i watched Sunshine. it's making me shake with the cold. making my skin uneven. ironically. i want to be an astronaut. if i got laser eye surgery i could. it would be so beautiful. how insignificant would i be? in front of the earth. away from sins and success. a spectator of the world. 'slap five with God.' i want an epic summer. with bestfriends, beaches, and sunshine. i want heaven melting on my hands, making them all sticky. i want nights that last into mornings. but in the end. i know what kids like me deserve. i'm probably going back to India this summer. i'm excited. it's been four years. i want to go to the Taj Mahal. i want visit my old bestfriend in Agra. most of all, i want to see my family. oh and i want to beat up my old babysitter for ever laying a hand on me. here's a 'fuck you' from me to you, bitch. i want to see cows roaming the streets. i want busy marketplaces. close enough, right? ahah. fell into a river and didn't want to get out. didn't want to drown. so i closed my eyes. and lay on my back. the water flowed sweet everythings into my ears. and promised me its support. i can't wait to see where it takes me!

i'm done. i'm through. fuck you. if you want me. you come and get me. the thrill of the chase is gone. and i hate anything that makes me smile. my insides are copper. i'dkilltomakethemgold.

bought myself a new pair of eyes to change the colour of my soul from shit to honey. they're dry. but they look nice. the dilemma. 'whatever happens, happens.' here's to hoping. he was blank. his face was absolutely empty. but that's no problem. fuck it all. i'm just so, so sorry.

serial number: fuckyou. i can't commit to a thing. be it heart or hospital.

i used to think that i was the one with the extremes. the one who goes from calling you every hour to bailing on all of our plans. but no. it's not me.

life as of late: "usually i like to get kissed before i feel fucked". -peter wentz

and when it all goes to hell will you be able to tell me you're sorry with a straight face take this to your grave. and i'll take it to mine.

kind of materialistic now. but aren't you glad to hear some good news for once? instead of sulky poetry and sad reality. here i am, being a teenager. instead of a "dime store prophet". won't last long though. my morals and nature prohibit it. this is the only thing they agree on. "pooh" "yes, piglet" "nothing, i just wanted to be sure of you"... -courtesy of peter wentz breaking clichés like brick hearts.

Failure By Design by Brand New This time I got nothin' to say besides... Do Do Do. Do Do Do. Do Do Do. Do Do Do. Do Do Do. Do Do Do. Do Do Do. Do Do Do. Do Do Do. Do Do Do. Do Do Do. Do Do Do. Do Do Do. Do Do Do.

sometimes a beacon of light comes out of the darkest times. like when i'm up in bed late at night and i have my curtains nearly completely drawn shut. this isn't the insomnia you fake to be cool. this is the fetal position plus a teddybear. the kind of tired that's "stuck like glue(the way I am to you)". this light happens with the nights the moon outshines all the stars. and through that small space between my curtains, the beam of light flows through. i'm not sure why this is relevant. i wish i could tell you that this 'beacon of light' is the cure. hell, it might be. but it all depends on your body chemisty. and the doctors all tell me that i'm chemically imbalanced. but i think they're all comicaly imbalanced. and i just like it because it lets me do my hand puppet shows without killing my ipod battery.