̺̟̭͍̭͚̱̺̗̺̹̱̞͌̋́̐̑̐̈͆̽̎̈̎̾̓̓̈́̌̀͐́͂͌̓̐́̕­̧̧̨̱̗̙̩̹̫̳̻͚̫̤̣͔̹̳̬̖̮̝͇a̸̛̾̌͆̀̓̽̇̈́͆̈̍́͌͂̋̂͛̎̂̏͛͋̍̾͋̉́̐̍̓͐͂̋͘͠͝͠͝͠­̛̠͎̥̲͕͚̜̻̖̹̹̰̹͓́͑̐̐͑̿͘t̵͊̉̆̑̊̈́̍́̔̓͋̿̆͌̃̊̈́̈́̂̅̋͛̒̈́̂͆̋́̇̋͗̌͛͘̕̚̚̕͝͝͠­̢̧̡̧̧̨̱̘̤̦̲̥̖̟̰̥̲̭̩̫̯͇͕̘͎͇͔͙̥͚̥̘̦̲̱̯̹̥͔̭̖̯̗͉͆͊́̃́̀̔̓̏̽̄̈́̈́̍̓̓̚̚͜ͅͅ­͉̘͕̲̖͖ḩ̶̢̟͉̼͕̯̙͔̩̻͉͚̥͉͖͕̭͌̂̃̽͛͋͒̀̃̄̓̿͊́̉͛͌̑̉̿̉̆̒̐̊̂̂̎͘͘̕̚͘͝͠ ̴̧̧̛̦̠̩̙̣͙͎̩̯̭̫͍̣̩̣̩̯͓̳͑̒͐́́̏̅̍͆̆̈́̅̕͜͠ͅa̷̛̔̀͌͗̂̓͆͂̊̀̾̑̋̄͋̀́͂͂͑̈̚͝­̜̝̜̘̥̟̯̝̻͈̱̟̬̙͇̙̗̭͕́̐̐̍̈́ț̷̡̮͙̘̮̘͊̂́́͊̿͗̊̒̾̆̾̔͊̔̓͝ ̷̧̧̛͇͕̱̲̱̦̩͎͖͓̞̘̘̇̈̅̎̐̽͛͒̒̀̌͛̐̇̾͌̓̑̑̅͛̒͑̀̔͂̽̇̈́̔̈́͆̿̄̒̇̀͑̾͛̎͂̿̕͘͝͝͠­̧̦̙̺̱̯̯̤͉̭̩̞͙̘̫̗̺͍̩͖̥̳̪͚̙͉͜ṭ̶̛͗̉̇͑̋̀̈́̈́̓̂̏̈́͗̆̀̀̃͝͝h̵͂́͊̔̾̑̂͛̌͘͘̕͠­̡̥̺̦̤̥͚͈̠̠͙̱͚͚̼̠͖͌͆̐͌̃̌͛̽̆͊͋̑́̋͑͆̊̉̏̕͝͝e̴̛͖͈̹͚̼̭̘̋́̓̓̔̎͌͑̈́̔̓̌̈́̎̚̚­̡̡̢̧̧̧̩͓̖̫̫̻̖͖͉̘͚̹̜̗̼̻̘̗͉̳̺̩̯̠̠̪͓̘͉͈̱͎͇̤̹̱̼̹͓̞̖̝̞̮ͅ ̵̛̦͓͖̞̭̩̱̗̘̺͕̟̬͉̫͈̺̠͋̾̏̈́͆̄̌̏̔͑͊͌̎̾̈́͋͆͗̆̌̅̀͘͘͝͠͝ͅm̶̑̊͒̾̂̋̑̌̎̒̕͘̚͝͠­̧̺̪͈̬̰̲̰̼͚̥͕͍̻͓̣̺̼̗̬̥̥̻̰͉̮̲̏̋͗̈͋͆̀͒̓͊̄̋̍̎̑̒̎̋̊̉̀́̓̚̚͜͝͝ͅơ̵͖̳̻͓͆ͅ­͚m̷̧̧̢̝̠͖̙͕͇̝̟̺͓̝̻̼͈͙͇̗̣̥̏̾̿̐́́̽̈̋̆̆͜ę̶̢̧̤̭̪̱͎͓̘̹͚̬͕͙̫̳̥̥̘̯̪͑̋͘ͅ­n̶̄͌̎͋̈̒̓̒͛̒́̑̈͊͐͗̉́̾̿̈́̔̑̊͐͌̃́̔́̌̌̒͆̄̎̑̌͂̄͐̈̏̇̊͛̅̿̓͐̈́̿͘̕͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͠­̢͈̟̘̞̜̼̺̬͓̦̺͍̻̝̰̳͚̞̩͖̜̮̖͗͜ţ̸̧̧̡̮͔̲͕̩̜̹̹͓̤̲̬͖̝̮̥͎̘̻̣̞̭̠̱̩̦͔̫̤̮̭̎̚­̡̦̗̗͈̮̤̥̜͖.̶̧͚̤͇̲̳̻̮̯̣̫̹̝͇̥͖̰͓̫͙̮͓͆̓͋̓́̃̈́͌̑̓̄͑͗̄͑̀̓̄͊̕̕̕͘͘͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅ­̢̢̜͚͈̬̜͔̼̹̘̰͎͕̯͇̟̫̯͍̦̲͉̰̫̻̺̗̱͎̩̱̭͎̯ͅ
̴͐͒̀̃̋̂̔̀̎͗͐̌̓̂̅̈́̿̈́͂̈͑̊̓͗̚͝͠­̨̧̧̨̡͍̼̠̻̦̰̳̜͉̭̩̗͔̪͍̬̞͕̪͈̬͎̞̞̞̗͚͚͔͈̺͚͕͇̹͉̼͕̲̓̽̎̈́̀̒̇̆̾́̇̈́͐͛͑̽̾̓̕͝ͅ­̡̡̝̮͓̱̝̥̤̻͚̘͜ͅÅ̶͓̼̲̠̺̳̥͉̥̞̗̞͚̟͉̘̩̹̳̣̙̗̰͚͉̖̺̺̬͔͓͔͓̜̮̣͖̗̓̅̊͘͜͝ͅn̴̔­̢̛̛̠͖̘̔̎͗̅͒̉̔̅̋̀̔̑̾̌͌̊̈́͊̂̊̑̔̒̅̎́̂̇͐̂͒̾̌̉̍͌͌̈́̄̿̌̔̀͑̀̊̆̀̀̈́̃̚̕͘̚̕͠͝͠­̡̧̻͇͓̦͔̝̲͔͖͎̥̟̼̱̜͔̲̯͎̞̜̭̦̻̹̥̝̬͈͎̤̝̘̳̣̰̭̺̗̺͓̳̥̲͎͚d̶̃̓̄̎́̓̊̐̐͗̈́̅̃̌̔­̧̡̧̢̨̖̻̺̫̫̖͔̩̭̪̞̲͎̲̤̮̫͙̫̝̗̪̞̣͔̳̬̫͇̒͆͌̌́̇̾̎͊̒̈́̕͜͜͝ͅ ̵̧̠̲̫͔͍̜̟͍̟̼̹͔̫͑̓̂̀̔̽͌͝͠ͅͅḩ̷͉̩̐͐̐̀͑̊̽̂͆͋͘ȅ̶̢͙̳͈͈͈͊͋̈́̍͋̀̒̀̐́̏̕̚͠­̨̡̯̭͇̹̲̙̞͕͉͍͇̱̩̤̙̗̱̠̳̟̪̹̲̠͜r̶͓̘͙̯͗̈́̃̉͆̓́̄̄͛̀̒̄̽͌́̾̇͛̍̎̃͛̊̕͘̚͝͠͠͠͠­̼̞̪̟̙͚̝͓͖̫̮͎͙̳̬ͅě̴̡̛̺̗̬͍̖͎͇̣̯̯͇̣͓͔̤̼̯̈́̊̅̽̽͑̒͆̇͌͂̇̾͒̋̎̊́̀̄͊͂̕͘͜͝ͅ­̡̢͚͔̱͖͖̻̖̤̝̜̣̻̥͕̣̬ ̴̡̛̥͍͕͙̹̾̍́̇̆̄́́̔̀͛̈́͐̉̏̎̐̑͑̑̒̓̉̉͋̋͐̉̈̌̾͊͒͆͌̓̄͂̄̚̚̕͘̚͠͠Ì̵͐̈́̇͋̂̆̕͘­̹̩̭̬̼̮̠̼̗̗̯̼̞̃͊́́̾̽̂̈͐̆̐̃̄͑̄̋̏̋͛̊͘̚ ̷̨̛̞̟͙́͋͌̓͑͑́ą̶̀̌͂̔̉̃̾̈́͊͂̇͆̍̑̽̄̈́͂̎̌͌̂̾͆͑̂̅̽̔͗̄̐́̃͂͊̒̑̉̒͊̒̚̕̕͘͝͝͝­̧͈̤̙̪͕̗m̶̛̺̼͚͓̬̭͈̖͙̞̹͈̍͆͛̌͐̈́̑̒̏̓̎̉̊̔̔͊͌̆͒̈́̊̋͆͌̌̐̅̓́͑͗͐̑̈͂͌͆̌̄̋͘͝͠­̧̣̝̳͍͖̱ ̴̡̞̳̤̻͚͛͆̽̾̈́̄͂̈́̿̃̂͛̀̈́̀̓̈́̄̉͆͌̔̈́̇̒̊͊̎̓̔̆́͐͑̓̾͐̃̈́̈́̀̈́̇̄̔͑̾͋͒́̏̈́̐̀͘̚͝͝­̡̢͓̯͔̟̣̼̘͖̙̠̹̘̦̝̱̻̦͈̯̹̟̲̩ͅ
