Galaluna-Jinx

A year is very long and very fast. It dashes by, hours dripping like honey, weeks sloshing as rapids. It's hard to not be swept up by the breathless days, head down and working, eyes ever hopefully leering at the clock. It seemed like a struggle, a foe-less war. All a clever, dangerous game of passion and responsibility. But, enough of that. School comes, bearing down as an unavoidable future. I can hate it, I can wriggle in discomfort from minute to minute of studying, but it's still going to be there, and I'll deal with it then. I think I'm going to try and do more with this. I love to write, have innumerable pages floating around in my r

Who is the worse? Two people, each succumbed to illegal drug 'X'. One person, A, lived poshly, every item one could ever want a fingertip away. Yet Daddy was always away and Momma's too busy being plastic and such. Best Friend just wants to get in another's pants, and Teacher just doesn't understand. The other, B, lives in the slums. The hood. The 'Orange Mound' of the world (forgive me, denizens of cities other than Memphis). Their life is surrounded by pain and people being torn away. Father, though he deserves not the title, died while in prison. Mom is too far gone. Her mind just let go. Both ran away to an artificial delirium. But wh

(the voices told me i wasn't crazy) It's been a long road, a long time. When you're young and emotional every day feels like a moment of forever. But you sedate this depression with reminders  of worse situations copied from your mother's tongue and desperate attempts to be a good person. So I had to come back here. I don't care about the computer viruses; I'll just be extra careful. This is a home. An artistic release with those lovely people so caring and willing to go,"Hon, I know exactly what you mean." I'm going to try so hard. People keep telling me I'm hurting myself, that I should just let go, try to not think so much. But it's j