If I were a work of art, I would be Edvard Münch's The Scream.
I express the subconscious troubles and anxieties of the world. I hold my head and let loose the primal terror of my innermost fears, surrounded by a lurid landscape which reflects my feeble grasp on reality.
My dilute pastiche of frozen dreams eats the reinforced hydrogen of time. Apple garages rake blind oil through my excitable architecture. I bring loose mechanisms to the windy sandstone.
let the good come with the bad and so the bad with the good let a serpaints toung sting my eyes, make me blind it strikes my heart and allows me to see let the blood that runs through my veigns carry the pain that you allow no others to see why is it that we feel this for eachother we know eachother not , yet very well give me what i am to have without regret open your heart and let me see the deamons you keep inside i will open mine to you in the same fasion our deamons can dance and play and laugh togeather as we entertwine our bodies and our souls we will continue to shroude ourselves even though we know we should not for the fear of hurt is far too great maybe to great to overcome this time around
"this is so surreal. i keep on thinking that she's going to come home, that she just hasn't left the hospital yet, like all the times before..." --alex
"i've known her my whole life. it hasn't hit me yet. she's like my second mother. was..." --luke
"she was a neighborhood mother, not just the mother of a neighbor" --annie
"she's everywhere. everywhere i look, i see her." --alex
Speaking of jeeps i have a few thoughts... I have an automatic jeep! is that ok with everyone? well if its not too damn bad! i'm tired of everyone ragging on me about it. if you are so shallow you actually care and judge people by what kind of car they drive then please don't even talk to me. thank you.
