Don't be presumptuous.

I feel like puking.

I cannot believe myself.

I am so emotionally unstable right now.

What the fuck's wrong with me?

Hate. I hate.

I heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift,
the baffled king composing Hallelujah . . .

Hallelujah . . .

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof; her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair; she broke your throne; she cut your hair,
and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah . . .

Hallelujah . . .

Maybe I have been here before
I know this room; I have walked this floor; I used to live alone before I knew you
I've seen your flag on the marble arch; love is not a victory march
it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah . . .

Hallelujah . . .

There was a time you let me know
What's really going on below, but now you never show it to me, do you?
Remember when I moved in you; the holy dark was moving too,
and every breath we drew was Hallelujah . . .

Hallelujah . . .

Maybe there's a God above,
and all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
And it's not a cry you can hear at night; it's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.

Hallelujah.

*sigh*

I CAN'T BELIEVE SCHOOL STARTS TOMORROW!

And just when I was having a social life . . .

letters

If you think I cannot perceive your selfishness, then you are being foolish.

I refuse to be used.

Don't you dare play such games with me; you don't know whom you are crossing.

something I wrote on the 4th of April, 2006

Gazing at a mauve horizon, where the clouds boil of dreams and decay, there in the distance awaits a silver shore; the sands are broken slivers of my nights, and the unmoving waves are the frosted remnants of my dusks; and the wilting vespertine nightshade that I am, I dance in the acrid wind that steals my life even as I breathe in its fragrant poison; forever leaping in bolts of damask cloth and gossamer scarves of the palest blue and the most delicate cream; hints of sandalwood incense tickling my senses; I am your belladonna, and I dance only for you; leaping from the belfry of my thoughts and into the crystalline light that shatters in my grasp; the rain comes, weeping the remnants of what was once light and beauty; pieces of my phantasms blooming in your palms; open-mouthed and gasping for life; pretty phrases and drooping dreams, pursing lips and gleaming eyes; curling hands and swaying flesh; flowing silk and tinkling bells; softest psalms and thundering descants; quatrains with no count, and sonnets with no rhyme; you; me; them; he; she; mine; yours; all yours; I.

DAMN IT.

PMS is driving me crazy.

Puñeta.

I hate.