wow...im feeling more depressed than i should be.

my issues have gotten to the point where if i even have a small glass of anything that contains caffine that i get really naseated, and at some point when i laid down, i got exteremely dizzy. i have also found that the only fast food i can eat now is mcdonalds (barely, and even though i have been repulsed by even hearing its name, now... you just needed to know all of that, didnt you?)

right now, it sucks being me

PLEASE HELP!!! IF ANYONE CAN MAKE A DONATION, PLEASE DO!!!

I miss my good friends. two i left after fourth grade, two i left after sixth grade, one i left after eighth grade, and another i've seen off and on (mostly off) for the two weeks (more? i dunno...). i talk to them, but it isnt the same. i miss them all...(if i have separation issues with two weeks imagine how four years must seem...) I think that is why my stomach condition has been getting worse...hum...im just having a bad...er...year....

i feel nauseated...maybe cause im sick? oh...god knows what...maybe its something else, too...feel like singing one of those slow, beautiful love songs. problem is i dont remember any...

"I've Always Loved You"
By Third Day


I don’t know how to explain it
But I know the words would hardly do
Miracles and signs and wonders
Aren’t enough for me to prove to you

Don’t you know I’ve always loved you
Even before there was time
Though you turn away
I tell you still
Don’t you know I’ve always loved you
And I always will

Greater love has not a man
Than the one who gives his life to prove
That he would do anything
And that’s what I’m gonna do for you

Don’t you know I’ve always loved you
Even before there was time
Though you turn away
I tell you still
Don’t you know I’ve always loved you
And I always will

Don’t you know I’ve always loved you
Even before there was time
Though you turn away
I tell you still
Don’t you know I’ve always loved you

Don’t you know I’ve always loved you
Even before there was time
Though you turn away
I tell you still
Don’t you know I’ve always loved you
And I always will

I've always loved you
and I always will
I've always loved you
and I always will
I've always loved you
and I always, and I always will
I've always loved you....

  What made her do it the first time? Was she given too much, or did she take on too little? Was it for many of her "friend's" pressure, or the betrayal of the single good one? The curiosity or the lust? The need or the want? The thought of it, sitting tidy in the wooden drawer, needing to add a touch of iron flavor the the bland meals cooked daily? None of those. Excuses could not release her, she thinks as she hears the wheels of the drawer turning.
  Stop!! She screams. Her throat closes with the thirst for more. Just one! She thinks. I'll stop tomorrow.
  Her hands cease their inward motion.
  What if there is no tomorrow?
  They inch it back a few centimeters.
  A crack and a whip shudder across her mind. She clenches her teeth. The hunger of her dry soul takes her hands, pleading for her to end its painful misery, alone and driven with an empty, savage hunger.
  The drawer stops. It is completely open.
  She hears a noise, whipping about her ears and the clumps and strands of soiled hair. Only the rain. Just rain.
  It was dark inside. The windows were sealed shut.
  Where did everyone go? When she wants...when she needs them...to come back; to steal away the suicidal means of her thirsty addiction.
  No one is there. Not even inside her sunken shell.
  Hot tears taxed long past due fill the resevoirs of her face and flood in waterfalls off her chin onto the white tile of the kitchen floor, diluting the drops of cherry red that leaked like a broken faucet from her cloven heart.
  Is it a dream?
  A dizzy spiraling dance through the kitchen fills the depths of her eyes.
  She lifts her hands to her face, bitter sweet release of all her emotions flowing down the bridge of her nose, dripping off the tip and filling the corners of her mouth.
  She coughs.
  Just one more...
  A glimpse she catches, of a face that is not hers, staring through the window of her microwave. It is pale, and far beyond sorrow. Her orange-brown freckles seem to stand up and dance in the pale moon of her silky, stained skin.
  More...another...just another...
  Painstakenly, her rusted finger moves, one knuckle creaking, then popping to a deathly rythm as four others follow it. The dead weight of her black solace clangs amongst its puddles of pain that it took all its tainted pleasure in reaping.
  What next?
  She sniffs and wipes her tears, smudging the crimson that had begun to crust over below her eyes.
  Still, there was no one.
  They were severed, all around. All but one. They moved and squirmed as she slowly ascended the stairway, the pumping red avoiding its target and spilling into the canyon of beige carpeting outside the bathroom floor.
  She undressed, and turned the knobs, and as the water filled the porcelain tub, she bandaged her crying wounds, as tightly as she could, shoving the massacred tissues back where they were so brutally dislodged from.
  The water was warm. It seeped through the tightly bound cloth to her naked skin, drawing the anguish, the frustration, the utter loneliness the drove her broken soul out, staining the water a clear, blooming rose. Her empty eyes lay watching as a horde of angels gathered her floating soul from the drain for a funeral procession into the clouds.


  

i had the cutest poem about dog hair, but now i cant find it...so ill tell a story that i wrote over the summer instead...

