Refusing it all.
Wasting daylights.
Contemplating suicide.
Disconnecting, by choice.
Waving middle finger to the Universe.
Bye.
December 2, 2010
December 1, 2010
November 30, 2010
The girl and her box.
There was a girl in this town,
Who has a secret collection,
She carries a rusty box around,
Of nothing but her collection.
Not that she would really mind,
The girl has no foes, nor even fans,
Alone she sits feeling all fine,
With the box always in her hands.
And here comes the villains' part,
Where curiosity meets jealousy,
They just had to break her heart,
They just had to be so nosy.
'Sorry its not for you to see'
She holds the box tightly,
'Oh please just leave me'
Who said they're asking nicely?
The brats lose their patience,
And couldn't wait any longer,
Words turned into actions,
And they grabbed it from her!
She sobs, making a plea,
'Please please give it back to me'
They just laughed in victory,
Not a pleasant sight to see,
Dying to know what's inside,
Thus rapidly tore her box open,
They do it with such pride,
She weeps, as her knees weaken.
They raped her soul, that poor girl,
To find only mere bunch of photos,
No such thing as diamond, or pearl,
Nothing for them to toast.
They spat and mocked her obession,
'Is this it? Nothing more to offer?'
With tears blurring up her vision,
Silhouette of photos flying all over.
The bastards left her box shattered,
Wiping the tears with her left hand,
One - two - three - four - she counted,
Picking up her photos off bare land.
She hugs the box close to her chest,
With feelings she no longer have,
Instead of going home and rest,
She decided to kill herself.
Who has a secret collection,
She carries a rusty box around,
Of nothing but her collection.
Not that she would really mind,
The girl has no foes, nor even fans,
Alone she sits feeling all fine,
With the box always in her hands.
And here comes the villains' part,
Where curiosity meets jealousy,
They just had to break her heart,
They just had to be so nosy.
'Sorry its not for you to see'
She holds the box tightly,
'Oh please just leave me'
Who said they're asking nicely?
The brats lose their patience,
And couldn't wait any longer,
Words turned into actions,
And they grabbed it from her!
She sobs, making a plea,
'Please please give it back to me'
They just laughed in victory,
Not a pleasant sight to see,
Dying to know what's inside,
Thus rapidly tore her box open,
They do it with such pride,
She weeps, as her knees weaken.
They raped her soul, that poor girl,
To find only mere bunch of photos,
No such thing as diamond, or pearl,
Nothing for them to toast.
They spat and mocked her obession,
'Is this it? Nothing more to offer?'
With tears blurring up her vision,
Silhouette of photos flying all over.
The bastards left her box shattered,
Wiping the tears with her left hand,
One - two - three - four - she counted,
Picking up her photos off bare land.
She hugs the box close to her chest,
With feelings she no longer have,
Instead of going home and rest,
She decided to kill herself.
November 25, 2010
November 20, 2010
Day #3
Gahh. What the fuck is wrong with all these people? He's not deaf ! He's not stupid ! Stop talking to him like he's some kind of a three-year-old. Please. That man is in pain, goddammit ! Seriously, am I the only one who is not blind around here ?
Day #2
As I fix my eyes at the sight of him bedridden, I immediately felt something. Something so strong, its almost surreal. Demmit. What is this uneasy feeling? Its not just sympathy. More like, pure helplessness, knowing that there is nothing I can do to ease his burden. Nothing. Have you the slightest idea of what that feels like? Yeah. It sucks. Big time. And I hate that I'm genetically programmed to feel this way. I hate it.
November 18, 2010
Day #1
I behold liquid drugs forced into every inch of his veins. Needles & pins re-stabbing his hands numerous times. They're so wrinkled that they hardly resembles skin anymore. So hoarse, yet so so pale at the same time. I can't bear to watch, really . He is now like some kind of mannequin ( or at least being treated as one ). Just laying, in silence. Hardly uttering. A living corpse, almost. He's in a major amount of pain. Oh I can tell. And those men in white - though they seem to be in such a hassle working against the clock ( saving lives, I supposed ) along with their fancy medical toys - I think they have forgotten one little important fact. My grandfather is still alive.
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