I just posted that mirrory poem down there. Pft I know, a two-n-one night, but I thought I should say something:
Odd.

Ain't it?
4 years ago. I was 14. I began this then and now, 18, when my voice seems so full and so loud, it comes out of me in puffs of angry smoke, I do nothing.
What I mean is that I apologize to whomever for not continuing.
Maybe I'll try harder.
Maybe not.

(Sylvia Plath is my prior post's inspiration by the way. Actually a comment from someone on one of her poems is the inspiration. It sucks, I already know that so don't say anything. :|)

Many changes. Occasions, partings, and additons.
I have a new band.
I'm graduating soon.
My boyfriend is in San Antonio.
and I still have the same attitude.

I also decided that sleep is for immature yuppies. Tonight I still have to do :
-analysis on one of Plath's poems
-French notes and homework
-Pre-calculus shit
-Prepare for auditions (I'm casting people, not auditioning)
-Draw Lou Reed

In general, it seems like a lot of shit I have to do between now and  7 am tomorrow. Good thing I have a study hall.

I also have to work out, shower, and get all my shit together for tomorrow. And memorize a song for the musical I'm in. :D
Awesome, right?

Maybe that's why I havent been keeping up with this journal thing.


Anyway, I was just informing no one that I posted an entry.

Bang
guns explosions rapes 
door-jams fire-escapes
landscape
salt in hearts
attack mush reap
killing crying
eat
walk-wear walking 
running to nowhere
no escapes
no they're
empty rooms
empty classes
empty windows
empty glasses
drinks of champaign
campaigns reign
apologies
waiting
am I
Pop
I am
waiting
apologies
reign
campaigning champaign
of drinks glasses
empty
windows empty
classes empty
rooms (all) empty
They're no
no escapes
nowhere to
running walking
walk-wear eat
crying killing reap
mush
attack hearts in salt
landscapes fire-escapes
door-jams rapes
explosions guns
Bang

I feel like everything I've ever had is coming to an end.
And it scares me to death.
I feel like everything I ever wanted is wasting away.
On the edge of my breath.

And if I die tomorrow.
I don't want to say
What took you so long?
And if I die tomorrow
I don't want to say
I wasn't even done.

No.
You package us tight.
In little suits of media.
With soft sewn walls
and nice stale air.
And when we fall apart in here.
We'll think we're okay.
Because it's just normal.
But it;s not because
When we're eating our own hearts out
with the charging wires of our
generation
And without this message
I'll never speak to you
in person.
Darkness falls on the
little colored boxes of
suburbia.

It's not okay to think that
I was made in a factory.
Everything was just the same and
even color is lost for me.
But if we pry these walls apart
And if we wipe those gleaming eyes
We'll see everything how it was meant to be
And our spirits will be at one again.

And if I die tomorrow
I don't want to say
Where have I gone.
And if I die tomorrow 
I don't want to say
I told you so
And if I die tomorrow
I don't want to say
We did this all the same
And I don't want to say
We can never grow.

 My heart is like a burning sun
Red hot and gleaming
It screams pull me up.
Don't push me down.

It beats in my chest it goes
pound pound pound
in my chest in my hears
oh god it makes me drown

but if we sit here
and if we don't go
we'll never get out

and it we wait 
and we're not sorry
we'll never get out

so many rooms in this maze
your life passes before my eyes
I sleep in sorrow
I sleep in fire

and i wish i'd be spun
right round right now
if only i could see through
my mask of smile

but if we lie here
will we ever leave
we'll never get out

and if we stand
and never run away 
we'll never get out,

get out,
away.
forever
and ever

get out 
get out
run away
away
forever

get out 
run away
pull me up
push me down
i'm out

F-My Life. It's a shirt. I dunno, I thought it was funny, at least.

I need to go away now. I need to go away. I need to run away. And we can run away.
We can run away from here. We can go. We can leave this place. We can leave this place behind.
We can run away forever. And leave this fucking place. If there is ever a time to leave it's now.
Let's go. I need to go away. I need to go away now.

My fingers itch. And my voice is always loud. I need lights in my eyes. I need a crowd.

Fuck you. And fuck you too. I'm sick of being told "You can't; You'll never."
Don't tell me what to do.

I don't want to go to college.
I don't want to be in high school.
I don't want to waste my life on love.
I don't want to stay here.
I don't want to live in my basement.
I don't want to say goodbye to you.
I don't want to have a family yet.
I don't want to have a "career."
I don't want to keep my job.
I don't want to live in a house.
I don't want to be able to afford my dinner.
I don't want to only have a handfull of friends.
I don't want to be quiet.
I don't want to be invisible.
I don't want to be in the back of class anymore.
I don't want to sit in my room.
I don't want to wake up at eleven a.m.

I just want to:
sing dance play music talk run scream sex jump cry laugh eat drive sleep kill sneer high-five kiss live.

I. Just. Want. To. Be. Me.
I. Just. Want. Myself.
I just want music because it's all I live for.
And die for.
And fight for.
And cry for.
And try for.
And light for.
And bite for.
And sigh for.

