You make the rain smell so good.
I wanted to blog the recipe for the curry I made last night. But there was alot of random shit in there including baked beans, ketchup and butter. I don't remember the details, but it made use of some of the uncooked BBQ vegetables *shoots evil look* I don't like sitting in the dark on my own, especially not to sit there turning vegetables for no one to eat.
Mmm, anger and tears aside (feckin' PMT monster)... Exams are out the way, I've lost my keys and I'm broke-ish.
You reduce me to tears in front of you, at your feet, knowing no one else may witness that.
It's actually quite relaxing to sit down mid-afternoon and ramble here to myself. I have a confession. I love one note. It is my sorrow. I can't read music, or else I would know and be wed to that note. It's resonant, blue, sharp. Placebo songs always seem to hit it. It's peppermint and lemons in cold water. How can I make you all understand? Do I sound like I'm losing it? A little fucking crazy? I am not schizophrenic. I have roles. Different roles I have adapted and unleashed to keep me alive. Don't you understand? I need to be the lover, the killer, the liar, the baby, the bitch, the slut, the beauty queen, the wonder girl, the mother. I am me. In all aspects of myself. Some people have names for people like me, and I have names for them.
You are something musical in my poems.
NO MORE WIRES
DO NOT RESUSCITATE.
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