You woke up to attend a seminar, and they taught you how to put on the mask.
You stand at the counter, now I'm a light sleeper.
You've bagged an empty bottle.
Half-truths and blatant lies don't cover up an empty hole.
I'm smarter than you take me for.
The body's strongest bone is right above the heart.
So you twist and turn like Algernon, straight into a Miller's tale.
Alarm clocks like bomb sirens whisper in my ear softly,
Asking me why I haven't yet awoken to light your cigarettes.
Bending over backwards like the palms in a storm.
Perjury under highest court, Madame. Where are your friend's now?
They back me up because they know the truth; the years of hate.
All you know is putting on.
Take some blame, and not some pity.
We... no. I know what you want.
This is what I study! The heart cannot lie to you, but the brain can.
Have I falsified before you in knowing?
Well, I was baptized Roman Catholic.
Are we infallible? Hardly.
But you do know how to work the system.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
2009 Resolutions
I'll be very blunt and open ended because things change like compounded interest and life is a continuous memoir that you are always writing.
My 2009 Resolutions:
1) Do my best.
2) Advance my soul.
3) Focus on myself.
4) Make a plan.
5) Don't worry. Be happy.
My 3-Year Resolutions.
1) Graduate High School.
2) Move Out.
3) Go to UGA.
4) Work and intern.
5) Establish lifelong friendships.
6) Work on a long term relationship with an amazing guy.
And all of these things will happen.
My 2009 Resolutions:
1) Do my best.
2) Advance my soul.
3) Focus on myself.
4) Make a plan.
5) Don't worry. Be happy.
My 3-Year Resolutions.
1) Graduate High School.
2) Move Out.
3) Go to UGA.
4) Work and intern.
5) Establish lifelong friendships.
6) Work on a long term relationship with an amazing guy.
And all of these things will happen.
Anatomy of a Wine Bottle
As a somber note is written on paper tinted crimson,
Another victim picks up one more glass of merlot
As his head tries to catch up to his heart.
His superficial smile would hearten, no, ensorcell.
As each minute passed, his soul grew bitter and drunk,
Just like one who lives in a turbid labyrinthine suffering.
It is not only he who is suffering,
But his daughter with nails painted crimson.
Off of his favor, she would get drunk,
But all he does is sup and sip his chilled merlot.
On all but him could she ensorcell,
And of all she gave, the most was her heart.
He exploited her fragile glass heart,
Like a lone butterfly suffering
In a tangled web. The spiders do ensorcell,
With eyes pure wicked crimson.
They drink the blood, aged rich like merlot,
Yet it is not they who are found dead and drunk.
It is her father, drunk,
With his own fickle heart
Who sips his merlot.
On the inside, he is suffering,
His soul cries tears of crimson.
Porch climber, the wino, will do nothing to ensorcell.
Like a fleeing gypsy, with the best can he ensorcell.
And what a charming man he is, when he is not drunk.
In the flute, whine sparkles like garnets; liquid crimson.
In it, he tries so desperately to mend his broken heart.
All of his life, suffering.
And he will always have his glass of merlot.
The blackcurrant, peppery, spicy merlot.
In the wrong hands, its power can ensorcell.
It causes bliss, or perpetual suffering.
All relations, they become drunk.
It doesn't take a drunkard's beating heart
To show that blood is simple dark crimson.
How do you limn the color crimson? An empty bottle of merlot
Or a broken Heart, no need to ensorcell.
In reality, all it takes is a drunk and a life of suffering.
Or
Another victim picks up one more glass of merlot
As his head tries to catch up to his heart.
His superficial smile would hearten, no, ensorcell.
As each minute passed, his soul grew bitter and drunk,
Just like one who lives in a turbid labyrinthine suffering.
It is not only he who is suffering,
But his daughter with nails painted crimson.
Off of his favor, she would get drunk,
But all he does is sup and sip his chilled merlot.
On all but him could she ensorcell,
And of all she gave, the most was her heart.
He exploited her fragile glass heart,
Like a lone butterfly suffering
In a tangled web. The spiders do ensorcell,
With eyes pure wicked crimson.
They drink the blood, aged rich like merlot,
Yet it is not they who are found dead and drunk.
It is her father, drunk,
With his own fickle heart
Who sips his merlot.
On the inside, he is suffering,
His soul cries tears of crimson.
Porch climber, the wino, will do nothing to ensorcell.
Like a fleeing gypsy, with the best can he ensorcell.
And what a charming man he is, when he is not drunk.
In the flute, whine sparkles like garnets; liquid crimson.
In it, he tries so desperately to mend his broken heart.
All of his life, suffering.
And he will always have his glass of merlot.
The blackcurrant, peppery, spicy merlot.
In the wrong hands, its power can ensorcell.
It causes bliss, or perpetual suffering.
All relations, they become drunk.
It doesn't take a drunkard's beating heart
To show that blood is simple dark crimson.
How do you limn the color crimson? An empty bottle of merlot
Or a broken Heart, no need to ensorcell.
In reality, all it takes is a drunk and a life of suffering.
Or
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