My heart pounds too loud in my chest. Sometimes I feel like I'm trapped inside a bell jar, stewing in my own sour air. If only I could get out, if only I could breathe. Maybe I'd be happy. I dunno. I feel like more schooling is just going to dumb me down.

Let me go.

Oh, hell no.

Killjoys, make some noise.

Ah haiiillllllll naoooo.
No.
No.
No.
No.
I'm.
Not.
Gonna.
Make.
Any.
Fucking.
Noise.
You.
Mother.
Fuck.
Ers.

I am a member of the MCRMY. I am NOT a fucking bright eyed, colorful, happy-go-lucky, Killjoy.
I want to hear about killing.
And saving.
And crying.
And screaming.
And dying.

Where are all the blood and guts?
Where is everyone?
And where the hell is Bob?


It looks like the Danger Days are actually over.
Nice to meet you. It seems that you lost your edge.

Woah. Like, really.
It's been pretty much a whole year.
And I read back and I'm a whole year different. And what's really weird is that today I am Eric, not me. Haha.
You have no idea who I am or what I am anymore.

Well, me either.

I'm an actress now. I am Puck, Woodstock, Rachel, Rodrigo #2, and now Isabelle.
But now I am Eric.
I still look at my guitar and inhale. Hold my breath while my fingers breath for me.

Except now I can be whoever I want while I do it.
Except now I have a chest to sleep on and lips to kiss.

It's weird, me having so much, when a year ago all I had was a computer. And summer.
And it's weird because in the halls of my school, people would shout things like "Stupid emo kid" or worse. Ha. Worse.

Now they shout, "Hey! Puck!" or maybe even, "Hippie!"
I look in the face of me and I see blue eyes, not grey. Blonde hair, not black.

Compare two pictures of me, before and after.
Ask me, "Who the hell are you?!"
and I'll retort,
"Who the hell am I?"

Because I don't know. I feel my identity is lost in the bottom of one of my shoes. Too bad I don't walk around in my own shoes anymore.

Remember? I'm an actress.

My name is Rorshach. I am a test.
I show you a picture of a teenager. They are all black. They wear tear-streaked cheeks and bleeding wrists.
You recognize them, but I don't. Every picture looks different to me than it does to you.
But you recognize them.
You tell me that used to be you. Back when you were lost.
Back when you had one face. And that face was your best friend's. And your enemy's. And every other teenager you knew.
Back when your generation had one face.
You called that face, that picture, loneliness and sorrow. Misery. You called it "Back when I hated my life. I wished to die".
But I know it's true name. Petty. Stupid. Immature. "Back when you wished for attention and pity, not death."
Defense.
That is who you are now.
You tell me that you felt alone in the world. That you felt like everything went wrong for you. There was so much drama and hate and people would harrass you. "My parents divorced too!"
But, still, that is all you told me.
You never told me that you watched your brother die in a war; his head blown to chunks of ashes like snowflakes. 
You never told me you walked in on your mother's hospital bed. She was holding your stillborn sister. Alone. 
You never told me you were the first to see the pale eyelids of your friend's dead face that morning.Their pills refused them to wake up. 
You never told me that you lived in an unordinary hospital. You watched zombies come out of rooms, then go back into them. Sometimes they'd hang from ceiling fans. Sometimes they'd lie next to bullets. And sometimes, they'd come out of rooms, but never go back in. 
You never told me, because you can't.
You saw things that people wished they'd seen. People wished they could live in your situation, while you wish for Cancer. But Cancer isn't so generous to some of the more deserving people.  
Yet.
Here I am, testing you. Me being Rorshach, and you the patient with enough money to know my face.
And me with enough guts to hear about your ugly one. Your ungrateful, undeserving face.
You don't deserve to die, like you so wish you did when you explained to me that blob on paper; the teenage picture.
You don't deserve Death's relieving grasp as he plucks your soul from your aching heart. Death does not come to those who don't deserve him, because he is a privilege.
You have not seen the worst or the best of the world. And no matter how defense you get.
No matter how much you convince me of the depression you were at thirteen.
My friend and I know that you will not be ready for Death until you have seen it's many faces.
Because right now, all you can see is your own.
And that is the face of society. That black and white, naive face.
Your face, your best friend's face, and your enemy's face. Every face you can think of.
Your generation's one face is not the face of Death.
And it never will be.

And I might die
I don't give a shit who you are.
Can't tell me what to do,
I'm not 5 years old.
World's spinnin around.
I'm real sick.
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Ho oh oh oh oh
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Oh oh oh.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
It's on, It's on, It's on..
I don't give a shit who you are.
You're so full of shit you motherfucker.
They're in my head and.
There's faces when I sleep.
He's a coward and I.
Need more time to get it across to you.
You're all fucking the same.
Who's the killer?
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Who's a?
So much blood.
Who's a killer?
Who's the killer?
I feel nothing.
Who's the killer?
Who's the?
So much blood!
I can't breathe with the radio on.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
It's so, It's so, It's so..
You're back.
Right here.
You're back.
Get away.
Your breaths mean nothing.
Get away.
But the TV's here to stay.
And I might die.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
And die.
Watch while I die.