isn't it just hilarious how I don't even know how mentally old I am like not in a haha i'm a kindergartner type way but more of a i still haven't found myself type way like the fact that i need a kind of alone version of hide and seek to find myself but i'm still not done counting off yet and i don't know when i will be because things keep changing and flurrying around my head like lost and gone and happy without me and happy before me and four years and seventeen hundred miles and razors and flowers and drip drip drip i don't know where i'm going i don't know where i'm steering and i told myself i wouldn't panic i won't panic I WONT PANIC I WONT PANIC but i do anyways and the culmination of all of this is just the beginning the beginning of the end and i can't even see past my own breath and even that escapes me and i just wish you were here you with your hugs and you with your whispers and you with your comfort but you three aren't and i'm stuck in the middle of a mud puddle a mile long and i don't think it's ever going to go away so maybe i should just resign myself to sinking

We are not always.

We are not forever.

We are not okay.

We are not fine.

We are human.

Always, because we cannot change our makeup.

Forever, because we cannot alter our DNA.

Okay, because we tend to drown ourselves a little.

Fine, because we have to make it through somehow.

Human, because that's how we were made.

And perfect, because we are made of imperfections.

The watermelon's tears alighted lightly against the bloodstained perfume, and when the steam cleared, light was visible filtering through the fingertips of the victorious battle-bound man with the paper crown. Was this ice and freezing of the tongue to be his reward for the conquest of the wooden palace of Arbol? We would soon see...

i'd really like to just take a moment and breathe because i mean it's hard to breathe inside a volcano but since it's of my own doing it's kind of nice to know that i'm the one killing myself i'm the one drowning in my own lava i'm the one who's going to die because of my mistakes and not you not you it was never your fault it was never your loss to bear so why did i let you why did i let you why did i let you think my falling was my fault and why didn't I save you because i was selfish that's why i was not who i am i wasn't me and i couldn't focus and listen to me coming up with excuses for my own actions but really how can you blame me for being human when the only person who blames me for that is myself constantly every day of my life and don't you think it's hilarious that i punish myself more than anyone else even has the capability of doing but they still do it and it just lays and lays on top of everything else and then there's me just little insignificant me who just likes to sit and watch herself have absence seizures and realize that she's not who she believed she was or even could be only because she holds herself back she holds herself back i hold myself back because why well I guess my emotions are just too strong they're too hot of a magma to keep others safe and it is my own personal protective bubble but it still scalds me and don't you think it's ironic?

Those words were never meant for me, I know. I stole them.
But what a bittersweet revelry it was to be able to think for once, at once, I belonged.
How wonderful was the joy that surpassed all feeling as for a moment, one fleeting moment, I was someone.
Not a blob in the shadows and not the thorn on a rose, not sticking out, unnoticed, or left behind.
But someone.
**You're the only one who knows who I really am.
We all wanna be somebody, we just need a taste of who we are.
We all wanna be somebody; we're willing to go, but not that far.

It was the kind of fog that makes you wonder if you're gonna be able to breathe when you open the door.

It was the kind of fog that makes you ask yourself if your glasses prescription is really strong enough.

It was the kind of fog that makes you speculate if your headlights are going to be sufficient to get you to work.

It was that kind of fog, and that kind of night.

So I sang.

sometimes i just wanna watch the weeds in my mother's herb garden grow and not in a monotonous way like i have nothing better to do with my life cause i mean i don't but i just want to have the control of saying i could destroy you if i wanted but having even more control in never doing it don't you think it's sick and sadistic don't you think my mind is a poisonous **** itself wrapping itself around the places it doesn't belong and when it finally leaves like those summer breezes that blow leaves around then leaves them sad and despondent cause they can't fly once the breeze deserts the place and the branches and the feelings it ******* loved most and isn't it ******* ironic that a monster like the wind can feel it can destroy and destroy and destroy but it also has feelings and in the aftermath and all the torn up branches and weeping children's voices crying over look mommy my clubhouse got crushed by that falling tree and the wind was mad, honey, that's all and no i wasn't mad i was torn torn from myself and from feeling what i wanted to feel when i wanted to how i wanted to because my feelings can destroy you and me and everything else everyone else and when i look back over my shoulder those weeds have grown into a plant so spiky and forbidding that i feel helpless and know i had the control to **** it earlier but didnt and dont you wonder what it would have been like if i had just killed it at its source and just eradicated all this useless pain?