Your games were always cruel.

Everything was everything but baby, it’s the last show. –Lady Gaga.

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Poem.

I think this one’s rather self-explanatory.

Can’t seem to compose anything of substance at the moment. Love, anger, relationships, weather and my usual topics don’t seem to be resulting in any worthwhile poems. So, here’s a piece about my total lack of inspiration. YAY!

This is not actually to "everyone" or "all". This is to everyone on Triond that I visit, and who visits me…It is for everyone who I will visit and who will visit me…It’s for everyone I stopped visiting and who has stopped visiting me.

It’s written backwards because if you read it one through three, it leaves a bitter taste…This way is better.

A drunken bum’s account of his trip home, and the madness that ensues.

Don’t choose the easy option and give up on love if there is the smallest chance that it is worth fighting for.

Maturing is a part of growing up, just dont drag it out too long.