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Iv decided to make this journal private, I will now use this lovely piece of online connection to document my feelings, my days, and all about maddness of my life.

I will warn you, what i have to say is true, and sometimes may be very unpleasent, rude, mean, stupid, or even delutional, but, i get no help from my friends, family or anyone around me, its not that they ((at least some)) dont love me, its just they just dont, or completely refuse to understand. I know im not alone in my suffering and obsession though, so ill turn to you, the internet nobodies.

If you want to add me, feel free, but i will learn all i can about you before adding, i was tricked once before into believing a fake persona, and was devistated, i wont fall for it again.

Add me at your own risk.

Writer's Block: I May Be Crazy

What does this Rorschach blot look like to you?

It actually looks like two angels holding a bell, hmm, i wonder what a psycologist would say about my evaluation of this blot, since i feel rather suicidal right now, maybe im thinking of the peace in the after life? Oh- if only i where not afraid....


Say you hate him and you loath him, turn around then be his friend, watch the smile pill off your skin, but you go a head and just pretend. Catch his lies, watch them fly, but whose the false one in the end? Your on my side, your on his side, but opposing fires can not win.
Cant you see, your just like him, leeching, feeding never cessing, riping, tearing my flesh bleeding, stopping staring, my heart britching top of bone, almost leaping into my throat, but its to late, there is no running, boil pain and never ending gossip,drama all thing i can not handle, you dont care, a parasite needs to feed herself, a breeding ground for high and might thoughts that dont belong.

See you play, make them laugh, you've got them now, they all believe your the victim, your the hurt, im the one whos done you wrong, but mask in hand they cant understand, or even see behind your clever lies, your clever smiles, and sweet diguise, im the perfect broken torget, rumors already spoken, feed them all, they need some more lies and sick dieases, your poison sting makes them believe i killed you when if they could see all i did was see the truth, you dropped your masked, i was dupped, it wasnt worth it, my daily feed of Drama and greed, one day they will see the parasite you have been, but by the time will it be right? The poison setting in, deep inside there minds, will they become that parasite, pretending, lying, feeding, killing, never ending, never end. 

The Asylum for wayward Victorian Sims

So iv decided to take Emilie autumns book "The asylum for wayward victorian girls" and make something out of it in my own creative way, so iv broken it down, and re-written it, for a sim legacy form!
Coming soon

Plagued rats and stupid cats

Its not truly a poem you see, nor is it very good, it was more of an annoying thought that wouldnt leave till i wrote it out, thus, i give you!

At the top

So here i am set again, at the top of my high, or what i believe to be my high, which is never really but a foot off the ground anyway. Thoughts racing in and out, ideas flowing all over the place, so much so it blinds me every now and then and  i have to stop to re-collect myself as well as beating my head to jumble the thoughts up so all i can think is "well that bloody hurt!"

I suppose i cant  do much complaing though, i feel that i havent been creative enough, and wished some of it would come back....well fucking wish i didnt mean all at once, but oh well, at least i can set here and type what i think, i suppose thats better then nothing, though i would love to write poetry, seems beggers cant be choicers though, its like that wishing star up in the wishing sky heard my wish and was like "All right" then wacked me in the head with the inflated rat of creativity, but not the type that will actually mean anything once my head recovers from that mighty wack.

So here i will suffer for god knows how long, from insomnia, hyperness and racing, raving thoughts and ideas, and in the end, when i fall back down from that stool that only lefts me but a foot, when i hit that ground and cant even walk again, i will have nothing to show for it, but a bunch of useless meaningless words in an online journal, and my dears, that is not as fun as it sounds.

Oh but how the hours taunt me so

Oh but what is it that keeps me awake at such grueling hours of the ever haunting night? Is it Depression? Anger? Excitement? Or even, dare i say, this wretched disease called insomnia!! Curse the very nature of this "sickness" of racing thoughts that both poke and probe my heart and mind, this laying still for hours upon hours with no success, the sick twisted game of driving me completely mad from exhausted and pure none stop thoughts by daylight! But insomnia, you shalt not win this night! For i have a weapon! Medication! HA! And now as i feel the numbing effect of this pain killers i shall lay down and dare i say, SLEEP till daylight, of course this sleep shall happen after i finish this dashing conversation with the spider that is trying to tip toe out from the cold, he begs me to show him mercy, but insomnia, i do not like spiders, no in fact, i hate and even fear them, so i shall not grant his wishes of mercy and understanding, no, i shall squash him as he stands!! now....where was i....oh-yes, so as i was saying, insomnia, you have met your match tonight! With the weapon of medication on my side, you will not have the powers to drive me mad! so, insomnia, i say to you, good night, till tomorrow night, and stay awake knowing full well, i am not mad!