i want to write a book, it starts now.

i've rid myself of this evil. . . . . . i think

i hope I'm a plague on you, i hope you did not forget about me, i hope you still see my face, as i do of you!

its funny, I'm now just another statistic for your ass, another person fucked up by that illogical thing called love, i hate it yet i cannot seem to sate it, and in the end dispose of it, it's funny, that you are able to be the one focus in my up-in-the-air life doesn't seem at all right, its funny.

i can't read, i can't think, i can't sleep, i can't dream, i can't run, i can't talk, i can't do much at all.

i see people, and i create people, i wanna them to leave, but ask them to stay,

i withdrawing again, but the strange thing unlike last time is that i don't want too, someone stays on my mind. hhhmmm

i got it, I'll flip a coin on it

people who claw at me don't understand that I'm more then capable and quite willing to claw back

to the one person that reads this:
i love you deeply, and i want you by my side

i grow tired of this game, bring closure i must, talk to her i will