Mood: Not Impressed
Listening to: M.I.A
Reading: spinning spells,weaving wonders
Watching: A clockwork orange (last night I was technically)
I'm feeling poetic but I don't wish to upload any writing to my account because I want to keep it strictly visual, considering creating a seperate writing acount. This is a poem I wrote the other night and it's dedicated to all the other confused younglings out there.
HOW WROng It FEels
A hipbone here
And a vacant stare
Was a sign that I was getting there.
And breakfast too
Will keep me nice and
When I can count my ribs in threes
Then I'll look cute in skinny jeans.
And when my legs look like a sparrows
My shoulders will be nice and narrow.
My waist will be smaller than your hand
And people will start to give a damn.
In the end though I want you to see
That I'd rather be dying than