Murder She Wrote.

We’ve all heard the proverbs, heard the philosophers, heard our grandparents warning us about wasted time, heard damn poets urging us to seize the day. Still sometimes, we have to see for ourselves. We have to make our own mistakes. We have to learn our own lessons. We have to sweep today’s possibility under tomorrow’s rug until we can’t anymore. Until we finally understand for ourselves.
I walk the line of the disappointed, I celebrate when I'm in pain. My heart and mind can be disjointed, I built a bed in this hole I made. I recognize that I'm damaged, I sympathize that you are too. But I wanna breathe without feeling so self-conscious.


Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds. It dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.


[1st pic is Jenfrey www.myspace.com/sexxyjeff ]

[2nd pic is Sabrina myspace.com/portuguebabii]
[3rd pic is Me :D twitter.com/ChellineS]