  She was the shy girl. She didn't talk to no one, so no one talked to her. She had asked special permission from the teacher (after hours of lecturing from her mother) if she could sit in the corner, meekly claiming she could see better from there. She reminded me of a little mouse--straight brown hair cut in an even line at her shoulders, little eyes you could barely see the pupils of, a nose stained with a rosey pink at the tip, and she stood at 5'3", five whole inches beneath me. I didn't know her name, since I always spaced out during roll call. The only name I heard was my own. To be frank, I didn't care, either. No one did.
  My reason for remembering her was that I sat in the back as well, at her right. She never looked up. It was as if someone superglued her line of vision to the desk. I rarely saw her pencil move, either. By the looks of it, she must have had a F average.
  I had seen her after school in the parking lot, too, while I was waiting for my mom, who was late. Her mother slapped her, then screamed at her to get in the car.
  I almost felt sympathetic. But not quite.
  One day, she didn't come to school. It happened the next day, too. And the next. I was probably the only one to notice. After she had been gone for a week, I came to class on monday and went straight to the teacher. "Where's the girl who sits next to me?"
  "You mean Chassity?"
  So that was her name..."Yeah."
  "She's sick." The teacher said, shrugging me off for a pile of homework that needed shuffling.
  I wasted no time getting to my assigned seat, where I sat the rest of the school day, doodling.
  The next morning, when I dragged the newspaper inside fromt he rain and unrolled it, one of the smaller headlines caught my eye; "Murder in Suburbs: Girl Drowned". Obviously, it was just one of those things I was used to seeing in the news, but right next to it, the picture was blurred by a water stain, as was the description.
  I sat down with my Mini-Wheats and, with only a mild curiosity, turned to the page as suggested by the headline. There, I saw the picture: brown hair, slits of eyes, and the little red nose. My eyes widened. I directed my attention to the picture below it. A woman, much resembling Chassity, stared back.
  The caption read the the girl's mother had dropped her in a bathtub, holding her small head underwater until her flailing arms fell motionless in the water.
  Now, the empty seat next to me screams. Every day, it tells me how she may have been alive now, if only i had said a tiny "hello".

gah!! ^_^ ive been giddy all weekend since homecoming! im so happy....i was asked to dance with andy gallo!! today he asked me if i remembered anything about homecoming, and when i said yes, he told me the only thing he remembered was dancing with me *squeals* its been a long time....

does it really matter what happens anymore? If I die to-night, will it affect anyone? what about to-morrow? or the next day? Why are we here? to lead useless lives, have your moment, then die, and be in a history book that a sleep-deprived student is drooling on? Please tell me. I would very much like to know.



The only thing that was there was darkness. It spread like a wild blaze to the chilled tips of his fingers. The ache lusted after every limb, consuming his wits. It was too much for him to thing of much anything other than pain, or the quarts of blood that stuck in his hair like honey, only much more bitter. His eyes were open, but why couldn’t he see? Muscles ached and strained, and his arm lifted from its immobile position in the red grass. It must have been hovering before his face, but why would his eyes not register its presence? The strength in the arm gave, and he sat quietly. Is this what it is like to be dying? Cold, blind, painful and alone? No light shines for weary eyes, no images of peace to hold onto like a wife. Knowing you will not live to see your children play with each other in the nursery.
What would his mother say?
How will his father react?
Will he be revered in any way, or will all clothed in black lament for what he could, or should have done?
All these thoughts swarm like nectar-hungry bees, but he knows their buzzing questions are likely not to be answered. For one who is dead, is dead. To state the obvious, there is no going back. It is one mistake that cannot be fixed. What troubles more is he died while living, a long while back.
He made a lethal error, and laid seed in a woman he hardly knew. As her stomach grew larger, the shorter his breath was cut, until he lay, alone, in a world of black. What a bitter solution, to let a faceless soldier’s crimson-soaked blade drive him through until he fell to his knees in forced praise.
Lying weak on the battlefield, he felt lead being lifted from him, and body without its yolk finally rested—in peace.

new requests!!--[cowsgomoo14245]--uh...that lady-chick...thing
[icarii]--that other lady-chick thing

sorry, just putting it here so i can reference sns...

:~'~:

My eyes meet his in the rear-view mirror. They are blue as the sky fading behind the mountains. I look away, the moment seeming only a daydream I thought up in the folds of my boredom. But I know it was real. I just don't know what to make of it.

He came again. Walking up the aisles of pews upon pews, until he stops at mine. I am alone this time. His hair is brown, bleached on top. I can't see the color of his eyes. I turn away, to my left, and he continues to walk. Beyond me. Beyond my pew.

I see him every other night. Sometimes his hair is black, others it is blue. At times his eyes are fixed on me, others they are downcast. He asks me "haven't you noticed?" to which i don't respond.