*airhearts*
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Suicide Lover
Personal fave...Written: Dec. 11, 2006
RIP Robert...
Suicide Lover
My suicide lover
We've come a long way over time
And cause of my baby I'm goin out with
style
and in the meanwhile
I just wanted to let you know that
I'm thankful for having you in my life
For the emotional roller coaster
ride
of excitement
you've provided
and now I'm ready and willin for you to slide up in it
cause
in my time of need
you gave my nonexistent life and
me
meaning
I remember in the beginning
First I'd start off with a long island
maybe followed by a line 'n
eventually in time
some crack rocks
and popped off bottle tops
so I could swallow my medley of pills
and we'd
just
...chill
as they flowed
down my throat
to the point where I almost
choked and overdosed
from this masochistic
deep-throat
and now
even better to get me wetter I'll make it extra sexy
and suck up just enough liquor til my liver shivers
like my clit in an epileptic fit until it just
quits...like the gun that'll be goin'
click click
after being thoroughly lit
cause I want some passionate hits
into my life that's abandoned and rampant of uninspiring
shit,
and so I want it hard and fast
with my pulsating eager finger that quivers on the trigger like
BLAST BLAST!!
as the gun busts its bullet nut
from its phallic barrel shaft,
ramming and fucking my brain
and it might seem
strange or even insane, but no one understands
i need you
because just the thought of you givin' it to me releases me from my carnally inflicted
pain
Life is cruel and neglecting
and when we're together you're just so attentive and protecting
Really,
the only sense of comfort I feel
is fromt the thought
of the sensual warmth of
cold steel
as the thin sharp blade
serenades,
seduces,
and caresses
my vein
only anxious for deep
penetra-
tion
where my orgasmic cum
is of
hot blood
rushing and escaping from the spiritual raping
that's led to this love affair with the blade
but
these secretions aren't of semen
they're of tears 'n
I'm afraid that I've reached my peak
and now I feel incredibly weak
But once again
thank you for making life seem less bleak
and saving me in the current moment
cause
my heavy breathin' and moanin'
was actually a blood curdling
cry from my
soul
to be,
in desperate hope
spiritually free...
(©) 2006 by Jessica Freites
Pushaman
For Mama...Written: Dec. 27, 2007
Pushaman...
If they say you are what you eat,
that must explain why there's so many fake-ass-mothafuckas out there
Cause when I look down at the space that occupies my plate
and all I see is fallacy consisten' of
monosodium glutamate,
potassium sorbate,
blue lake,
sodium nitrate,
and an array of sulfates…
all delightfully put together for us compliments of the
F. D. A.
and for the main entree
they'll be servin' up some sauteed,
I guess you could call it meat
with a side of Red. 40
smothered, simmered, basted, and glistening in
radiated heat
from being grilled to perfection
in a little box called a microwave,
making sure everything we ingest
becomes a catalyst
for a cancerous tumor fortress
in women's breasts
only to leave us distressed
under paramouting amounts of stress
because we're too coo coo for co-co puffs cracked the fuck out on our
OVERsweetened
OVERsaturated
OVERall
OVERprocessed
food that consistently leaves thee
always fatigued
explaining our physically and mentally
UNDERnourished levels of rest.
Although,
I know
my wallet is suffering from the catastrophic pressures of forced duress
since the only food types that seem to suffice
in NOT adding to the shortening of my already
scientifically coldly calculated span of life
are ridiculously
OVERpriced.
But, I'm FDA aristocratically, elitely, and royally fucked,
cause if an IV were to penetrate me this very moment,
I'll be bleeding a Pfizer concoction
that's led me to
OVERstand that our only option
is to prepare ourselves for yet another unforeseen plague of dis-ease
that'll just create another STATE OF EMERGENCY
leading to the need of an urgent vaccine.
See, the WAR is solely an illusion
to distract the masses to the selling of souls to the
TV Dinner God
who governs in the land of
prepackaged food AND minds
to promote RED ALERT LEVELS of
confusion.
And if you really want to speak on terror then I suggest we focus on the modern day
drug war, where we're all becoming
med whores, because their troops are creepin' inside you insides.
and we must start becoming aware of their
covert actions and unleashing of guerilla tactics
upon our cellular composition
cause all we seem to do is sit and listen
to the bullshit
this chemical dictator spits.
Where it lands, rests, and manifests within the confines of my mind and cerebral spinal cortex.
