Fuck all you disillusioned trend hoppers that feed off mainstream and everything corporate, you are not who you all seem to be. Speak the lingo, where the duds. you are still nothing but a pack of slugs trudging along the stone marble floor, looking for your niche, in fear that you will stepped on you pack yourself into your shell hiding from the light of the truth of what you know you are. You know nothing, to me you don't exist. You try to take away the self esteem of those you belive lower than yourself. what for? So you can get off on beliving you're something that you are not. You all sicken me . like a cockroach you should be exterminated, you are a shallow insignifigant piece of putrid vomit, wrapped in disgusting vulgar and topped off with nothing to praise breathing for. You are all a bunch of freshmen in your study of frailty... Get a hobby.

Lindsay,

Fumbling towards the path of my own self destruction. the pictues on my wall bare the reminince of you, these are the images that haunt my mind, drawing back and forth the knife of agony that you used to slice my wrists. Living in the past is too familllar, in reference to the future I don't care. it's signinfigance is raped, my past is gone, and with it all hope for the future. Waking up to find my face embedded on my pillow . Soaked in tears. soft melodies sting ringing in the air, the window still open, I opened it to catch a breath of air. Dreaming gets me nowhere except back to where I started, One vicious circle.


You are why I spell Love with a capital L.