Tuesday, March 15, 2011


I become rushed with pain and sorrow in the moment of lovely times. Looking upon life that lives without malfunctions leaves me to compare myself to that extraordinary beauty I cannot obtain. That perfection in confidence, I just cannot simply claim. I am not a flower, I am a thorny weed. With one look at me you'd wish I'd die. I wish I could die too. Invisibility is the state I claim. Secrets concealed, my dreams cancelled, I live on the waiting line in my mind. The butterflies and moths take me away...

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