Trickling it's way down-…
…town
to Wall Street
to provide the funds to clone a society, or better yet said, herd
of patriotic sheep,
all in a reality where in actuality, there is
NO democrat or republican
when dealing with a Babylonian government.
Where there's no need for a warhead or a bomb
when all of our food is
palette friendly poison
fed to us to keep the physical ill, emotional depressed, and mind
n u m b
But it's ok…
that's why we got trusty ol' Zoloft.
And I know that those runnin' the medical industry already knew that
cause when you got politicians and doctors investin' in
darvocet,
percocet,
morphine,
and penicillin,
along with
viagra,
immuron, and
amitriptillin
and the answer to every child's behavioral problem is to create a
junkie hooked on ritalin;
and they wanna start bannin' vitamins cause God forbid there's the slightest chance of competition.
Let's re-evaluate
who's really the pushaman
and who is the
victim.
(©) 2007 by Jessica Freites
Pushaman...
If they say you are what you eat,
that must explain why there's so many fake-ass-mothafuckas out there
Cause when I look down at the space that occupies my plate
and all I see is fallacy consisten' of
monosodium glutamate,
potassium sorbate,
blue lake,
sodium nitrate,
and an array of sulfates…
all delightfully put together for us compliments of the
F. D. A.
and for the main entree
they'll be servin' up some sauteed,
I guess you could call it meat
with a side of Red. 40
smothered, simmered, basted, and glistening in
radiated heat
from being grilled to perfection
in a little box called a microwave,
making sure everything we ingest
becomes a catalyst
for a cancerous tumor fortress
in women's breasts
only to leave us distressed
under paramouting amounts of stress
because we're too coo coo for co-co puffs cracked the fuck out on our
OVERsweetened
OVERsaturated
OVERall
OVERprocessed
food that consistently leaves thee
always fatigued
explaining our physically and mentally
UNDERnourished levels of rest.
Although,
I know
my wallet is suffering from the catastrophic pressures of forced duress
since the only food types that seem to suffice
in NOT adding to the shortening of my already
scientifically coldly calculated span of life
are ridiculously
OVERpriced.
But, I'm FDA aristocratically, elitely, and royally fucked,
cause if an IV were to penetrate me this very moment,
I'll be bleeding a Pfizer concoction
that's led me to
OVERstand that our only option
is to prepare ourselves for yet another unforeseen plague of dis-ease
that'll just create another STATE OF EMERGENCY
leading to the need of an urgent vaccine.
See, the WAR is solely an illusion
to distract the masses to the selling of souls to the
TV Dinner God
who governs in the land of
prepackaged food AND minds
to promote RED ALERT LEVELS of
confusion.
And if you really want to speak on terror then I suggest we focus on the modern day
drug war, where we're all becoming
med whores, because their troops are creepin' inside you insides.
and we must start becoming aware of their
covert actions and unleashing of guerilla tactics
upon our cellular composition
cause all we seem to do is sit and listen
to the bullshit
this chemical dictator spits.
Where it lands, rests, and manifests within the confines of my mind and cerebral spinal cortex.
Trickling it's way down-…
…town
to Wall Street
to provide the funds to clone a society, or better yet said, herd
of patriotic sheep,
all in a reality where in actuality, there is
NO democrat or republican
when dealing with a Babylonian government.
Where there's no need for a warhead or a bomb
when all of our food is
palette friendly poison
fed to us to keep the physical ill, emotional depressed, and mind
n u m b
But it's ok…
that's why we got trusty ol' Zoloft.
And I know that those runnin' the medical industry already knew that
cause when you got politicians and doctors investin' in
darvocet,
percocet,
morphine,
and penicillin,
along with
viagra,
immuron, and
amitriptillin
and the answer to every child's behavioral problem is to create a
junkie hooked on ritalin;
and they wanna start bannin' vitamins cause God forbid there's the slightest chance of competition.
Let's re-evaluate
who's really the pushaman
and who is the
victim.
(©) 2007 by Jessica Freites
WORD!
Written August 9th, 2008
WORD!...
Poetical pistols pop off poisonous penetrative projectiles
that propel
profound proverbs and
pronounce pledges and prose
all perfectly off my palette
feeding pumping, injecting and numbing
yo' mind with nutritional paraphernalia
like a potent pick of some pristine and powerful puff of purple haze piff
that with every hit
makes you say
GOD DAAAAAAAAMN THIS IS SOME GOOOOOOD SHIIIT!!!
