the color fo the sky

so you have to have control. you have to make and bend/mold things as you will, call and tell them what to think, "don't call me if your not going to say what i want to hear," you say, "don't call if you're not doing just what i want," and i'm trying to figure how the wind changed, when you just roundabout decided to change the way the wind blows river flows and now everything everything that leads to you is inside out. the last time for a lot of things? what things? do you care or is it just pride at this point? i'm asking these questions here now this wasted space this cruel carnival of pages turned and words thought into print and soon you'll be making your way to tell your friends how right you were because, after all, that's what you wanted, right? and i'll be here, doing what i always do.

you're the social terrorist to my heart and lifeblood. one foot this way, one that, i'm okay, i'm not okay, you say and i'm turning i'm turning inside out. what can be said clearly is this. i have no fucking clue what's going on. but you're not alright with that. it has to be boxed in and categorized and i'm trying to understand i'm trying to understand i'm trying to change the way the wind blows.

it's not so easy for everyone else, you know. (to change the color of the sky)

2003-08-07 | 9:55 a.m.
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