<< : 2003-09-01 :: 1:31 a.m. : >>
The Destruction of Rome

I watched as my dull skys became painted with hope today, like a Degas painting ( my favorite). Blurred with slight shapes to make out, vibrant with color. Savannah called out to me and my many diversaties.

I'm a rare bird, at least I like to think, but in my rural surrondings, and roads that endlessly lead to nowhere. I do not seem extrodinary in anyway. I was always to Strange for the normal, and not strange enough for the "weirdos" You have to take me with a grain of salt.

I have a destructive personality with a needy demeanor. It's as though people sense my neediness, and are disgusted by it. I can't blame them I despised it too, but it is something I performed as a second nature. I need to be loved,assured constantly. I thirst for it, to be noticed,and to be admired, but I rarely feel that I am. There is so much of a void inside of me, It'd devour the earth. At that exspense, pay me a compliment, and I'll fight with you tell your blue in the face, and can no longer speak, that you are wrong! Destructive, that's me.

I am impatient, tempered, and highly, highly anxiety ridden. In a zombie, Mulberry-esc town, with ignoring, sel - invovled, lost parents, I was suppose to learn something. To find myself with all the abundence of help I didn't have. Bitching, I know, but I'm am ill prepared for the world. Trapped by what I can not express, what little praise that I do have, can not not fill me, and surrounded by a need that will eat me alive.

I'm tempermental that way, moody to a fault, and flanked with depression. I pray I don't go insane! I need to be creative to be great, to whoa'em, and truly be seen, and remembered. Remembered for providing something worth while, and extreme. To make a difference, and accomplish so much, my way. I am the voice never heard, never seen, and rarely taken seriously. My words are not a labyrinth of great intelligence.

I am simple in that way.

My days consist of bouts of anger for never being perfect, living in fear of mistakes and the unknown. I tremble in the corner, at the idea of being a copy cat,ordinary, and bland. I curse at that nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, telling me, "That I am a poser in the artistic world, and will always be projected as such." That I have nothing to say, no great words of wisdom or consequence to put down on paper, that I am a fraud! No, I drift. mindlessly towards sharp objects with peircing pain that releases me. That flows onto crimson creeks, straight to tranquilty ,and freedom. That is only a dance I allow myself to think of, to project in daydreams, for even I know that it is ridiculous, and moronic. Though, that dance tarrys in every moment of everyday, and I live with all of this. With all of my pain, and self doubt!

Destructive personality!

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