whispering like i can't hear,
"he's not complying, 6cc's"
a needle in hand, a poison syringe
(paranoia drives me to the end:
thinking this is it, this is death)

I have a love-hate relationship with the Romantic poets, much like I have with bipolar disorder (and myself).

Throwing out a life I was blessed enough to have is so wasteful and unappreciative, throwing it out because I'm too scared to feel and too acknowledge? That is such bullshit. And as of right now, it's over. What precious and limited time I have to learn, to create, to love and have fun, and to learn from grief and pain. That's how wisdom is aqcuired after all. Wisdom isn't acuired through denying our ugly feelings, but from feeling them through. Pain and death have something to teach us. And I am learning from this season, through observing the earth growing through it's cycle of death, rebirth, and bloom

Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself...

"Gamina Ginger Molly - Jewel ov the Sea"

"Domino Kachina" by Luna (c) 2008