*Ahem*

Those last few blogs have been brought to you by:

Anger

Frustration

and...

Confusion

We would like to thank all of our natural sponsers.

Special

There are some things that just aren't meant to be...

Music is my passion. It is my soul. It is my lover.

But I am such a terrible musician.

I'm not creative

Not anymore, at least.

I'm just a phony.

I want it.

I want it so badly.

But it's getting harder...

I'm getting older...

Music is getting better...

I'm getting worse...

My friends are going to school...

They're doing something with their lives....

They can afford it.

I come from a poor family.

I come from a broken home of artist...

My mother is a child..

I take care of her.

She tells me how terrible I am..

My sister, a lion.

Eats all my food..

Me, the enigma...

The mystery....

"What's he gonna do...?"

That's what I hear...

That's what I think they're saying...

All eyes on me...

Sometimes, I'd rather not have lived

But rather observed life instead.

But then what would I be?

Pretty much the same thing now....

Apart from everyone...

Looking in from the outside...

observing the laughter...

the love...

the sex...

Thinking I'm special...

Not actually being special...

Just an outsider

watching people grow,

letting life pass me by...

where did I go wrong?

There are some things that just aren't meant to be...

Music is my passion. It is my soul. It is my lover.

But I am such a terrible musician.

I'm not creative

Not anymore, at least.

I'm just a phony.

I want it.

I want it so badly.

But it's getting harder...

I'm getting older...

Music is getting better...

I'm getting worse...

My friends are going to school...

They're doing something with their lives....

They can afford it.

I come from a poor family.

I come from a broken home of artist...

My mother is a child..

I take care of her.

She tells me how terrible I am..

My sister, a lion.

Eats all my food..

Me, the enigma...

The mystery....

"What's he gonna do...?"

That's what I hear...

That's what I think they're saying...

All eyes on me...

Sometimes, I'd rather not have lived

But rather observed life instead.

But then what would I be?

Pretty much the same thing now....

A kid

Headaches

What the fuck are you doing? You claim to have this... no, you don't claim. That's your problem. You don't claim anything. You can't take responsibility. You can't handle the slow progression of good fortune. You want everything now. You want the world to bend around you, for you. So here we are. You're not only wasting your time but, you're wasting my time. In fact, you're wasting everyone's time. That's why your friends are gone. That's why you're alone. That's why you feel like such a black fucking sheep. The truth is, you are. You are a black sheep. Not even good enough to be a regular member of the mass. Far from being a sheppard. You big coward. You're so shallow. You know it too. That's why you're so afraid. Afraid because you know that your mind is so wrong, so backwards, if you let anyone inside they would sure shun you. They would hear the dirty and filthy garbage that flows through your vessles. They would hear you vomit strange incoherant words into the air and watch them fall at your feet. And in this sewage, you tread. Everyday, you tread on. No one knows you. And it's killing you. It's damage what little of a soul you have left. It's your drill-bit to the temple. You're not as sharp as you seem. You're not as cool as you pretend to be. You're not as good looking as you want everyone to think. You are nothing. You are just an accident. A coincedence. A mistake. Look around you kid. See that sky you're always talking about? Past that, see that space? That infinite nothing? See it? Well who the fuck are you? You're impossible. I don't know why I even bother... I've tried. I've fucking tried. I tried talking to you. I tried reasoning with you. I even thought about killing you but, neither of us would benefit from that anyway... Just get your shit together. Seriously. I hate to see you like this... I hate to be around you when you're like this. 'Cause I don't get it! I don't fucking get it. Do something with your life. You're neither talk, and you're neither action. You just fucking run. Stop fucking running. Stop fucking around. Stop fucking around. Stop fucking around. Stop fucking around. Stop fucking around. Stop fucking around. Stop fucking around.

What ever

Maybe it's the lack of sleep. Maybe it's my subconscious. Maybe it's some underlying truth, one that I have not discovered. Maybe I'm not meant for this. Maybe I am.

What ever it is, I wish it weren't.

Mother

if you had all four legs
and cut out that dirty language of yours
I know exactly how you'd sound
the natural flavor of your cold voice
would shatter glass and tremble floor boards
would make the neighbors cringe
could take a moon of men to move you
could take a storm to quench your thirst
your dirty mouth is scaring the children
and your silly smile is making me shiver