See, I'm a poet, a word connoisseur of sorts
a reporter and fragment contorter
And to write is my vice, plight, utter delight
and sure as hell
MY GOD GIVEN RIGHT!
My words at times may or may not rhyme
they may or may not ring nor chime
And you ask yourself why?...
Because they're passionate
like fists that want to kiss and reminisce
with your brain
to BUST knowledge into your domepiece
like BOOOOOM!!
with the force of a premie grasping onto the me m o r y...
of their mother's womb
or for most
grasping onto the fear of burying
their mental tombs
Emotionally impaled by the vibrations of
prefix and suffix fix-ations
to fix
my ailments
from the attack of complacent non-stimulations
which bombard us on every
TV Station, Radio Station, Train Station
to keep us all, well
station-ary
as opposed to spawning prose
written in the mental codes of visionaries
But before I unleash the spoken word shank
and vernacular attack
on your fiending and yearning for stimuli crack
and expansionary learning
Pppppppppause.
STOP
and play back the track
rearrange the jazzy free flow over the hard
boooom boooom boooom BAP!
and take a peak behind the mask
Cause I have a secret, you see,
my continual affair with a word, fragment or phrase
to my narcissistic dismay
is primarily need based
Since my psyche tends to get the best of me
and I've been neglecting her for a while now
So I'm being stalked and harassed by nervous
break...
d
o
w
n
s
which has led me to prowl in therapeutic sessioning
that results in no diagnosis and
only the verbal verdict of wordplay sentencing
And well,
I am merely parts of many
a life experience, cultivator, harvester and pack rat
articulating the pack of traps
that abruptly catch, pinch and grasp us
by our sensory follicles
resuscitating our visions
by passionately spitten'
pure liv-id liquids
into the cesspool of third-eye imprisonments
through this audible monocle
Otherwise known as my therapeutic chronicle
But I'm sure you all understand
because for the most part you're here
listening to me, a poet
sit up here and spit
letting every saliva droplet
to drop it
on the ones and twos
and back to the one
solely to son you
with my verbal voodoo
and thank you for making a societal misfits
words fit
because to fit in with the rest of the world's life context
would be
SOME REAL WACK SHIIIIIIIIT!!
...WORD
(©) 2008 by Jessica Freites
WORD!...
Poetical pistols pop off poisonous penetrative projectiles
that propel
profound proverbs and
pronounce pledges and prose
all perfectly off my palette
feeding pumping, injecting and numbing
yo' mind with nutritional paraphernalia
like a potent pick of some pristine and powerful puff of purple haze piff
that with every hit
makes you say
GOD DAAAAAAAAMN THIS IS SOME GOOOOOOD SHIIIT!!!
See, I'm a poet, a word connoisseur of sorts
a reporter and fragment contorter
And to write is my vice, plight, utter delight
and sure as hell
MY GOD GIVEN RIGHT!
My words at times may or may not rhyme
they may or may not ring nor chime
And you ask yourself why?...
Because they're passionate
like fists that want to kiss and reminisce
with your brain
to BUST knowledge into your domepiece
like BOOOOOM!!
with the force of a premie grasping onto the me m o r y...
of their mother's womb
or for most
grasping onto the fear of burying
their mental tombs
Emotionally impaled by the vibrations of
prefix and suffix fix-ations
to fix
my ailments
from the attack of complacent non-stimulations
which bombard us on every
TV Station, Radio Station, Train Station
to keep us all, well
station-ary
as opposed to spawning prose
written in the mental codes of visionaries
But before I unleash the spoken word shank
and vernacular attack
on your fiending and yearning for stimuli crack
and expansionary learning
Pppppppppause.
STOP
and play back the track
rearrange the jazzy free flow over the hard
boooom boooom boooom BAP!
and take a peak behind the mask
Cause I have a secret, you see,
my continual affair with a word, fragment or phrase
to my narcissistic dismay
is primarily need based
Since my psyche tends to get the best of me
and I've been neglecting her for a while now
So I'm being stalked and harassed by nervous
break...
d
o
w
n
s
which has led me to prowl in therapeutic sessioning
that results in no diagnosis and
only the verbal verdict of wordplay sentencing
And well,
I am merely parts of many
a life experience, cultivator, harvester and pack rat
articulating the pack of traps
that abruptly catch, pinch and grasp us
by our sensory follicles
resuscitating our visions
by passionately spitten'
pure liv-id liquids
into the cesspool of third-eye imprisonments
through this audible monocle
Otherwise known as my therapeutic chronicle
But I'm sure you all understand
because for the most part you're here
listening to me, a poet
sit up here and spit
letting every saliva droplet
to drop it
on the ones and twos
and back to the one
solely to son you
with my verbal voodoo
and thank you for making a societal misfits
words fit
because to fit in with the rest of the world's life context
would be
SOME REAL WACK SHIIIIIIIIT!!