̵̿­̧̛͇̘͉̥̩̻̠̰̠͕̱̺͚̞̩̪̩̭̹̪̮̽̀̈́́̎̆̔̏͊̾̿͋̾͐̽͒́̓̍̓̈́̽́̀̊̿̍́̏͋͂̌͘̚͘̚͜͜͠͝͠͝­̡̡̡̡̝͚̳͓̜̗͙̬̖̗̙͕̯̜̦͈̯͍͈͖̞̹̗̳͉̞͜I̵̛̛̛̅͊̅̑̾̀̉̍̈̿̉̓̎̈́̽̈́̈́͊̂͗̀͗̕̕̕͘͝͝͠­̡̨̨̧̨̨̨̧̡̫̻̪̥̯͓̮̟̤̯̮̺̪̠̻͔͙̰̘̜̖̹̞͚̝̤̟̙̲̟̳͖̰̯̲̖̦̭̟͉̲̼̥͑͗̆͒́̆͘͜͜͜ͅͅͅ­̨̹̪̬͕'̵̳̪͕̫͇̦͂̒̀̈́̓̐̎̀̄̆̊̃̚͠m̷̨̡̨̨̩̥͖̪̩̫͎͕̲̭̺̙̲͍̼̰̻͖͍̖̦̈́̔͐͑̇́̎̏̽͠­̨̼̜̟͔̗̩̬̰̪̯̜̠͎͎̻̬͜ͅͅ ̵̡̛̥͙̮̤͉̬̭͉̇͐̓͒͑͂̈́͗͊̐̓̀̾͊̾̈̽̈̋̐̋̊͌͌̀̀͛̈́̏̎̃͘͘̚͠͠s̵͋̇͌̈́́̈͐͋̇̏͐̇̆̕͘͘­̧͚̮̟̭̳̬̲͔̖̼͓̖̳̰̮͖͎͍̥̺͙̗̪̲̼̹̪̭̫͓̪̭͖̉̌͊̃̑̐̑̅́̃͆͋̄̀̀͂́̎̽͋̌́̍̂̏̚͝͝͝ͅͅ­̡̡͚̞̖̻̟͓̜̣̯̫͙͚e̵̡͉̪̳̮̯̯̺̭͙͍̠͈̭̹͛è̵͔̦̼͉͓̦̮̺̲̮̯̻̦̤͎͖̤̣̣̹̘̩͓͚͒̓̊̂͜͝­̢̣͕̫̠̣̼̙̥͚͓͇͉̬̘̙̲̞̼͔̱̺͔̭͜ͅȋ̶̛̛̃͑͊͒̋̇̒̂̍̃̓̎͋́̃̊͛̄͋͋̐̍͑̓́͋̍̉̄͗̍̀̓̒­̖̤̣͍̖̙̬͚̗̜̹͙̓͗̎͠ñ̵̛͋͌͂̒̈́͌͆͗̽́̏̓̎̒̈͛̈́̃͒͂̍̈͋̉̇̒̓͛̋̓̿͊̓͗͑̾͌͑͒͑̚̚͘̚͝­̧͖̻̤͚g̵̡̢͚̠͎͈͔̺͕̣̯̬̾͌̈́̈́͌̋̉́̔̊̓̈́̉̆͋͊͛̿̄̈̑̆́̅̿̔̒̌͊́̉̄̔̍̾͘͘̚̚͠ ̷̧̧̢̡̠̮̟̺̝̱̱̻͚͓̭͍̹̰̖̙̘̤̙̳̙͖̞͍̼͈̣͌̿̀͋̎͒̐̇̍̎̒̌̽͠͝t̸́̑̄͐̈́̀̔̽̅̈́̎̎́͂͂́­̨̡̧̡̡̛͙͉̙̝̼̳͈̪͓̤̠̘͍̪͇̥͚͍̩̣͔̟̩̻̤͚̤͍͖̗͓̥͇̦̺͖͛́̀̒̋̾̃̎͊̾̑͋̌͆̒̈̆̄͜͝͝ͅͅ­̢͙͖̻̟̟̼̰̘̰̣͍̤̣͖̮̻̹͉̩ͅh̴̛̛͌̐̓̋̈́̑̌̀͛̆͗͒͒̄̋͑͋̉́̾̎̎̑̎̌̆͒͐̀́̈́͘̚͘̕̕͘͠͝͠­̨̧̢̛̭̤̭͍͔̞̪̯̤̘̥͓͇̤̫̝͉͇̰̮̺̳̥̞̝͔̬̣̘̣̱̙̟̰̼̲͖̫̈̈́̃͐̍̓̓͂̽̄̃̿̽̏͊͂̿͘͘͜͜͠ͅ­̢̥̣̖͉̜̙̖̮̙̲͉̪̼̗͔̮̟̺̼̻͙e̷̡͍͚̲̙͇̪̪̝̹͎͚͔̤̳̱̣̰̩͖̳̮̠̱̣͖̣̲̦̿͑̽̈̑̽͐̎̓́͜͜­̜̰̞̼̗̩̩̮̮̲̦̮̭̜̗͔̙̥̯̥̻̣̪̗̗̠ ̴̛̛̖̙͈̮̯͍̲̬̺̿͗͑̉̅͌̊͒̇́̌̈́̄̈̆͐̏͐́̃̎̅̅̇̓̂̈̅͑͒̈́͊̊̇̅́͑̓̌̂̉̈́̒̑̈͑́͘̕͘̕͜͝­̡̤̝̤͖̥̖͔̖ͅa̴̧̨̫͙͎̼̩̦̦̫͉̯̤͎̱͛̈́́͝͝n̵̛̐̒́̇͛͂̇͂̑̊̂̏̉̉̈́̀̔̑̃̋̊̒͘͘̕͘͘͝͝͠­̢̡̡̡̡̪͈̥̱͎̻͓͕̰̤͕͕̳̲̫͎͔͉̳̳̱͚̳̘̞̫̫̩̝͍͋̋̽͛͊̈͊̌̇̚̚͜͝ͅg̶͆̆̄̒̓̊̎̏̌̈́̕̚̕͝­̛̘̹̈́͂̒̈͌̿͒̅́͗͑̿̾̄̾̈͆̾̿́̀̈́̍͒̀͂̾̐͂̐̈͊̂̐̑͐̀͘͝͠͠è̵̘͕̺͙͕̰̝̳̹̀̇̋͋̓̅́̀̚­̧̢̢̧̢̧̢̟̯͍̫̟̠̗̼͕̤̟̤͔̻̺̤̙̻̩̠̠͈͔̯͉̣͔̩͓̘͈̺͉͍̙̹̪̼̬͉̙͜l̷̬͙̱̞̼͈͓͇̙̖̄̄̈͘­̧̧̫̫̥̣̱̜͉̝̠̗̻̩̘͓̗̣͕͙̙̘͜ͅ ̶̡̨̛̙͖͙̺̰̱͚͍͚͈̦̰̟̠̤̖͔̗̩̝̻̩̑̽̽̓̐̄͗͌̌̎̐̃͆́͛́̆̌͛̓͒́̊̍̏̇̓̕̚̕͜͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅ­̱͉͍̺͎͔̪͓̗̩̠͙̗̪̣̝̺̪͜c̴̺̘̤̳͍͈͇̮̳̰͙̲̩͍̟̜̩͇̪̥̼̣̫̬̤̼͐̊̉̈́̈́͛͌͒̓̂͑́͗͌̌͘͘ͅ­̡̢̡͈̲͇̺̦͈̳̮̺̰͔̬̩̮̪̪͕̲̣̲̟̞̤̻̮̠̜̬͜ͅͅͅơ̵̧̢͕͚͕̪̪̠̭̱̭̱̿͛͑̒̀̃͛̇͛̏̔͒̈́̿̑­̨̨̧̡͍͓̗͇̲̼̦͕̻̹̲̻̻̯̘͍̗͓͕̼̘͉̖͚̺̱̲̟̞ͅm̸̛͐͆͂̃̾̒͐́̆́̈́́̄̍̀̀̇̏̓͌̀̒̉̕̕͠͝͝­̢̡̧̦̹̦̗̺̻̦̲̖͈̖͔̝̖̟͙̝̮̬̺͉̣̅̿̊̔̈́̈́̌͛̽̽͗͌̏̇̈́͛̍̅̍̀̄͋͊̾̒̔̽̓͐̑̈́̐̽̆̏̚͜͝͝ͅ­í̸̢̧̭̝̘̞̻̻̤͕͕͖̜̺̘̬̱̥͎̳͍̙̺̇̒͂́̑̿̌͋̈́̌̈̃͒́͆͒̅͗̎̈́͗̈́̽̋̈́̉͊̉̾̂̚͘͝n̵̓̈͝͠­̧̧̧̺͙̞̼̬̜̞̝̼̦̪̘̉̓̿̋̅̌͐̑͌̋̓̄̄͛̅͗̍̓̌̀͑̽͛͐͐͐͌͂̈́̀̾͐͆̈́́̓̒̍̌̓̈́̿̌͆͆͐͑͘͠͝­̬̣͙͍͎g̴̨̡̳̯̬̳̩̰̟̗͖̺̣͍͈̏͂̐͆̓̒̄͂̂̊̔
