July 02, 2002

a plea to die
to fly so high
the need to be alone
with song and blood
the murmurs of a retard
i hear
and drift away to floating ladders
that hold out daggers
each time i pull me up
a level higher
no more desire
i want to die
and fly so high
where the bee
will be waiting for me
to take me from now
to engage in tete-a-tete
no, it's worse than that,
silly bee.
you hardly know me.
hang maybe kill you
i will find my own way
my reasoning frayed
i'm lost and extra-terrestrial
high and in denial.
this is where i want to be, yes?
no, but i'll make myself feel at home.
will you come with me. for just a while.
we can make it your home as well.
hop you don't mind the mess.
neither do i, it just appeared.
nevermind that. thanks for coming.

11:33 PM

there was a boy who tried to rhyme
so hard he tried he had no time
to thank the ones who gave him tips
on how to end.

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