...WORD
(©) 2008 by Jessica Freites
This Is the Life...
Throwback mini-gem...lol.
The path of living is on some dope skitzo shit
approached and flipped
into a battle of wits
with hidden agenda tricks full of covert operations and tactics
where the transitional final product is the immaculate gift
of the conception of one's
...LIFE
The trife life, basked in nebular limelights
where the enemy can't come to phase you since they're only dwellin' in
the 2nd dimension,
n'
missed the last ride on the express time continuum
bobbin' n' weavin'
bobbbbbin' n' weavin'
bobbin' n' weaaaaavin'
tetanus infected
jagged wrenches
Constantly attacking your voice of reason
and then you could end up like me and...
Smiling and breathing and moving and healing
Keeping the faith and embracing your inner heathen
Collecting the the day in your memory banks
Psalms sung by sparrows and freedom chants
Navigatin' odyssies next door
Comforter sessions on the spaceship floor
Loathing mediocrity whores
Embracing simplicity...and escaping the bored
This is the LIFE...
(©) 2010 by Jessica Freites
The path of living is on some dope skitzo shit
approached and flipped
into a battle of wits
with hidden agenda tricks full of covert operations and tactics
where the transitional final product is the immaculate gift
of the conception of one's
...LIFE
The trife life, basked in nebular limelights
where the enemy can't come to phase you since they're only dwellin' in
the 2nd dimension,
n'
missed the last ride on the express time continuum
bobbin' n' weavin'
bobbbbbin' n' weavin'
bobbin' n' weaaaaavin'
tetanus infected
jagged wrenches
Constantly attacking your voice of reason
and then you could end up like me and...
Smiling and breathing and moving and healing
Keeping the faith and embracing your inner heathen
Collecting the the day in your memory banks
Psalms sung by sparrows and freedom chants
Navigatin' odyssies next door
Comforter sessions on the spaceship floor
Loathing mediocrity whores
Embracing simplicity...and escaping the bored
This is the LIFE...
(©) 2010 by Jessica Freites
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Hemp Q&A
**Disclaimer: Only those who partake in herbal appreciation will understand this, although it is to explain my specific motivations for smoking. Regardless, if you don't you're probably judging me anyway (cause that's what non-smokers do...or at least how all smokers feel about non-smokers)..it's ok though, soon enough I'll be too far away too care...
Why do you smile, laugh, cry, pretend, celebrate, rejoice, mourn...
Why do you drink, or eat pounds of lard when you're going through that break up from the pits of hell...or when you're celebrating...on any occasion?
Exactly see,
Naturally, I don't like being told that I can't
And it feels good
Because it's a great motivator to stay hydrated and healthy and drink plenty of water
It so casually fulfills my desires to be anti-social
The smoke patterns, especially if the light hits them at just the right angle, look pretty effin gnarly
Music tastes better
And food feels better
If I can light up with you...especially a clip, we just got through stage 1 of breaking down awkward social barriers
At times I want to live in dreams and other times I don't want to remember my dreams...
Why, why do you care so much about...nothing at all?
Other times I engage in self-loathing and it helps me forgive myself
Doing my makeup and rolling blunts turns into arts & crafts...and who doesn't like arts & crafts
I blame the spirits of suburban graveyards and the chaos of concrete jungles
Oh, I blame NY too.
You ever get this one..."What are you running away from?"
Why do you gaze ever so curiously at yourself only to realize you're not who or where you want to be?
It smells like...love.
And in its lack I have a tendency to forget to eat
No one ever committed a violent crime for being too stoned
It's a justifiable reason to laugh more
Bonding over a bowl is a far more intimate experience than bonding over a drink
My creative genius unwinds a bit once the smoke settles
It doesn't talk back
Sometimes I need an energy boost and sometimes I need to go to sleep
And it's way cheaper than a therapist
It's an aphrodisiac...obviously
Sometimes I like myself more that way
I'm probably more productive than a good chunk of the population on my third j
Dancing ...on every level
And after a while the incessant chattering, correction, bickering, of my internal monologue aka my super-conscious, conscious & sub-conscious aka my multiple personalities that I give other fancy titles to not sound like a lunatic, well, they, after a while, they start driving my main personality so mad that I'm not even completely sure which one was the main one to begin with. The weed in turn helps me help you to identify the main me...or at least the one I let you see.
