Blah.. I'm in an all out writing mood, but I'm not in the dark mood. Blah blah blah. I love that, blah blah. Okay.. er.. don't I just love Marilyn Manson music? Blah. Hrm... bored.. not in dark mood.. just.. blah... too.. much.. to do.. too little to do... blah.

Thought I'd write poetry or something like it, prose sort of, of some thoughts and experiences I've had of the last three years. Heh.. I'm so lame.

They rip away what you have
that you call a life
and then they tell you
it's gonna be okay.

They take it so fast,
they could slit your wrists,
and wiggle a little finger
and tell you it's gonna be okay.

They watch you lie down and die,
Where your face is a blank parallel
and an erasable requium
to house empty emotions.

This is all a game anyway,
All a game anyway,
But to live and die,
Never came with a simple code.

We're all fighting to survive,
In this busy life.
Struggling for power of life and death,
When we're not God.

They slit your wrists,
And wiggle a little finger,
And tell you it's gonna be okay,
As you lie down and die,
In an empty parallel,
An erasable requium,
Stained and plagued,
With the black tears that wash your face,
Empty emotions that killed your heart,
Love that pricked your finger,
Like a deadly needle,
But they wiggle a little finger,
And say it's gonna be okay,
As you lie down and die,
In that beatiful abyss,
Of no emotion.
-No love.
-No greed.
-No lust.
-No jealously.
-No sadness.
-No happiness.
Just you and that abyss,
And they wiggle a little finger,
And say it's gonna be okay.

`Wildie, thou who ish bored