Sometimes I think I'm insane, sometimes methinks you are all guilty as charged instead. Sometimes I'm totally ready to shirk the comforting arm melancholia drapes round my neck, much like ye olde ever tightening noose, yet other times I'm readily spotted wallowing in that very same mire...
Doing the backstroke, and stroking my own seemingly chaotic selfdom...
Ehhhh, who do I think am fooling, anyway?
I wish I could pour everything inside me onto a canvas, so as to display myself as a portrait for you to peruse.
Artistically visceral...
To hone in on the principle...
Pistols at dawn...
'til the night sky is gone.
I give up. Go see Hit and Run, if you haven't. Dax and Kristen Bell are like some fairy tale love story that definitely translates into perfect onscreen chemistry. Too bad real life isn't like that. Instead it is full of dark fantasy that eats away at your soul, bit by decomposing bit...
Lolz.
How can you make yourself once again love the magic trick, even after you've seen how it is truly done and no longer amazing?
Is there CPR for the soul, or do I need those little heart paddle thingies George Clooney used to use?
This world is a sea of unfairness. The question is...
Am I a shark, or a guppy?
I look at people, and I wonder if they live in constant internal turmoil as I do.
I'm not like this all the time, by the way. It just seems like I only post/vent here when I am.
I need to start posting vlogs on here, so I can ramble easier.
Gotta lose about... ten more... pounds first. Trying to get svelte up in this bitch.
RECANIZE.
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