Reminiscing, reflecting. Countless possibilities, each birthing countless more. Look at who you are now. What vile things escape through your teeth to see the light of day? Why do you allow them to live on rearing their ugly heads? It's torture, forcing me to sit here, day after day, watching you shovel a little more dirt over everything that used to be you, everything that made you so spectacular, everything that formed you, including me. Shallower and shallower you're becoming, as you fill up that hole that used to require me to fill. So much digression. I dread the day when all this will come back around and slap you right in the face with
Just one more. by WPetersonPhotography, literature
Literature
Just one more.
I'm so sick of this game we play. Where every kind word from you is just ammunition for the next time you turn your back. All the eternities that never lasted, I'll put them in the warehouse in my mind, where I keep all your lies. You know you're just handing me weapons. And you know that they'll obliterate you, yeah, and they'll obliterate me, for my heart lies with you. It's the only way I know to patch this hole you left. For some reason, you still have all of me.
What's is like you're only a name for them to hide behind? What's it like to fear your riches' temporality? What's it like to know you're only a mindless puppet? Yeah, you're on
Reminiscing, reflecting. Countless possibilities, each birthing countless more. Look at who you are now. What vile things escape through your teeth to see the light of day? Why do you allow them to live on rearing their ugly heads? It's torture, forcing me to sit here, day after day, watching you shovel a little more dirt over everything that used to be you, everything that made you so spectacular, everything that formed you, including me. Shallower and shallower you're becoming, as you fill up that hole that used to require me to fill. So much digression. I dread the day when all this will come back around and slap you right in the face with
Just one more. by WPetersonPhotography, literature
Literature
Just one more.
I'm so sick of this game we play. Where every kind word from you is just ammunition for the next time you turn your back. All the eternities that never lasted, I'll put them in the warehouse in my mind, where I keep all your lies. You know you're just handing me weapons. And you know that they'll obliterate you, yeah, and they'll obliterate me, for my heart lies with you. It's the only way I know to patch this hole you left. For some reason, you still have all of me.
What's is like you're only a name for them to hide behind? What's it like to fear your riches' temporality? What's it like to know you're only a mindless puppet? Yeah, you're on
Summer is coming. Go outside. Look. It's 7:30 and it's like dusk. Exxxxcellent. Too bad I had to pay an hour of sleep for this. Ridiculous.
I'm considering getting a new account, different name. I don't really want to be WPetersonPhotography any longer. Considering I picked the name when I was what... 13? Yes. Gross. Plus it'd be nice. A fresh start of sorts.
And I fear I can't take it.
I had a good Christmas. Lots and lots and lots and lots of new clothes. And some other randoms. Immaterial, and enjoyable. And I'm swell with that. K, somewhat material. Freak.
People need to get over themselves. Including me. But at least I'm working on it.
I'm happy. New music.
Ugh. Christmas hangover.