What will happen to you, my dear, when I am not there to protect you from the world's hate?

My friends are the type of friends who if asked to pick your poison they'll point at me.

My friends are the type of friends who when consulted by a ghost say "What are you doing out of your grave Grannie?"

My friends are the type of friends who get high off of caffine.

My friends are the type of friends that get run over by parked cars.

To cry...means to reamin yourself...remain whole,
For if you don't...every once and a while...you'll lose part of your soul.

Go ahead and cry,
Cry in the rain,
For if you don't,
Only shattered peices will remain.

The wounds that never heal can only be mourned alone,
The ones right next to the heart where sorrows seed was sown,
The scars that never disappear yet they feel like home,
The cuts that run vertically, each story a sad tone.

I asked my teacher if I could go rule the world...SHe told me to take my agenda with me.

The power to rule the world...It's in my rattle!