Damnsle Inthis-Dress

poety, rants, and self-loathing self-acceptance...what could be more fun difficult annoying ridiculous outrageous?

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Location: NW OH

Je pense, donc je doute. Je suis. Je pense.

Sunday, February 26, 2006

In Dreams

There are flowers in France
that smell sweetly upon a winter morn;
a hint of a whisper of a spell
of honeysuckle, sandalwood and rose.
Grey and mellow and lost in time
the ghosts of his scent find me
upon a winter morn:
alone and in my dreams.
The stray caress of a willow branch
touches fleetingly through my mind:
sighing drops of the aching rain
falling in my dreams.
These wet and lonely and disturbing days
have a stranglehold on my thoughts.
I am agitated and still in hopeless wonder
and all through the darkness I see myself:
falling in my dreams.
And all the time the rain like love:
falling in my dreams.
And all the hope in all my heart:
falling in my dreams.
Falling in my dreams.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

Quote of the Day

"...there was nothing more to find out, nothing worth doing, only nasty furtive eating and resentful remembering. He was altogether wretched. He hated the dark, and he hated the light more: he hated everything..."

God never says anything back either...

Again, it's been awhile since I've posted, but I guess that doesn't really matter since no one reads this blog except Mom and me. And even then I usually bore the shit out of us, but I guess that's ok since at least one of us loves me anyway. Usually. I won't tell you which one, just to keep the mystery alive.
I've been having a lot of stress and unusual amounts of jealousy coursing through me lately. I have this person in my life who has started doing something that I've always wanted to do, and prided myself on being able to do (If, you know, I wanted to) but have never actually done because I'm a fucking pussy, and they are doing it well. Better than well, they are fucking great. And it makes me feel like I'm being robbed of something that I never had a chance to have. That makes no fucking sense, but I still feel that way. Like my one chance at happiness has been stolen by my best friend, and because they have no idea how I feel because I won't talk, they are thrilled about what they've done and want to share it with me. What the fuck do you do then? They haven't actually done anything wrong, yet I still want them to fall down a steep hill that has been used for years by wasted teenagers as a place to smash glass bottles. Oh the Bactine you'd need after that trip.
Anyway, I'm going to be writing a lot more self-pitying melodramatic crap than usual from now on, and I just wanted to post a warning first. I'm caring like that.

Everyone in the world can go fuck themselves.