December
5 January 2009
You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will. You, you will. 'Cause if you don't, then this book is all lies If you don't, then my plans would all
I dreamt of a fever, one that would cure me of this cold winter set heart, with heat to melt these frozen tears, and burned with reasons as to carry on.
Into these twisted months I plunge without a light to follow but I swear that I would follow anything, just get me out of here.
And you get six months to adapt, and you get two more to leave town. and in the event that you do adapt, we still might not want you around.
But I fell for the promise of a life with a purpose, but I know that that's impossible now. And so I drink to stay warm, and to kill selected memories, cause I just can’t think anymore about
and I give myself three days to feel better, or else I swear I'll drive right off a fucking cliff, cause if I can't learn to make myself feel better, how can I expect anyone else to give a shit?
and I scream for the sunlight or car to take me anywhere, just get me past this dead and eternal snow, cause I swear that I'm dying, slowly but its happening, and if the perfect spring is waiting some
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