The Moon and I

vendredi 23 décembre 2011

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Neglectful of this blog

But I don't have much to tell
I think I want everyone to stop having expectations
I need to realise what I want
emphasising the I

jeudi 17 novembre 2011

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Sometimes I wonder if things get better

But that's just wondering
because I know I don't want them to get better
I don't deserve them to

mercredi 16 novembre 2011

Paradise

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When she was just a girl
She expected the world
But it flew away from her reach so
She ran away in her sleep
and dreamed of Paradise
Every time she closed her eyes

When she was just a girl
She expected the world
But it flew away from her reach
and the bullets catch in her teeth
Life goes on, it gets so heavy
The wheel breaks the butterfly
Every tear a waterfall
In the night the stormy night she'll close her eyes
In the night the stormy night away she'd fly

and dreams of Paradise
She'd dream of Paradise

And so lying underneath those stormy skies
She'd say, "oh, I know the sun must set to rise"

This could be Paradise

mardi 15 novembre 2011

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the main reason i will never be okay
is because i don't want to be okay

dimanche 13 novembre 2011

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I've been neglecting my blog for a long time
but I don't know what to say
or to do
I feel lost
and I doubt I'll be getting into college next year

dimanche 30 octobre 2011

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I don't know what to study

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I'm sad

Every once in a while
I come to realise how lonely I am

mercredi 19 octobre 2011

Short Infinished Story

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It was dark, but the glow of the moon lit the ground, where small
ponds left after the rain, reflected, the now clear night sky.

The naked bricks of the old building were still humid, the leaks on
the roof still let the remaining water in, the waterdrops made a
distinctive sound, sharp, almost metallic, as they reached the marbled
floor of the abandoned construction

It was dark, but a firefly came inside through the broken glass in a
window. A big room on the second floor, a wall mirror, an arm chair, a
chaise longue, navigation devices over a desk, and books, books that
occupied the many shelves.

The firefly landed over sheets of paper left next to a pen and an
empty bottle of ink. The letters were incomplete, all of them, the
paper was yellow after all those years; when he ran away before he
could give her that message, as he grabbed his suitcase and left to
never see her again.

jeudi 29 septembre 2011

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I haven't been living, there's not much to post