All my friends are embryonic
11:09 p.m.//07.17.06

Mood: future-telling
Sound: the air conditioner

Here we find ourselves in the insipient stages of death. Sentencing has already taken place and pedestals removed for good.

Tripping over mistakes again and again, and you'd think with all of this practice at getting back up, a lesson would be learned about staying vertical and steadfast.

But no.

It has become disturbingly apparent that I hold people in too high a regard. I will correct this at once.

Divine retribution. We've all had a dose or two here and there, but I hear that you're sick and will be given a couple thousdand drams of your own medicine.

Honesty is the best policy and I'm living in a world of nihilism, and it's quite frankly, sickening.

And I'm starving so bad and I crave just a piece of bread to silence my growling innards, but all the bakers kneed the bread with unclean hands, making this form of nourishment very unappealing.

And just like it has been said before, I would rather starve than eat your bread.


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