i watched edward sissior hands and lost it. i can not keep myself together.

he was a nice boy.

he really was.

he was taken advantage of.

he became darker.

he was hated for things that did not come to pass.

he murdered.

and lost love.

but he was not the only victim i suppose.

but by now. i have forgotten everything that i once had to say.

i feel very cold.

i want to run away.

edward escaped through death, or something like it.

i want to escape too.

unmake.

his simple mind turned to hate.

masked hate, but hate none the less.

the quiet careful boy tears reams of wallpaper from the hallway, and shreds towels.

so now what?

is this what i become?

a cold, unfeeling... what? id on't evn know.

i know i want to start over. i wish that i had never been born in to a world this full of pain for me.

it is sweet and sour.

without the sour

the sweet would not be as sweet.

but i have had sour.

havn't i?

have i or have i not had enough sour to fill a lifetime?

and having tasted the sweet

i now hang on too tightly,

afraid to be cast down again.

i have loved too much.

and that is a problem.

so be it.

if wraith it must be,

then wraith it shall be.

.
.
.

but even i know that i speak falsely.


"If I could die and come back as anything, it would be as one of your tears. What more would I want than to be conceived in your heart, born in your eyes, live on your cheeks and die on your lips?"

but i know that she will never shed any tears for me.

so maybe this one is more appropriate:

"The more sensitive you are, the more likely you are to be brutalized, develop scabs, never evolve. Never allow yourself to feel anything, because you always feel too much."

-me