Breathing makes more sense
I'll never feel understood...that's another reason
I'm fond of Mary more than I am most people
Because my insecurities don't ever seem to let me forget who they are...or their stare, point, and cackle.
It feels freakin amazing when you're stretching
I like feeling like I'm not...
Everyone enjoys a good ol' ritualistic oral fixation
So funny, cause I don't even like smoking that much, and I really don't NEED it.
I want it. And I like wanting it.
I don't mind forgetting certain things
You ever feel like everything would just be better in slow-motion?
Sex and showers and even sex in showers penetrate in a tantric kind of way
It's a better alternative than heroin, alcohol, pills, whippets, crack, meth...oh yeah, and cigarettes.
I'm 25, technically with "arthritis" and psychologically knowing that if I was in Cali I'd be good to go with a med card makes me feel as if I'm disenfranchising myself if I didn't
My moms is pretty cool with it
And also due to my moms...from a situational point of view
Family and those people that 'affect you'...it's cause of them too
My crazy is regulated and can be passed off as being quirky and/or 'high'
It makes me lose recollection of...and often remember you, you, and you
And as much as I think I know, I just really don't
Due to days like this
When you've answered the why's, then maybe you'll understand why I do so...and please do let me know. Cause despite our arrival here, I'm still not quite sure myself.
(c) - 2011 Jessica Freites
Why do you smile, laugh, cry, pretend, celebrate, rejoice, mourn...
Why do you drink, or eat pounds of lard when you're going through that break up from the pits of hell...or when you're celebrating...on any occasion?
Exactly see,
Naturally, I don't like being told that I can't
And it feels good
Because it's a great motivator to stay hydrated and healthy and drink plenty of water
It so casually fulfills my desires to be anti-social
The smoke patterns, especially if the light hits them at just the right angle, look pretty effin gnarly
Music tastes better
And food feels better
If I can light up with you...especially a clip, we just got through stage 1 of breaking down awkward social barriers
At times I want to live in dreams and other times I don't want to remember my dreams...
Why, why do you care so much about...nothing at all?
Other times I engage in self-loathing and it helps me forgive myself
Doing my makeup and rolling blunts turns into arts & crafts...and who doesn't like arts & crafts
I blame the spirits of suburban graveyards and the chaos of concrete jungles
Oh, I blame NY too.
You ever get this one..."What are you running away from?"
Why do you gaze ever so curiously at yourself only to realize you're not who or where you want to be?
It smells like...love.
And in its lack I have a tendency to forget to eat
No one ever committed a violent crime for being too stoned
It's a justifiable reason to laugh more
Bonding over a bowl is a far more intimate experience than bonding over a drink
My creative genius unwinds a bit once the smoke settles
It doesn't talk back
Sometimes I need an energy boost and sometimes I need to go to sleep
And it's way cheaper than a therapist
It's an aphrodisiac...obviously
Sometimes I like myself more that way
I'm probably more productive than a good chunk of the population on my third j
Dancing ...on every level
And after a while the incessant chattering, correction, bickering, of my internal monologue aka my super-conscious, conscious & sub-conscious aka my multiple personalities that I give other fancy titles to not sound like a lunatic, well, they, after a while, they start driving my main personality so mad that I'm not even completely sure which one was the main one to begin with. The weed in turn helps me help you to identify the main me...or at least the one I let you see.
Breathing makes more sense
I'll never feel understood...that's another reason
I'm fond of Mary more than I am most people
Because my insecurities don't ever seem to let me forget who they are...or their stare, point, and cackle.
It feels freakin amazing when you're stretching
I like feeling like I'm not...
Everyone enjoys a good ol' ritualistic oral fixation
So funny, cause I don't even like smoking that much, and I really don't NEED it.
I want it. And I like wanting it.
I don't mind forgetting certain things
You ever feel like everything would just be better in slow-motion?
Sex and showers and even sex in showers penetrate in a tantric kind of way
It's a better alternative than heroin, alcohol, pills, whippets, crack, meth...oh yeah, and cigarettes.
