talk.

at six thirteen am on a friday morning Lucy Angkatell's big blue eyes opened upon another day, and as always, she was at ocne wide awake and began immediatley to deal with the problems conjured up by her incredibly active mind.

i hate words. i have so much against words

they never mean what i want them to mean

and i always hate how they sound when i say them

BUT

i dont want to loose things, do i?

i want to be over here, and not over there

i want to have an open mind

and maybe i can live my life teetering everywere, maybe this is okay?

maybe this is exiting?

maybe i should just fuck it

and pick life.

even though its not that easy

but maybe i'm the only one who knows that.

im still not going anywhere

its almost like a would you rather.

but without peacocks or sardines.

ill just sit here, for little while longer

tied to a tree, to make sure i dont slip left by accident

but getting my courage to leap over.

i just need sum o' dat shiz

and im set.

i wish i was gangster

that would be so fun.