there's one thing - robert post

-_-
I haven't slept.
It's 7:18 AM and I got distracted around 3 or 4, drawing pictures...VERY DISTRACTED.
Somewhat almost in my artwork, as if nothing else existed around me..focused incredibly. Almost abnormally. And then when I finally force myself out of the paper and pencil...I LOOK OUT THE WINDOW AND THE SUN'S UP?!
& I'm like, what the fuckkkk.
Because once the morning breaks, I can't fall asleep anymore. Damnit. So I've been up all night/morning doing the following:
-drawing [since I have no imagination, I drew my dreams]
-watching videos [I never watch videos?!?!]
-reading random people's blogs [I mean VERY VERY random people....you'd probably think I'm a stalker :D]
-reading my old poems
While going over my old poetry, I feel very sad knowing that I can never write when I'm happy. Seriously, when I'm in a good mood, I suck majorly at writing. I FAIIIIIIIL. I think today I'm going to be very out of it and possibly crashing..D:
Anyway! As I was saying, SOME OF MY WRITING WAS SO GOOD.
But lately, if I try, it's so miserable and pathetic.
I love some of the phrases I wrote! Such as; "the mind's underground" and "watching everyone else's green grass grow"- I barely remember writing some of them! I could never have done that if I wasn't sad. And I told Earvin I wanted to write again, but he told me that'd be a bad sign, that it would mean I'm depressed.

I can't have both. I can't write and be happy. How sad. D:
I'm bored. Most people aren't up at 7:30 AM in the summer. So I feel very alone at the moment. It could be as if I was the only living being left on earth.

Hmmmmmm. Not much to say. Just needed to make a post because there's nothing better to do.
Let's give you an old poem I never posted on my old blog :D
I wrote it in English class one day when I noticed Sarita had placed "A Tale of Two Cities" face down, open, upon her desk and was leaning upon it, and I could see the spine was broken, and this made me angry and sad, because books don't deserve that. They deserved to be read and enjoyed and treasured. Especially if they're a classic [even though I hated this book]. I had also dropped my copy of the book on the road beside the sidewalk, into a wet pile of leaves in the after-rain of autumn. It got some dirt on it, and I felt very bad for that accident.

Destruction of Literature
As the book is opened
Equal pages to each side
Slapped down
So it may taste the filth of the earth’s surface
So it may feel the weight of its owner upon it
So it may smell the hatred seeping among society
So it may see the life of itself flash before it
So it may hear the last creaks of its fractured cover
Scathed, ripped, torn,
Scratched, folded, forgotten,
The owner presses harder down against its coat
Until wrinkled creases bloom down the spine
Bleeding white, losing hue;
It stays in my eyes.
But even in its state, its condition of terror-
Not yet does it give up on the reader,
The owner of its soul,
In determination to satisfy
At least one heart in its time-
However short that may be.
Not until the owner gives up
On the completion of reading,
And surrenders to the off-white pages;
Stained with despise, tainted with fingertips,
The discolored corners
Worn with time and the essence of misery.
Not until the owner screams at it in rage,
That she cannot any longer endure
Such useless adjectives.
That she doesn’t wish to ever
Lay her hands against its smoothness again.
Not until she returns it to its dusty shelf
Where it shall age,
Never to be read,
Broken-hearted,
And alone.

even that one! "creases bloom"?!?
I DO NOT HAVE THE CAPABILITY ANYMORE. This sucks. D:






....I hope that I will find bags among my eyes the next time I look in the mirror.