I'm 25, technically with "arthritis" and psychologically knowing that if I was in Cali I'd be good to go with a med card makes me feel as if I'm disenfranchising myself if I didn't
My moms is pretty cool with it
And also due to my moms...from a situational point of view
Family and those people that 'affect you'...it's cause of them too
My crazy is regulated and can be passed off as being quirky and/or 'high'
It makes me lose recollection of...and often remember you, you, and you
And as much as I think I know, I just really don't
Due to days like this
When you've answered the why's, then maybe you'll understand why I do so...and please do let me know. Cause despite our arrival here, I'm still not quite sure myself.
(c) - 2011 Jessica Freites
Sunday, May 15, 2011
The Marrying Type
is a mess
an inner eccentric mess
The love of my life will be a madman of sorts....i met him...too bad he's damn near charging forth the gateways of insanity.
Living for PASSION! is going to be the death of me...oh well, death is guaranteed regardless.
Sex on skyscraper rooftops...love in the crevices of valleys of darkness. is one of my various meanings of life...all 'meanings' vary depending upon the time of day and day of the week though, naturally.
Now. Generally speaking, the sentiment and the scent of him are moreso more missed than the actual specimen of him...that usually goes for all of you, too.
vulgar...and soft...pull my hair..and gently press your lips on my cheek.
Not the relationship type...but soulmates for specific occasions are in high standing.
cold, often unfeeling, way too entirely giving and a hopeless romantic that falls face first in l - o -...infatuation.
Expert dater...horrified by dating...a great girlfriend...and refuses to acknowledge the concept of marrying...
i like boys I shouldn't...and could care less about the men i should.
At some point...i'll probably hate almost everything about him...but at least he'll stand out in a crowd...
There's something about the madness of it all...that makes me feel perfectly at ease. Boredom...is insanity.
shy...and aggressive. know what i hate, and have no idea what i want.
At what point does any of it ever really make sense?...i guess when posed in different lights reflecting off different mirrors in different rooms...of my mind.
don't even know if i want to be in love...just want to think i am.
Around once a week i come to the conclusion that i'm bi-polar..suffering from depression every other month...and overwhelmed with joy and blessings every 2-4 days.
A good eye fuck will increase your chances of me actually wanting to speak to you.
for me, letting go is as easy as pi or pie...varies in degree.
He needs to relish in book stores...and most likely has a criminal record...that he's not ashamed of. Hopefully it's for a non-violent crime.
frivolously attracted to most...could care about less...and in turn, not particularly inclined to any.
The art of objectifying men...occurs in my world.
not a bad person though...
an inner eccentric mess
The love of my life will be a madman of sorts....i met him...too bad he's damn near charging forth the gateways of insanity.
Living for PASSION! is going to be the death of me...oh well, death is guaranteed regardless.
Sex on skyscraper rooftops...love in the crevices of valleys of darkness. is one of my various meanings of life...all 'meanings' vary depending upon the time of day and day of the week though, naturally.
Now. Generally speaking, the sentiment and the scent of him are moreso more missed than the actual specimen of him...that usually goes for all of you, too.
vulgar...and soft...pull my hair..and gently press your lips on my cheek.
Not the relationship type...but soulmates for specific occasions are in high standing.
cold, often unfeeling, way too entirely giving and a hopeless romantic that falls face first in l - o -...infatuation.
Expert dater...horrified by dating...a great girlfriend...and refuses to acknowledge the concept of marrying...
i like boys I shouldn't...and could care less about the men i should.
At some point...i'll probably hate almost everything about him...but at least he'll stand out in a crowd...
There's something about the madness of it all...that makes me feel perfectly at ease. Boredom...is insanity.
shy...and aggressive. know what i hate, and have no idea what i want.
At what point does any of it ever really make sense?...i guess when posed in different lights reflecting off different mirrors in different rooms...of my mind.
don't even know if i want to be in love...just want to think i am.
Around once a week i come to the conclusion that i'm bi-polar..suffering from depression every other month...and overwhelmed with joy and blessings every 2-4 days.
A good eye fuck will increase your chances of me actually wanting to speak to you.
for me, letting go is as easy as pi or pie...varies in degree.
He needs to relish in book stores...and most likely has a criminal record...that he's not ashamed of. Hopefully it's for a non-violent crime.
frivolously attracted to most...could care about less...and in turn, not particularly inclined to any.
The art of objectifying men...occurs in my world.
not a bad person though...
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