i am all but confused
My shadowy thooughts dance under the rain while a part of basks in sunlight.
I am all but empty
I claim satifaction with an all rounded sense of hungered.
i am all but vain
I bath in my glory yet to be proven to mankind

Where does my motivation and depression come from?
i fear that i canot tell.. a pity
In love i am tenderly caressed but with fleeting values
In bitterness, i am a wounded lioness seeking revenge,
hurt but with a focus.

I am tempted to ask myself,
where does thy motivation come from?
From the posionous romance of shakespeare?
From words abouts the sullen hull?
From temptations of the daffodils?
From the pain thst lurks therein?
From the sweetness of nature's gift?

Sadly, as i reminisce my past inspirations
I who was oce dull, tentatively recall the forms in which they came
From the bitterness and Sweetness of my heart.

its kind of funny how youre the one asking me that question. Its as if  i havent made myself as apparent (transparent) as i could be. But Ive learned my lesson, never trust anyone again. We all learn that oce or twice, maybe early on in life. Yet youre still one of the only, the one the ones who seem to appear beneficial to me. and i know how that sounds super superficial of me but really, Ive come to the point where i can truly figure out that ive been nothing but a fool, and a pretty big **** fool.
am i really exploiting myself? Just so that someone else  will get the message that I, for one, am totally not nearly finished with them. I like the fact that im not naive, yet I seem to let things slip over me. For once I should be done, it should be my final decision , but thats far from being my only conviction. For now, Ill just leave this unfinished.