Convivial Revival of a Late Hippocampus

Let me be the most outstanding literary device within your scrawl.


The end-subscription of my updated catharsis is, well, there is no such thing.
Spring ushers in a new season.

-- I've been bubbling up a smoldering sense enough to write again.





I found it rather amusing, stumbling across Pete Wentz's wikipedia article,
that his attempt at suicide
was stopped only
by the fact that he listened to "Hallelujah" (the famous one),
and that it brought tears to his eyes

2 minutes after I listened to "Hallelujah" and almost cried.
(yeah, this was one of those oh, wow+haha moments)






Let us do lines of love for the withdrawal,
the crimson-lingerie sort of gift bag you gave is beginning to crease.
but that only means I could never use it for anyone else.

(Fuck! "Hallelujah" just came on my shuffle.)


I don't want them to think
that there isn't something pure and beautiful
left at the bottom of the box of my heart

that Dr. Jarvis once said, "how long you've worked on it has nothing to do with how good it is."

but in a few, I wouldn't mind if it had everything.






Na,
na na
nanana na

Yes, hope has arrived. Clear a path into a dark room.
One way or another,
it will destroy everything that was ever undone.