There is blood in everything I say.

I really hope that somewhere out there a parallell universe exists, one where this feeling I have can't affect anyone, cause it's just too hard on people. It's been a while now, some months, for me it feels like forever and ever, and well it aint changing like everyone tells you it will. The reason for that is that nobody really understands what I'm talking about, nobody has ever experienced that wonderful delight that I have, that marvelous touch and voice, that beautiful skin, those killer eyes that capture me every time.

It really makes you understand that I am the luckiest person alive for having met the right one, but at the same time the unluckiest and biggest failure of us all since I was and am incapable of doing anything right. Will I ever feel this way again I ask myself? Well frankly, no not ever, 'cause it's actually impossible.

The endless amount of lycrics from songs, all the poems I could recite, all the things I can write and say won't make this any better, and it certainly won't change anything, that I've realised from what has already occured. But clreaing your head in what some may call a confession, well, that could atleast be a healthy way to accomplish something instead of showing the world how you feel and seeming pathetic.

I've learned much, I've learned that love actually exists, and what a shock that the person that doubted this more than anything would provoke so that it's the thing that now hurts the most. Oh all the lessons that I have learned, how I always come to discover things and to change a splitsecond to late, when the change already has occured to my miserable fate. Well no more use in crying over spilt milk they say, but this isn't about that, this is about the only thing i ever wanted in life, you. Well anyways, there might be a point in this, maybe I'm the one thats chosen to balance out every other persons joy and love, so I guess I'll have to take this one, and find some placebo to make me atleast imagine that I feel good.

"I hold an image of the ashtray girl
Left cigarette burns on my chest
I wrote a poem that described our world
And put our friendship to the test
And late at night while I was on all fours
She used to watch me kiss the floor
What's wrong with this picture?
What's wrong with this picture?"