̸̛̌́̓̅̈̿̇̀̊̈̃̉͐́͐̓̏͆̈̔͌̈́̇̑̕̚͝͝͝­̨̛͓̞̭͇̗̱̫̭̭̺͍̪̣̟͉̺̗̫̲͚̯̥̬̦͇̭̥͚̱͕͗̈́͐̃̅̈́̎̅̀͊͋͒͐̇͂̉̽̑̎̄̃͋̿̎̿͑͑͘̚͜͝͠ͅ­̡̲̠͓̜̼͉̜̺͔̩̬W̸̛̛͛͗͗̇̄̽̃̓̈̉͛͊̂͑̀̀̐͆̄̀̇̎̆̏̍̈́̂̊̈́̀́̔͊͒͐̀̇̏̃̊͛̚͘͘̚͘͝͝͠­̢̡̢̧̫̠̫̱̤̲̮͇͎̹͓̱͇͓̱̤̭̠͉͖̱̝̗̜̼͓͇͈̱̱̲̩͉̠̣̼̩̱̭̳̩͕̞̱͖̳͉̝̪͔̮̻̑͒̈́́͜͜ͅͅi­̴̢̡̛͇͕̱̗͙͍̘̬̳̗̤̂̃͗̈͛̈́͐̾͑̓̀̇͑̀̇̒͋̌́̌̒͒̌͌͒̂̀̊̆̓̾͐͛͗̓̽̽͌̒̽̿̚̚̕͘̕̚͘͜͝­̨̨̢͈̲̝̼ṱ̷̮͙̙͎̭̗̙͓͇̺̯̲̰̣̫͕̩̝̙̼͖̞͎̜̩͇͔͓̤̮̬̟͓̔̅̀̌͐̋́̒̎̔̋̊̂͊̀̃̀̈́̾͜h̸­̨̧̛̟͈̠̦͖̻̲͉̦̦̝͍̘͉̯̳̃̄̿̅̈́̀̃̅̂̌̄̋̈́̀͐̑̔͘͝͝ ̸̢̧̡̢̧̧̡̯͎̗̼̯̩̜̱̻̫͍̥̙̺̜̩͈̳̬͚̩̠̦̺̣̠̩͔̣͕̼͈̩̖̟̼͈̳̹̗̙̳̜͍̻̤̹̬͑̾̂̅̒̚͜͜͝­̝̣̜͙l̸̨̨̧̡̧̺͙̜̳̹̗̳̞̝̺̮̪̮̞̲͖͔͚̙̯̞͙̣̙͎͚̹̩̆͐͗̆̎͆̎̚̚͜͜a̵̅̊̈̆́̌̌͂̆͛͊̏͒­̧̝̼̭͕̼̠̤̙̰̳̣̣̮̜̞͇̔͋̅͒̾̄̈́̓̑̍̈̾̐͐̀́͒́͗̾͑͌̊̍̏̚͘͝͝͝͝͝r̴̛͆̓́͒͛̈́͐̃͗͌̕͝͝­̢̛̟̰̘͇̼̮͈̝͙̘̰̟̪͂̋͋̂̔̽̊̐͆̏̈̈́́̇̑͒̐͗͆̈̈́̌́́̀̈́͑̓̄̍̍̐̾̋͗͂̿͛̀͋̉̐̓̈́̕̚͠͝͠ͅ­͔̬͈̯̯ģ̷̧̡̧̨̛̮͔̞͕̦̞̬̺͉̦̻̱̼̗͇̝̬̝̼̜̺͇̦̭͓̝͎̝̇̃̄̈͐̈́̿̒̌͂̀̾̀̊̌͛̔͜͠͝͝͝ͅͅ­̨͙̞͙͎̙͚̙̯̪̪͕͓̝͍̙̤͍̳̦̭ë̴̀̀́́̿̅͆̈́̏̾͐͆̑̊̽͆͊̀͗̓̆̎̒͗̈́̒̋͐͋̒̅̆̅̇͑̆̕̕͠͠͝­̡̮̩̝̟̦̩̻̜͎͓̞͚̺̟̠̬͖͙͒̒̋͆͊̽̓͑͐̓͋̉̈́̈́͘ͅ ̶̡̨̛̙̮̩̤̮̤͔͈̪̣̞̹̦̜̥̱̻̫̘͍̘͇̻̫̪͈̯͔̹̯̝̪͎̇̈́̈́̏́̎̑͒̿̓̓̑̆̔̿̂͐̓̈́̒̆͜͜͝͝͝͠w­̵̢̢̧̨͓̹̲̫͎̯͇̗̖̞̝̲̪͉̼͖̪͙̲̺̤͕͔̙͇̪̱̯̮̥͔̼̠͈̫̠̙͙͕̰̻̘͉̪͈̽̀̋͊̋̎͂̄̎̈̃͊̐͝͝­̢̡̖̹̪̫͖̖̬̣̬̯͓͜í̶̛̓̓͌͆̉͐͌͋̊̅͋̾̆͒̒́̉̽̋̉̾̽̒̄̑̿̐͑͆̉̈̅͛́̈́̂͊̈́̕͘͘̕͘͝͝͠͝­̢̢͎̩͖̭̞̤̹̺͎͍͇͇̯̰͙̝̫̫͖̭̣͗̔̓̀̒͗̍͒̔̆̊͑͋̍̊̍́͘n̶̛̯̬͔̱͖͖͍͎̮͎͓̟̻̼͈̥̍́̎̚ͅ­̧̧̢̢̬̥̮̖̺̹̼͈͕̰̞̬̲̘͙̪̪̖̪͓̟̣̼̦̼̠̹̼̙̺͓̼͚̻͔͇ͅf̶̛̓͂̏͛͐̆͂̋͒̇́̎͛͋͐̒̽̽̈́̕͝­̨̢̨͈̞͙̝̣̖̬͚̤̝̬̱̫̳̤͕͕̭͈̲̗̝̹̝͔͚͇̣̪͖̺͉̙̙̪̓́̾s̴̛͕̥̗͋̀͆͌́͗̏̌̈͐̓̇̈́̏̚͠
̴­̛̛͙̀͒̽̓̓̾͌̐̏̽̐̅͐̀̅̉̑̓̃͊͊͐̌̍͆̈́̔̐̏́̿̉̓̐͛͛͗̐̍̐̿͛̔̋̽̍̈́̓̄͒̀̈̿̓̐̂̆͘̕͝͠͝­̨̧̢̬̘̥͍̮̺̯̻̟W̸̛̆̓͌̍̔̓̈́͑̽͌̎͆̈́̅̂̓̄̍̓̽̐͊́̊̏̐̾̇͑͆̃̂͂͂̔͋̽̓̄̈́͛́̕̕̚͘͘̕͠͠­̨̧̨̡̢̡͕̳̝̲̜͉̪͖̪̗̹̻͈̬̩̠̦͓̰̻̞̦̯̫̞̺̭͙̭̰͓̜̘̩̺̱̣͕̩̘̯̤̺̙̥̺̩̎́̂̓̆h̴͑̒̑̎͝­̧̨̛̰̱͇͖͚̥͓͗͂́͆̍̂̃̆͋͗̄͊͐̋̐̀̔̂̇̏͋̿͂̒̋͐̅̄̏̾́̀͛̈́͆̇͆̇͌̔͛̆̒̈̐̕̕̚̕͜͝͠͠͝͝­̧̢̢̢̨̢̡̨̡̨̩̩̥̖̙̮̪̼͇̥͙͉͙͈͓͍͓͔͚͈̥̟̱̙͖͎̙̪̙̱̮͈͇̼̳̻̺͇͜ͅe̶͎̮̮̭̭̘̘̼̠̞̲̥̎­̡̨̨̢̻̫̳̟͖̙̦͕̜͇͖̳̭t̶̡̛̪͉̭̙̗̣͕̪͓͍̋̿̓̎̔̄̑̏̽̓̆̌̎̔̇͗͐̋̄͌́̀̈́̊͒̋̎̔̉͂͘͜͜͠­̢̭̩̭ḩ̴̛̳̘͓̱̼̝͎̟̟̮͉̱͔̜͉̙̓̽̍̈́́̈́́̒͐͋͗̌̔̐̈̃̂͐̍̅͛̇́͛̏͋͊̅̓͂͐̋̚͘͘͝͝͝͠͝͝­̧̣̺͇̻̘̱̜͙͔̟̰̪̪͍̪͎̼̦͍̝̭̖̭̫͜ͅê̵̌̒̾͂͗̃̇͛̇͛̎̈́̅͑̂̇̅̍̾̀́͑̉̑͑̿̆̀̕͘̕͘͝͝͝­̛͈͎͙̦̦̣̳̙̟̺͓͚͇͇̑̉̐͗̾͐͒̉̓̇̆̚͝r̷̛̐̈́́̅͋̏̾͌̋̄̉̃̽͑͛͂̂̋͋̇̓̑̑̈̊͂̀̀̂͌̓̚͠͝­̨̢̡̧̛̖̭͙͎͖̯̦̙̘̭͉̱̭̺͉̘̤͕̻͓͇̪̰̱͚̲̩̳͓̩̘̱͈̘̞͓̤̥̞̲̖͐͆̐͒̿͗̔͒̀̈̉͘͜͝ͅͅ ̴̨̛̛̫̜̬͇̤̔̂͑͊͐̔̐̈̋̇̆́̊͐̌̀̿͛̈́̓̿̎́̅̐͗̏̓̚͘͘͠͝͠i̷̛͐̌͑͋̑̐̆͑̓̒̋̂͑͒͆͛͘̚͠­̧̧̡̨͎̖̖͖͈͎̦̩̪̤̤͍̱̗̳͙̤̫̙̲̖̺͖̟̟͎̠͍̣̙̹͖̬͔̻̤̥͈̬͉͙͈͔͚͓̅̔̀́̃͊̀̈́́̐̀̈͌͘͠͠­̞̹̭̼̟̫͙̩t̴̛͋̉̽̍̀̒̍̇͊̊̀́̎̀̏́̎͒͊̒̓͋̂̋͑̽͊̉͗̈͐͗̏̀͒̽͛̅̔͂̏̈́̋̋̌͘̕͘͘̚͘̚͠͝­̜̻͕̬̠͇̳̼̜̱̦̠ͅ ̵̧̡̡̣̗͚̬̭̟̜̱͕̟̭̯͓̤̠̯̠̣̥̠̘̥̰̮͉̤̟̹́̒̐́̐̎̉̊͒̿͛̾͐̆̏̃̈́͐̈́̌̈́̊͒̚͘͜͝͝͠ẅ̸́͘­̧̡̠̣̩̳̬̠̟͎͍̯̟̈́̈́͆͆̈͐̒̀͌̊͐̈́̋̽̂́͂̇͑͛̕͝i̶̛̾̑͐̈̒́̍̌͑̐̃̍͂̐̒̂̈́̿̃̂͆̌̎̀̊͗͝­̨̥̺̗̣͍̫̫͇̖̗̫͓͚̭̤͕̣̠̱̣̃̈́̔̿͗̀̓̍͐͋̆͐͒͒l̷͙͆̎̀̌́̏̈͂́̽̔̽̓͆͗̃͂̎͋͌̇̈́̚̕̕͝­̡̨̧̡̧͇̺̳̩͖̩͇͖̻̜̫̹̺̗̱̝͚̣͖ļ̴͓̰͕̖͇̝͇̙̤̲̩̈́̆́̈͒̌͋͝ ̸̯̤͍̎̍͌͗b̶̨̘̖̱̺͇̫̪̬͕̝͈̪̟̮̺̟͎̪̜̺̫̟͈͕̭͚̣̘̬̼̮̭͉͈͉̥͕̮̯̩̝͕̱̟̑ͅè̵͐͐̔͑͝­̢͎̳͕̬̪͚͚̬̠͇̺̘̺͕̰̜̭̩̹͆͋͒̊͑͑̃̆͋̀̂̽̿̓̿̏͛̀̒͗̔̉̿́̌̐͆̐̎͌͋͗̉̈́̀́͘͠͝͝͝͠͠͝͠­͓̻ ̵̡̨̧̨̛̛̛̛̦̰̫̱͍̦̳̻̱̝͓͈̦̝͂́̑́͋̐͑̎̆͐͛̾̋̏̌̇̉́́̐̕͜͠͝͠H̷͋̅͂̂̎̅̃̓͗͒̔̕̕͘͝­̨̢̧̢̨̤̲͉͕͖͚͎̩̤̥̻̹̭̼̘̻̫̰̙͖͔͕͍̬̹̼̻̳̗̣͈̲̻̬̰̥͂̒͑̌̄̓̀̍̓́̆̈́́͗̓͑̊͛͑͐͘͘͜e­̴̡̡̢̛͔͎̟̘̞͕͉͈͕͚͕̜̮͕̭̰̳̠̲͎̗͓̗̣̟͇̫̬̠̥̘͓̣͔̜͔̤̘̞͍̘̌̉̽̍͜͝ͅl̷͛̓̑͛͑̍̂͘͘͠­̢̟͖̤͕͓̝̦͍͉̠̘̫͖̤̣͖͊̆̍̓̎̌̾̎͗̈́̅̆̐̉̔̌̓͑̓̋͂̈́̆̾͊̈́̇̓̐̉̅͐̃͂͊̓́̓̇̎̀̈̆̚̕͝͝͝­̡̨̡̢̱̯̰̩̝̦̹̗͉̦͕̗̞̭̹͚̠̝̬̟̺̱͉̖̹̜͕̗̫ļ̵̧̬̻̦͓̝͙͍̩͈̝̹͖̌̕ͅ ̷̡̢̛̹̝͕͕̣̦̭̻͈̖̖͔̫͕̱̤͎͕̳̜̲̩̟̰̍͂̌̃͛̏̔̄̌́̈́̏̆͗̅̔̄̀̀͒̎͑̕͝ö̷͊́̃̿̐̐̑͘̚͘­̢̧̢̧̢̢̗̺͙̪̗̠̥̝̣̩͎̺̣̯͈͇͙͎̻͚̬̰̜͕̪͖̯̪͕͉̪͚͕̥͚͇͕͓̯̜̭̰̝͖̞͉̺̻̮̤̗̳̂̃̆̕͜͜͝­͈r̵̝̠̓̿̊͑̏̌̀̆̒̂̊̑̐͗͂̈́̇̅̽́̀͊̑̀͐̅͋̈́̿̌̊̏͛̔̇̂̈́̿̈̋̋͗̾̔̏̽̍͗̿̊͑̚͘͝͝͠͝ ̷̢̛̛͔̂̑̋̂̓͐̿͗́̇̈́̂̉͗̽̈̄̓͑̒͐͆̃̒͐̎́͌̊̎̃̑̐̈̚̕͘͘͘̚̕͘͠H̶̛̃̈́̃͊͌̊̃̃̃̆̏̈́̚͝­̨̢̡̧̞̝̰͔̘̝̺͎͕͎̭͕̯͎̮͈̘̏͌̋̓̈͝e̴̐̉̔̏͑̆̓́̔͒͒͒̂̑͗̌͗̈́̄͗̏̒͒͐̂́̈́̌̌̽͘͘͘͝͝͝­̧̡̢̧̛͉̦̺̝͙͔̙̻͇̻͈͎̤͚̘̫̻̠̻̮̫̮͔̖̫͂̍̑͛͋̐̅̈́̀̽͂̃̔͐̕̕͘͜͜͝ä̷̠͍̹̙̥́̓͛̍̉͋͘̕­̧̢̨̨̯̼̹̮̦̯̣͔͎̱̣̭̩̯̭͓͇͔̙̬̭͉̮̝̭̳̲ͅͅv̶̡̢̨̟̟̯͙̹̱̱̫͉͈̘͚̄̿̿̐̃͊͂̂̇̃̂̀̕͘͘­̧̨̢̢̨̠̜̺̲̬̭͔̩̱̩̖̠͇̗̞͖͇͖͇̗͕̱̮͔̱͇̭͕̗̺̰̲͎̼͜͜ȅ̶̢̨̡̦̰̟̠͉̜̮̥̦̈́̔̾̓̀̎͠͝͠­̧̢̠̹̙͍̺͈n̶̢͖͉̟̙̭̺̙̯͌́͋͊̄̄̉̄̽̍̈́̿̍̈́̿́͘͜͜͝͝?̴̨̨̡͎̖͈̣̭̪͇̝̺̤̭͔͈̺͍̼̰͐͜ͅ­̢̨̭̥͙̮͔̩̟̜͉̟̺͖̭̱̜͕̗̳̜̭͇̩̫͓͎̟͕̦̩͙̠̘̤͜
̴̲͎͇̩̤̯̟̭͚̮̺̜̱̣̰͓͓̏͆̋̈́̈́̉̇͘͜͜­̡̡̧̡̧͖͙̞͚͍͇̗͚͎͓͖̘͚̙̱̭͙̪̩̪̠͜ͅĨ̸̛̛͛̀̈́͑͋̐̒̏͂͐̾̀̉́̆̒̈́̆͋̋͋̈̋͑̿́̽̌̌̐͆͝­̧̢̡͈͎̘̮̻͖̲͔͍̻͈̙̳̙̗̣͓͕̗̙͕̤̈́̀̍̏̄́̆̓̈̈́͒̃͘̚͜͜͜ ̶̡̡̡̡̤̗̹͕̹̰̙̪̘̭̝̯͈͓̪̟̼̺̊̌̅̌͘͜͜c̵̛͑̅̄̽̔̅̃͗͂͊́̇̑́͌̅̇̃͛̊̍́̈̉̎́͘̚̕̚͠͝­̧̢̛͎͔̮̱̭̹̯͎͖̰̯̲̲͈͉͍͖̠̃̅̑̓̓̽́̈͛͌̀̀͋̉́͐̕͝ȧ̵̛̒̄̾͌̋͑̎̆̀͆́̊̿̔̊̑̓͋͆͑̏͠­̯̜̟̋̉́̍̉͊̚͘͠n̵̛̠̪̘̮͎̥̞͍̥͎̳͔̯͖̂̃̄̅̔͆̈́̀̏͒̒̒̔̎̈́̔̔̂̔͗͆͗̿̾̃̈́͛̾͗̽͋̊̈́͛̕͠­̢̯̗̖̜͚̭̺͉̱'̸̛̰̑̋͗̽̽͐̃͂̾̐̋̄͂̉̒͐̋͗͑̈́̍̉́̀̃͐́͌̑̀̒̃̇͐͋̈́̅̉͂͆̋̐̓̈́̽͆͋̕͘̚̚­̨̡̨̰͉͔̲̳̘̩͈̮̣͕̗̠̟̘̪̻͉̙̟͓͙̻̝͈̞̙̜̲̺͇̝͇̤̩̼̣̖ͅt̸̔̅͒͑͐̇̂̑́́̓̓̃͂̑́̍̕̕͝͠­̢̢̯̼̠̙̭̳̜̭̗̱̥̟̝̗̜̠͉̜̣͖͎̙̙̰͈̹͈̱͉̣̼̈̈́̍͊͋̌̒͆̽͒͌͐͋͌͛͆͋̈́̆̅̈̚͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅ­͙͖̖͈̝̞ ̶̢̡̨̠̪͙̲͖̭̹̦͖̦̣̗̮̤͙͔̠̝̰̮͎̖̘̻̳̝̩͈̯̩̦̜̣̅̐́̏̀́̐̅̂̈́̄͋͒̅͜ͅk̴̪̉̅̐͂̔̿̄̈́̚­͎̜̭͇͖̞̟͓̱͉͈͜n̸̨̢̧̨̧̨̻̠͓̖̮̫̫̲̟͍̩̲̠̺͕̙̯̬͚̮͖̭͇͚̍͋̿̾̆̋̾͒̏͐̑͜͜ͅo̴͂̀͗͗͝­̧̨̢̡̛̳̻͔̥̙͍͇̱̭͍̭̀̈́͂͒͑̓̉͛̔͂̽̑̍̇̋̔͆̏̉̎̂̒͋̒̈́̾͌͒́̑̍͛̍̕͜͝͠w̵̛̍͋͋̅̄̽͘̚͠­̢̢̧̨̛̦̻̗̖͉̫̬͎͙̰͈͕̼̞͙̥̼͖̹̮̦̟͙̲̲̩̜̆̔̊̃̃͊̀̍͂̔̆̑̆͒̓̏͐͌̉̀̅̀͌̅̌̔̐͐̚͘͜͝ͅ­̧̡̼̪͎̟̼̖͈͖͕͔͚̦̣̻̞̺̩̩̼͓̠̤͓̻̘͖ ̶̛̹̙̻̤̩̙̤̙̯̪͙͐̉̅̏̄̋̀̓̋̎͋̽̇̒̏̔̈́̏̋̎̔̈́̈́͛̎̽͗̍̓̄͋͆̂͐̄́̆͌͐̿̎͌̾́̕̕͝͝͝͝͝͝­̧̧̨̖̦̙̤̱͓̻̥̙̘̞̝̩̪̪͇͈̼̜͚͜ṙ̴̛̊̀̂̔͐̉͌̇͂̈́̋͐̇̇͐͂͆̈́͋͂̌̌̎̀̎͐̏̒͌̇͛̀͆͒͘̚͘­̢̧̢̬̼̹͖͚̬͈͎̬͎̟͍̰̬̠̟͈͇̮̱̺͙̟̣̯͎̬͚͉͕̤̥̠͎̭̼̻͚͈̦͚͙̠͚̜̰̹͔̿̐̃̋̓̈̕͜͠ͅͅi̸̓­̛̍̽̀̉̊͑͋̾̄̒̈́͂͐͒̄̇͌̀̐̊̈̑́̉̽͐̆̀͌̔͗̿̎̏̀͛̀̓̈́͒͆̅͛̿̽͑̓̇͒̇̐̇͆̒̊̕̚͘͝͠͝͠͠͝­̨̢̩̠͉̠͚̹̝̺̘͇͉̀g̶̻͗̏̏͋ͅḧ̵̡̡͎̖̙̱̻̲͎̣͖͖͖̪̠͉̳̬̯͔́̇̽͑̐̈́̅̂̍͘̚̚̕̚͜͝ͅť̴̕­̨̧̪̟̱͕̪͎̺̻͎̘̗̰̠̘̟͇̭͔̖̉͌̀͌́͊́̌͋̈́̇͋̓́̑̀̐̈́̇͐̈́͑̊̈́̈̓̽͌͊̑̽̌̔͘̕͘̕̚͠͝͝ͅ ̸̧̨̙͈̣̦̱̳̘̰̪̲͚̺̬̠͙̥̩̮̯̣̼̙̙̬͍̟̖̝̿̋͌͌̾̏̎̌̔͒͋͒͛͑̍̓̎͌̄̄̎̐̇̇̇̓̓͝n̷̈̃͊̓­̡̛̘̰̯͉͙̯͔͑̔͂̓́̔̽͒́̏̓̌͆̎̿͑̈́̈̆̊̊͗̀̐̀̋̈́̂̏̄̾̀̋͊̾̎͒̎͆̀̀̄͘͠͝͝͝͝ͅo̸̎̒͒̏͘­̡̢̡̡̨̧̨̳͚̜̯̖͇̮̫͍͔̮̹͍̯͈̟̗̞̫͍̪̤̱̜̭͎̣̻̺̝̦̮͎̥̺̰̙̘̪̝̱̲͕͎̦̩̙̀̌̃̋́̈́̉̉̃̀͜­͕w̷̨̛̛̛̟̫̲̭̿͒̏͋̈́̈͒͑̈́̽̑́̀͛͛͛̄̐̿̽̓́͆̈́̇͑̿̈́̓̃͊̊͂̽͛̄̍̓̾́͛̀͊͘͘͘̚͘͝͝͝͝͝͝­͓̮͚̘͇̤͔̖.̵̨͖̰̙̗̮͌̈́̀̑̅̄͒̅͋̎͆͊͝
̸̨̢͚̮̱̮̤̱̼̫̦̝̗̜̗̘̖͉͉̜̊̃͋̂̌̎̅̐̒̋͂͘͘͝­̡̧̙̝̙͓̳̘͎͍͔̤͔͜͜ͅẄ̸̨̨̛̮͔͖̙̜̤̮͍͉͇͚́̂̌̽̃̔̽͊́̇͊̏̎̂́̈̅́͌́̅̾͊̈́͆̄̅̈́̿̇͌͝͠­̢̡̨̲͔̠̼̺̣̼̞̭͖̥͇̝̪̣̟͉̠̙̲̖̙͕̥͕̥̤̗̖̱͖̜h̷̛̛̀̇̒̾͗̀̌̈̓́͑͐̌͒͐̂̓͌͋̅͊̔̂͘͝͝­̢̛̬̫̜͖͖̬̥͇̳̘̺͚̪͕̝̪̝̼̗̲̪͇̱̟̜̝̘͚̝̫͙̩̹̰̫̱̻̂̃̄͆̒̌͗̈́̈́͜͜͠͝͠͝͝ĩ̶̋͐̽̓͊̏͝­̗͉̘̋̓͛̍̈́͑̅̈̓͐͒̕͘̚͜͠ͅc̸̛͐̇́̀̊̌̂̄͆̿̐̊̈́́͂̓͆̿̍̈́̂̓̀͌̆̈́͗̐̈́̈́̄̈́̑̄̏̐̚͘̚͝͝͠­̡̧̨̡̡̡̰͚̻̟̤̠̩̻̗̺̱̦̭͙̗̠̘̹̯̫̼̮͉̬͖̱̠̟̯͚̤̲̥̼̳͖̗͚̖͖͇̫͓̟̹̭̠̣̈̏̅͂̽̓̚͜͝ͅͅ­̡̢͕̭̦͙̥̮̥ͅh̴̡̢̢͓̝͎̥͇̬̮̥͓̣͈̼̰̞͕̠̞̤̤̮͔͚͎̤̖̯̺̞͔͍͇͆͒̒̈́̈́̆̉̄̈̆̂̌̆̑̉̕̚͝­̢̧͔͉͚̳̪̗̻̹̱̘̺̩̯͉̖͖̮͕̮̘̩̫̫̫ͅͅ ̵̢̛̛͇̫̼̼̙̦͍͕͉̳̗̹̳̦̜̰̽̉̈̆̄̆́̃́͋̓͂̐͊̋͗̀̓̌̈́́̓͒̓̿̓́̑̊̇̈͗̂̑̑͋̚̕̚͝͝͝͝͝o­̸̡̨̢̨͈͍͖͉͉͚̺̮̱͇̤̘͈̝̥̟͚͖͖̬̣̳̰͍̩̼͎̳̮͔̙̪̜̄̔͊͋̒͌́̌̒̔̄́̐͌͂̊͂̔̃͌̍͜͜͜͜͝ͅ­̨̝ņ̷̨̢̡̭̩̦̪̐͗͜ȩ̴̢̛̥̗̭̘̫̣̣̙͚͕̯͇̘͉͎͙͎̠͌̋͌́̄̔͐̈̋̓͆̎̅́͂̀̒͗̌͂̌́̋͜͜͝ͅ­̢̣̟͓̖̯̳͔̥̟̣̦̥̖̖̣͓̠̩̱̹̞̣̠̯̻͔͈͉̱̣͉̞̟̪̪̝̙͜ͅ ̷̨̛̛̛̛͈̖͔̯̜̮͖̈́̽̓̐̓͊͐͑͐͌͐́̓̇̓̈͛̋̅̍̋͂̐̀̅̃́̽̌̀͌́̈́̈́̀̔̀́̾̿̃̒̚̕͝͝ï̵͌̈͝­̧̧̡̧̨̢̛͖̹̳̗̟̥͍̬̦͙͕̩͕̤̹͙͈͉͓͕̲̱͍̲̞̬̬̩̯̭̜̥̜͚̘͎̄̇̅̄̉͂͛̎́̉̍͆̒̃̄͆̉͂͘͜͜ͅ­̞̻͇̺͔̹s̵̛̘̩̳͈͉͊́̍̑̿͊͗͝͝ ̶̛͖̖͂̀̑̾̂̉̈́̒͂̈́̀̈̔͌̇̊̆́͐̽͐̒̎̃͆͆̊̎̿͘͝͝g̴̈̈́̀́̐̂̋͗̓̉̅̀́̌̎̓̋̓̑̅͂̐͒͛̏͝͝­̡̧̡̡̛̝̦̰̭̦̯͙͇͕̮̟̜̼͇̣̹̗̥̤̖̰̼͓̼̺̟̭̮̫̳̱̟̦͖̹̜͕̮̠̤̩̽̇̒̀̈́͌̉̎̾͊̃̎̚͜͜o̶̿͠­̡̨̢̰̮̦̮̙̦̣̩͎̯̣͔̠͕͛̓̂̓̆̾̎̉̑͑̐͌̅̔͒̃̊̓͛͂̓͛̄͂̾̏͊̄̃̀̀́̃̄̂̑̚͝͝͠ͅi̴̋́́̉͐­̧̢̢̡̢͙͖̬͉͉̭̻͕̮͓̞̫̦̙̼̜̣̫̝̯͉̫̭̫̻̘͙͓̫͕̞̫͇̱̩͚͎̮̻̞̗̮̘͜ǹ̵̛̐̍̈́̈́͛̌͂̊̀̕͠͝­̨̧̧̢̥̯̖͇̼̠̤̻͙͎͙̲̪̗̥͚͕͚̭̯̥͈̜̥̹̥̞̙̹̗̬͇̈́̎͌̂̊̐̆̄͑͋̄͛̓̋̕̕̕ͅg̸̋̈̃̒̄͛͋̀͝­̡̧̛̠̩̟̣̳̿̓͐̋̑̐͑̅̏̓͛͛͊̀̋̽͛̽̒́̊̔͗̅͒̈͗̄̐̓̋̊̇̅͊͛̈́̾̍͆̽̇́̉́̂́̂͑͘̕̕̕͜͝͠͝­̢̧̢̜͈̫̤̻̖̗̖̼̝͔͕͕̠͚̹̗͈̮̞̲̠̩̩̩̝̤̭̫̣ ̶̡̢̨̧̨̨̧̡̛͖͈̱͍̣̳̻͓̜̖̳̤̹͚̪̼̻̠̳͈̥͍̣̻̖̺̝͈̜̺̼̪̩̹͈̣͕̠̜̬͔̬̟̜̟̱̻͔̲̱̒̂͜͜͜­̟t̸͔͎͈̱̻̙͆̇̐͆̌͋̏̉̓̒͌̆̔͗́̽͆́̀͐͑̍̉͆̂̽̍̋̊̀̊̎̐̓͒̌̆͌̑͗̈̌̊̈́̈́͛͐͗͆̕̕̚͘͝͝͝­̡̟̟̣̼͇͉͖̺̻̙͙͓̫̞̝̫̝̰̞̝̗̩̥̙̦̠̗̱̯̪̙̝͎ͅo̸͖̻̟̗͇͂̈̒͆͒̏̀̉̄̈́͌͆́̿̒̐̀̓͐̓͘͝͝­̢̢̡̢̡̨̡̧̢͙̩̹̖͚͖̖̖̺̤̘̮͙̼̤͕̩͙̗͚̤͚͚̙͍͍͔͓͇̱̟̖̗̪͕͚͎̘̪̗̩͜ ̶̛̛̤̝̤̰͈̲͕̞̬̭͇͈̫̟̮͇͚͈̲̖̟̞͎̠̝̾͋̂̀̀͗̒̾̾̃͛̒̊͐͒͐͊̏͆͋̂̃̄̒̐̈́̑̄̽̊͘͜͝͠͝͠ͅ­̢̧̡̨̡̬̮̞̭̥͈͚͈̦̩̻̩̼̙̘̺̩̟̞̰͖̜͚͇̮̬͔͜ͅͅẅ̴͌͂̀̅͛̄͆͂͗́̈́̂̿̐͌̇̀̐̔̍̄̀͘͘̚̕͝­̨̻̪͉̤̲̖̟͙̩̻̖͔̙̗̲̪̼̜̭̙̥̮̫̘̭̳̣̣̭̫͜͜ͅͅͅë̷̛́̒̅̈͆͐̐͛͌̑̀͋̀̄̏̈́̽̄̍̾̐͌͗͝͝­̨̧̡̛̛̘̱̹̞͈͚̪̺͖̠͉̹͕͚͓̪̟̬̖̰̜̮̟͍̤̳͍̜́̀́̒̈́͑̒̀̆̓̏͂̉̂͐͊̇̊̽̊̿͆̆̿̍̚̚̕͜ͅͅͅ­̢̢̠̬̪͔͓̱̞̻̹͓̝͉̲̯͖͓̣̰͙ͅͅl̸̛͊̈́͑͂̀̂̃̊̃̌͛̍̀̎̀͂̾̓̄̆̓̾̎͒̅̒̔̋̏̂́̊͊͒̕͝͝͝͝­̥̜̠͙͙̫̤̥͔̂͒̋̍͋̌̃̔̾̍̉͂͌̌͒̀̕̚͝c̵̛̓́̂̽̑̆̇̐́̒̈̈́͋̓͂͊̌̇̃͗̈́̇͒͋̑͆͋͛͒͐̃̕͠͝­͔͎͌̆͒̑͛̀́̈́̎̈̍͑́̐͋̌̇̔̄̈́̓̌̌͒̓̃̒̕͝͝͠o̸̢͚͉͇̖̺͈͖̰̭̝̣̙̰̹̥̹̥̺̘͔̹͈̬̽͒́́͜͝­̘̜̹͉̩̲̹̤̯͎͉ͅm̸̢͓̲͕̝̫̥̻̤̳̭͚̩͖̳̥̭̬̌͌̈́̐̈̿̀̔̓̏͌͛̑̄̽͌́͆̉͊̓̍̃͂̄͂̕̕̕͝͝͝͠­̨̨̻͚͉̘̫̯͎ȩ̵̛̤̮̟̉̄̎̓̈̿̔͆̿́͊͗̿͆́̎͆̽̍͆̌͗̉͂̐̅̔̋̉̄̀̅͌̈̇̽͂͊̿̍̕̚͝͠͝͝͝͠͝­̢̧̤̞̙̹̪̰͚̗̤͍͖̯͎͎̭͕̹͖͕͈̗̳̜̗̜͎̣̰̳̗̟̪͈̫̹̼͎͔̩̭̭͔͓͕̲̞̙̜̯̻͓̯͖̟̼ ̴̢̡̛̟̗̟͕͓͓̺̗͈͓̜̼̠͇͙͇̖̟̆̉́͆̐́̏͒͛̂͊͐͂̓̀̾̐̔͋̿̀̔̓͂̐͂̃́̑̓̎̃͑̔̈́́̌̀̏͝͝͝ͅ­̧̢̨͉̳͙̻͇͚͕̖͇̮͈͎̻̟̪̙͇̮̬̞̗̘͜m̷̈̿͑̅͌̀̂͒̂̏̉̀͌̾̈́́͛̐̉̂̅̒̋̊̎̈̿͗͆̍̉͛̕͘̕̕͠­̡̨̧̖̦̱̱̻̬̩̜͓͈͎̳̳͎̼̝̻͚̯̘̙̺̖̲̩̰̱͕̲͓̟͚͉̜̆̆́̑̃̇̋͆̄̅̅̚͘͘͝͝ͅé̵͌̄͒̍͐͋̌̑­̢̡̡̧̡̠̞̺͚̦͇̝͈̠̗̗̙̯͉̺̩̩̲͎͉̪̗͇͇͙̹͎̝̪͈̟̞͙̤̠͚̜̻̝͔̜̞͈̗̥͇͍̹̳̲͖́͋̊͜͝ͅ.̸̀­̨̧̡̢̛͎͓̹̟͉̟̼̣͉͚̜̫̣͚̞͖̙̹̹̳̤̀̓̇̄̎̂̎͊͑͗̔̈́̾͛̉͗̾̀̅̌̍͑͐́͂͘̕̕̕̕̕̚͘͜͜͝͠͝͝­̧̣̬̥̰̬̦̤͖̗͔͍̪̺͚̱̻̙̺̙̲ͅ
̸̛̌͐͐͛̎̾̅̍̉͐͐̈͐̊̎̑̃͌̚͘̕͠­̡̛̛͖̱̤̭͎̪̖̙̠̠͔̭̦̹̞̞̼̘͊͋̀̉̉̃̐̈́͊̽̽̆̒̑̏̅̉̏̅͋͂̕̕͠ͅͅt̷̽̌̈́̈̈͆͊̒͂̈́͒̒͐͘̕͝­̧̢̢͇̻̰͍̩̞̯̥̮̼̮̜̮̘̪͍̱̮͉̼̬̖̟͕͓̭͔̯̆̂̓̉̀͂̆̐̊́̿́̍̽́̎̿̋̄̾̊͐̀̓̒̔͆͛̾͜͜͠ͅͅ­̡̨̨̨̖̣̭̙̝̹̻̝̥̥͇͇̰͕͈̰̯̩ḧ̵̛̛̛̛́́̆̏̐͋̽͆̐̀̍̿̌̅̊͆͒̍͆̈̃̔͐̈́̉̐̉̏̅̒́̍͛̇͘͝͝­̧̛̛̛̛̯̺̜̒̈̄̀̿̏̋́̌̄̾̊̓̀̋̈́̚͘͝ͅe̴̒̏͆̆͊̈́͊͗̾͛͑̔̈̽̀͗͌͌̊̾̾̈́̈́́͐̀̀̄̚͘͠͝͝­̢̧̧͇̳͔̘͚̝̼͖̣̤͎͎̻̠̑̀̿̃͐͌̿͗̄̎͛̓́̂̄̌̌̿̿̅̃̓͐̉̽͐̚̕͝͝͝ ̶̢̡̫͇͔̺̠̹̭͎̫͈̂̓̐̊q̸̝̜̻̎̀̅̇͊͗̀̓̎̾͑́̽̈́͌̈́͂̎̍͛̏̃̿̀͌̇̓͆̆̽̃̈͌̎͛̋̓̃́̓̓͝͝­̡̨̨̤͙̻͕̣̰͇̫̜̦̯̻͔̟̝̣̲̝̥͓͙͇͖̥͉̩̝̦̙͔͈͓̟̯̫͖͜u̵̧̠̺̱̹͓̳̫̥̘̘̘̹͕̗̥͙̙̪̟̽͂ͅ­̢̧̡̨͎̻̪̞̫̼͎͓͚͔̲̬̥͎̦̝̩̙̬e̴̢͕̤̮͕̰̱͇̩̮̦͓̣̪̖͕͈͓̦̬̭̙̥̻̔͆̇̂͂͒͋͆͑̒ͅs̴̑͝͝­̨̢̡̢̨̦͖̱̟̭̦͕̹̳̝̜̱̹̣̠̦̙̮̙͈̫͎̺͈̙̉͋̍͛̀͂̋͌͌́̀̓͂̀̈́͑͆́̐̆̍̏̋͑́̒̂́͒̍͑̋͘̚͘­̬̠͇̞͕̳͍̪̗̟̗̮̱͕͓̬̮̠̱̝͔ț̵̡̪̭͉̩̼̗͈̑̊̅̒͒͌̊͛́̀͊̌͗̍́̏̉̓͐̔͗̃́̀͗̋͛̓̽̃̕͘͝­̡̧̤͖̲̩̝̯̖̣̗̦̞͇̟̩͈͓͉̖͈̣̙̦̹̹̮̣͙̖ͅi̸̤̎͂̀͌̽̐͂̉̀̄̐́̈́͂̂͛̈́́͛̂̍̓̒̾̇̽̚͘͠͝͝­̨̧̡̡̧̨̧̧̼͕͙̣͕̯͕̭͚̻̼̙̰̳̘̭͇̹̝͇̬̟͚͕̤͙̝̦̥̲̟͉͈͕̜̗̼̹̖̳̰͚͉̰̤͔̼͈̻̺͙̰͜ͅo̵͊­̢̡̢̨̦̲͈̱̙̭̖̺̺̪̜̱͓̯̲͙͚̰̳̻̬̮̬͎̞̥̺̗̠͈̹̤̣͇̼̹̖̹͙̳̻̘͚͖̪̤̙̮̲̘͕͙̾́̑̀͜ͅͅͅͅ­̟̪͍ń̶̨̡̝̻͉͓̤̫̺̲̫̀͊͆͒̓̀̽̈́͋̔̓͒̈́̌̏̌̂̋̃̊̀̇̇̚͝͝͝͝ͅ ̶̹̺̗̙̱̳͑̃́̆͌̏̐̋͛̆̀̈̎̅̽̏̈̄̓͌̔̿̂̽̓̓̂̾̅̾̀̍͌̔̆̏̏̽̓̅̅͂̂̋̀͆̑̃͂͗̽͘̕͠͠͠͝͝­̨͉͇̜̱̗͇̘͖̮̪̱̜̠̲̜͇i̶̛͊͛̐͌͂͂͗́̿̀̓̄́̑̈́̽̓͆̓̾̊̎̂̓̐̌̓̂̏̂̈́̋͑̋̄͑̑͆͊̅͒̕̚͝͝­̡̨̧̧͕̦̦̗͈̦̘̺̥͖̬̹̳̞̪̮͎̜̪̣̘̮̫̳̖͇͚̞̱̫̞͚̗̖̳̩̫͔͍̣̗̼̯͇̲͙̝̳͎̥͉͉̾͂̽̽̽͜͜ͅͅ­̤̤s̶̡̧̛͔̰̤̝̯̯̰͎̹̱͙̻̯͔̖̙̃̽̽̐̈̓͆̎͌͌̉̌̔̃̒̓͌̋̆̽̔̈́̐̔̍͋̏͋͗͌̌͛̓͛͆̀̀͆̆̉̚̚­̧̢̡̨͍͍͚̲͉̰̗̖̼̖͎̪͕̙̟̻̘̥̭̖̥͖̮͈̙̜̭̬̙̺͚̲͎͉̜̟̭͈͜͜ͅͅ ̷̨̡̢̧̡̛̛̟͔̩̗͔̬̣͔̮̞̤̭̞͍̠̠̥͕̥̺͈̩͓̙̞̈̉̐̈́̍͂̿͛͋͑̂̃̌́͋̾̃́̂̾͆͌̑̾̈́̒͘͝͠͝͠͝­̮̝͉͈͈͕̹͚̳͈̤͇̻͓ͅͅp̷̒̽̈͐̓͐̌̈́̊̓̃̓̄̀̓̑̍̔̄̔̇̄̈́͆̈́̃̈́̋̑̎̆̇́̇͊̂͘̚̚̕͠͠͝͝͝͝͝­̡̡̧̧̜̟͇̟̙̩̥̭͚͉̰̣̠̪̭̗̦̙͚͕̙̦̫̩̹̥̣̖͖̲͋̓́͛͊̎͂̂̍̇́̓̾͘͜͝͠o̸̎̏̒̿̿̐̓̽̃̚͝͝­̡̛̺̩̜̯̣̬͇̹͉͙̠͔̰͈͙̗̞͗͒̔́͒̏͛͌̈́̔͐́̌͐̄̆̂̓̈́͆͂͐̇̌̄́̈́̈͛̈́̿̌̐́̚͜͝͝p̶͙̲͓̮͕̀­̢̡̨̧̨͙̖̦̟͔̦̺͖̫̖̗̹̳͓͈̙̠̲̝̠̘̥͕͕͎͎̖̺̠͓͈̹̙͇̫̫̰͖͓̱͙͍̣̬̲͍̣͍͜͜͜͜ͅp̴͂̍͋̍͠­̢̧̨̢͇̟̩̰̭̙̹̥͍̯̜̪͖̩̩̖͔̯̮͖̖̥̹͇͍̗͈̥͔͙̟͌̊̂̍͆͂̅̇̎͐͂͛̋̎̾͆̐̔̆̐̔̇́̓́̋͜͠͠ͅ­̖͍̬̘͉͎̼͜i̶̡̢̧̢̛̛̠͖͕̼̟̯̖̗͈̹̮͔̩̗͇̋̋̈̉̍̀̽̂́͑͌̀̿͌͌̓͒͆̇̿̒͆̈̈́́̎͗͒͗͋̚͘͝͝­̨͔̼̳͕̬̺͓̬͉̻̰̬̣͇̲ͅn̶̨̧̧̢̧̧̢̧̛̦͙̰̬͎͍̫͉̝̦̣̲̳̬͖̫͇̘̙̗̥̲͔͕̗̠̟͙̼̘̪̍̂̽͜ͅͅ­̥͔͉͉̯̼̬̗͔̰͎̘̞̦̞̻̟̬̮̮̞͎ͅg̴̛̏̍̽̄̾̀̀͊͛͂̐͊́̔̅̀͛̈̋͂̄͂̍̍̓͌̓́̍͂͑̐̇̚͠͝͠͠͠­̨̢̢̡̢̧̧̛̛͈͈̻̲̝͇͖͔̝͈̟͙̖͓̺̗̪̲͇͚͈̟͕̫̰̣̮̙̞̲͍͌̈́̒̿̑̅̉͑͑̿͗̍̉̉͒̔͊̄̏́̚̕͜͠͝­̫̞͉̮͉̹͈̪̱̫̥̣̳̹̤͍ ̵̛͒̆̅̽̌́̀̀́̄͂́̀̏̽̓̏̅̇͒̿̐͐̑͆̈́̈́̈́̑͗͐͋̓̋͋͌̋̒̿̈́̆͋̓͌̄̃̅̊̃̍̄̚̕̚͘͘͝͠͠͠͝͝͠­̨͇̗̘̞̻̤̟̱͎̩̱̇ͅú̷̋̀̋̽̅̾̑͛̌̔̄̌̃̍̇̈́̋̑̍̎̔̄̀̓̂̑̽̿͋͑͛̄̐͋̈̓̏́͘̚̕͘͠͠͝͝͠͠­̨̡̨̡̧̛̤͍̞͔̳̰̗̺̞̣͕̙͍̙̘̟͇̺̞͇̹̜̦̖̰̗̯̩͉̭̺͎̻̳͍͔̯̥͔̯̘̱̀̀̆̅̀̋̉́̈́̎̋͒͋̍͌̚͝­̨̧͖̟͖̲̘͖̥̘̮̘͙͍̤͜p̵̀̏̓̈́̇̂͌͑͊̃͐͌̏͊̓̽̑̀̂͒͑̓̂͛̔̃͌̋̿̈́̉͂͋͛̋̾̒̿̕̚̚̕͝͠͠͝͝­̻̩̲͊̀͘͘͠.̶̖̳̱̮̥͍̹̥͎̼̀̽̿̉̔͊̓̍͐͗̌́̔̈́͑̓̆̓͋̏̌͘͝͝
̶̛̓̄̓̉̌͂͊͒̈́̂̅̇̈̕͝͝͝͠­̧̮͔͈̹̩͍̪͈̰͔͎̻͓̮͓̩̙̖̯͍̙̓̋̒̾̅̀̂̍̀̌̈́̿̓͊̄͑̀̿̅́̎̈́̇̃̄͌̈́̊̇̽͐͑̏̀̕̕͘͜͜͝͠I­̸̡̡͚̩͇̥̠̞̪͇̿̾̓̈́͌͗͆̓̉̔͊̀̀̓̆̈́̀͊͛͗̿̎̾̂́͌̈̍̍̾͘̚͝ͅṡ̶̔́̏̾̄͑̄̏̓̐͊̔̀͗̕̚͝­̩̰̩̠͇̥̊͊͑̕ ̴̨̢̛̛̤̜̬̹̻̣̜͓̘͆͒̑͐͗̾͂̾͛̓̀͆͆̓̔͌̓̓̅̈́́̽͊̄̀̿̓̔͌̈́͆̎̓́̓̾͌̆̀͋͑̌̃̂̐͂͘͘̕͜͝­̡̧̬̦̪͙̳̘͎̱̗͎͖̬̰͚͚̹̳̰̣͇̘͇̦͖̬͓̮͈̻̳͉̣̭͇̮̦̰ͅt̸̛̙͇̤̃̔̓̓͆͌̽̈́̈̽̀̍̄̈́̉̚͝͠ͅ­̡̜͎̣͉͙̼̗̥̭̟̮̖͖̖̮͇͇̭̝͓̼̫̥͎͕̫͉͎͈ḧ̸́̂̓́̓̌͛̿̿̈̌̈́̄̽̾̄̏̋͑̓̈́̓̓̈͗͑̾͋̍̈̃͌̕­̢̧̧̛͎̩̣̜̟̬̭͓̣̣̥̗͇̟̪̤͉̣̪̬̭̬̥͚̦͖̹̠͎̙̤̪̝̑͆̎͑̽̊͑̈̈́̀̽͐͋̒̒̿͐̂͋̆͒̏̑̌̕̕͘͝­̡̘̝͙̭̦̼̮̙͉̱̪͉̤̼͎͚̣̠͜i̸̛͉͚̞̺͊͊̎̓́̒̀̊̃͛̽͋̑͌͐͒͆̋̈́̎̃̑̐̇́̌́̒̉͒̃̌̈́͛̚͘̚͝­̨̡̱͈͜s̶̢̢̡̨͓͎̤͔̻̻̘̘̥̠̙̰̜̦̺͍̬͔̬̟̜̯̹͇͔̮͍̳͕͎̙̲͓̥͓̈̽̃́͋̄́͗̄͌̆̽̀̓͒͋͊͜ͅ­̥̺͈͉͚̞͉ ̵̙̭̼̏͋͋́̋͑̆̒͠r̵̛̛͗͗̓͂̂̈́͂͒̓̏̐̃͑̈́̓̃̃̋̇̎͗̆̽̽̓̎̇̇̓́̒̓̿̽̂͋̒̉̏͐̌̀̚̕͘̕͠͝­̝͚͎̳͇̖̎̒͐̌̊̈́͒͝ͅȇ̷̅̆̊̽̀̓́̓̊̊͆̿̄͛̾̆̍̑́̆̍̿̀̽͛̓͑̀̔̏̐̄̐̊̔̑̓̒̂̈́͋̚̚̕͝͝͝­̢̛̻̻͖̹̖͉̬͇̜̯͍͔̏̏͌̉̃͌̔̒̀̏͌͐͊̊̕͜͠͝ȁ̸̢̛͙̖̰̗̤͓́̊̿̊̃̐̍̃̋͆̈́̏͗̑̂͗̐̍͐̚̕̕­̧̡̧̢̨̢̨͕̳̳͉̳̣̖̮͔͓̮̻̳̪͓̙̦̱̝͍͕̟̘̻̮͈̖͔͉͔̣̭̮̼͉̗̜̜͜͜ͅl̶̎͒͗́̿̐̍͋͗͒̌͋̀͑̕­̨̛̳̲̗͉̹͓̮̼̟̲̪̲̟̯̞̯́̔͆͂͆́͋̂̆͑̈́͑͗̋̃͐̄͛̽̔̇̇͗͐̄̈́̓͆̒̄̔̒̈́͂̊̏͒̓̒͗̕̚͘͘͠͠ͅ­̧̨̨͕̦̞͓͙͎̬̱̘̠̙̝̟͕̹͍̠̝̘̖͍̦̟̻͜ͅl̶̛̛̛͐̄̑͛̽̈̾̆̓͑̈́̌̾̀̏̔̅̔̂̌̎̈̉̋̈̑̔̔̕͠͝­̢̡̮̺͍̃̇̽́̾͆͌̅̇̄͝y̴̧̡̢̢̢̛̬͓̬̝͇͉̩̘̪̯͈͓͇̗͇̪̩̪͙̗̻̫̭̣͎͇̖͕͈̳̳̖̒͑̽̄̔̕̕ͅͅ­̧̧̡̤̙̜͓͚̖̜͈̞͖̰͔̹̠̭ ̶͔̰̯̞̺̖̻̥͊̔́̃͆̍̀̂̇̎͐̂̏͊̀̃̽͐̅͋̈́̍̏̿̀̉̓̉̀̔̄́̏̇̃́̕̚̕͝ͅh̵̛̛̒̈́͑̓̇̓̋̈́̐̇͝­̨̡̨̨̡̡̨̰͚̙̯̯͍͇͈̘̼͇̲̻̳̳̪̥͈̝̙̘̪̲͔͚̞̘̼̣̯̦͍̙̖͇̘̊̀̾̕ͅa̷̺̮̬̯͎̟͚̣̠̮̯͙͌͗̃­̨̢̖̹̳̹͈͉͕p̵̛̛͋̉́̈̄̋̒̇̀͆̎̌͐̊̆̍̋̇̈́͆̈́͗̈́̏͑̏́̌̈́̾̃͊̊͌̾̒̄͛͊̓̐̀̏̂̊̽́̚͘͝͝­̘͕̋́͐p̴̞͈͚̟̻̤̳̥̯̼͖̺̯̤̐͑̈́̾͌́̔̅́̾̀̅̿͐͛̊͑̓̄͂̋̏̂͑̍̆̓̊̔̒̈́̑́̊̈̏͆͗̀̕͘̚̚͠­̨̢̧̢̖̩̲̝̤̹̰̙͉͖̯̣̫͓̞͔̫̳̮̻ͅḛ̸̢͎͓̞̱͍͙̹̬͎̻̞̹͚͛͌̊̌̾͒͊̀̄̆̊͛̐́̑̂̂̇̈́̽͠͠ͅ­̡̨̡̹̯̟̹̣̪͕̲̘̟͇̺̟̹̼̖̹̺n̵̛̝̟̫͔̱̱̞̜̑̍̽̏̒̔͝͝i̵̞͙̓̃̿̏̍̆̽̓̈́̽͐̉͌͗͐̐̍̈́̋̕̕­͇͎͎̩̹̟̙͖̻͉̺n̵̛̂̂̾̾̄̄͋̉̈́̔̄̾̅͊͊̊͑̓̂̏̂̈̒̂͆̇͆̂͂̑͐̀̉̾͗̿́̐̃̑̿́̂̈͆̈́͘̕̚͠͝­̡̡̨̟͙̜̗̞̘͓̙͎͎͙̫̳̜̺̰̞͍̭͖͙͖͔͕̝͖̪̮̮̮͓̺̳̰̂̃̇̉̋̌̚ğ̵̨̢͈̥̰̯̳̗̩̯̟̱̬̩͒̌͘ͅ­͚̲̭̣̯͓͙̗̺̤̲͕̞
̴̨̛̛̛̺͉͙̣̤͚̩̘̻̩͓̙̯̠͚̻̯͍͙͙̘̰͓̳̫̿̎̃̿͆͛̉̈͌̃̆̓̽̽̿̾̄̕̚͝͠­̨̨̼̺̥̲͖͙̟͕̰̳̺̫͙͈̣͈͙̳̣̥͖͈̹͜͜Ơ̴̔́͌̾͂̾͊̿͌͆͆̈́̈̀͑̍́̽̈́̒̎̄̊̀̃͋̀̒͘͘͠͝͝͠͝­̧̢̨̢͔͔͎͍͍͔̦̠͎̩͎̺̩͔͕̯̫͎̰͍̭̮̮̱͚̦̭͎̞̥̦̳̖̪͎͍̻̞̹͙͚̗̳̝̰̹̻̜̗̤͍̤̭͍̄́͛͘͜͜͝­̨̠̥̼̹̬͜ŗ̵̡̛̛͈͈̟͎͔̗̬̞͓͉̦̩́́͂̓͆͆͌̄̍̉̇̒̽̓̄̈́͌͜ ̴̡̡̨̨̞͇͙̝͚͓̳̬̮͇̮̜̖͕̗̤̞̹̙̟͈̹̝̙͖̣̲̬̯͂t̴̃͊̋̆̌̐̌̈̋̐͑̐̓̿̓̿̊͋͌̅̓̓̓̋͘͠͠͠­͖̏̿̓̅̓̽̉̐̄̅̔̓̂͐͌̿̾̽̍̿̓͘͠͝͝ḧ̷̨̨̛̦̹̠͇̙̲̼͚̩̗͎̺̫̈̋̇̆̒͛̃̂͊̿̊̈̅́̽̚͝͠͠i­̶̢̧̧̻̬̫̞̦̯̤͕͓̱̳̯̼̼̲̠̲̯̪̳̃͜͜s̶̨̰͉͇̬̥̠̰͚̠̤͓̜̭̗̳̩̬̘̞̎̂̿̒̏̈́̍̆̎̉͒̌̌̕͝͝­̢̨̧̖̣͙̞̫̩̝̳̘͕͚̤̗̹̭͍͔̭̣̠̘̣̭̬̙͚̙̠̝̖̰̤̻̟̙͜ ̶̧̨̨̨̜̞̭̦̪͕̠͍͙̫̰̝̱̠̻̦̞̞̮͇͈͐̀͐͂̂̏͐̌̆̇̂͛̆́͋̾́̏͑̋̽̀͑̑́͐̔̿̈́̽̔̈́͌͐͗̚͘͘͝­̣̖̼͚̹̱͉̠̳i̸̧̨̨̡̧̨̛̯̩̠̻͓͈̲͓̤̜͙̠̩̼͇͈̰̟͇͎͉̩̲͕͍̻̹̘̱̳͔͖͎̼̍́͑̌̋̏̾̊̄̚͜ͅͅ­̬s̴̰̳̅͆̀͋̈̒͝͠ ̵̨̨̧̨̧̛̙̹͔̠̜͎͕͖̥͔̦͓̬̲̦̱̥͇̘̜͈̬͍̘͈̙͚͈̬̙̳̳̜͛̎͆͜͜ͅͅͅͅj̸͒̾̓͌̀͋̾͒̆͆͒̕͘͠­̡̛̛̮̫̙͚̙́̂́͐͒͆̐́̃̾̊́͛̑̃̈̔͐̔͂̀̇̿̉̌̎̎̅͂̇͗̇͑̑̂̆̕͝͠͝͝u̸͒̃̉͐̋̽̽̂̏͗͛̔͘͝­̛̛̞͓̠̥͙̜̳̦̱̩̪̮̤̝̺̲̎͆̎̓͋̈̌͛̒̈́͆̂̃̇̓͌̇̿̾̋̍̾̒̍͒̓̉͘̕͜͝͝s̴̍̃͑̈́̈́̎̈́̀̑̽̒̀̓­̢̡̧̩̪̥̭̞͓̪̻̫̺̥͚͚͖̣̲͕̤̫̤͖̗̬̬̯̄̊̃́̈́̚͜͜͝t̷͊͑̓̌̔͐̈́͌͌̀͑̇̐̌̌̽̎̇̒̌̇̎̆̚͘͝­̧̧̨̢̛̠̦̲̮͕̙͇̺͎͔͈͖̘̙̫͔̣̺͂̔̆̇̎̌̍͒̓̏̿̉̓̓͗͆͐̀̽̉̀͆͊͑̈͆̃̑̕͘ ̸̽͊͊̓͊̿̊͊͑̄͛̑͌͗͊͋̆̑̀̌̃͒̓͑̇̓̀̓̾̉̑͌́̂̃̀̏̃͆̃̒̀͂̈́́͆͛̑̽̈́̚̚͘̚͘̕͘͘͝͝͝͝͝͝­̢̜͈̝̲̘̗͎̖̹̳̤̹̯̘̺̰̃̾a̵̢̡̡̢̧̬̳̹͚̞̪̝̹̲͈̘͕̫̜͚̥̯̪͎̦͊̎͛͆̇̉̀̂̀̐͒̈́́͗̕̕͠͝͝­̙̝͇̤̜̪ͅ

Pray for my death!

— The End —