"beautiful".

it's a sad day when you type in the word "beautiful" into google images and are scarred by pictures of size two women with ginormous boobs.

the world is an unfair place.

i would have to weigh 250 pounds to have those knockers.

and that is the expectation.

so girls--we are all as ugly as hell.

well i've already looked at facebook...

bahahahahahahahaha. exams... i am such a procrastinator. there is nothing else to say.

a small and silly symbol.

my phone's battery is constantly dying even if i charge it. i am my phone.

dwindling.

I'm sorry I've lost my ability to please. I'm sorry I've given up. I'm sorry I'm never home. I'm sorry that I'm just not good enough. I'm sorry that they kept us down. I'm sorry that I'm fed up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

upon a star

i wish i wish i wish
maybe spoken 100 times
the wish will
turn itself around
and become
my reality
my sanity
my vanity

if music be the food of love.

So beautiful, yet seemingly cliche to the average critic. So poignant, yet non-comprehendable for those who have never felt what this feels like. Soft sugar and butter running down my throat and filling my heart as it explodes with a sweet melody... although it does not match the so-so thoughts running through my head. And so I realize that the words I am singing are bigger than you and I combined... because it is the feeling we share that brings us together and makes something more.

If music be the food of love,
sing on till I am fill'd with joy;
for then my list'ning soul you move
with pleasures that can never cloy,
your eyes, your mien, your tongue declare
that you are music ev'rywhere.

Pleasures invade both eye and ear,
so fierce the transports are, they wound,
and all my senses feasted are,
tho' yet the treat is only sound.
Sure I must perish by our charms,
unless you save me in your arms.

time goes by, so slowly slowly. time goes by, so slowly slowly.

And the same hopeless banter goes on and on, running over my empty corpse with a truck of iron and molding my brain into what it should look like. Wanting it to end, but scared of what is to come next, I wait and linger, not beckoning time to go forward, but not setting the clock in reverse. Just sitting, staring, counting the individual ticks that make a splinter in my forehead everytime the resonating sound clicks on through my being. Fearing what it is to come, and running from what lies behind me. And so I sit in this twisted equilibrium of never knowing forward and reverse... just ticking.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.