Cuckoo-cuckoo, as certain as time passes, the wall clock chimed, signifying yet another passing hour wasted. It's as if the clock is mocking me, sneering at my unproductiveness. Well, what else can I say? Probably something like, "Hey, don't you mock me you unanimated object! At least I get things done even with due procrastination!" Then again, what's the point of justifying things? And as I always say, mind over matter. Yes, mind over the fucking matter. Definitely easier said than done. As I was saying, my life is not a love story written by Nicholas Cage nor an action packed movie like 007, in general it's just a bad movie on rerun. But just like every other story out there, it has major highs and manic lows. Part of the manic lows would be losing things that weren't mine to start with. It's like how kids would cry over toys in the mall, wanting toys that doesn't belong to them. That, is a dreadful feeling. It could've, would've, should've been yours, but it's not.


"In the land of gods and monsters, I was an angel living in the garden of evil, screwed up, scared, doing anything I needed, shining like a fiery beacon."

"If I get a little prettier, can I be your baby?" xx