Cotton Dreams And Happiness.

Written in retalliance when told that I should quit writing, and be happy. This would be the result. :]

Words disapearing, supposedly left unsaid. We'll both play that game of pretend, though it's one I fight to continue; words are my guns, rhyme, my bullets. It used to be that you could harmlessly say these things, because nobody understands. Now, I guess it's just not like that. They still won't get it, but yet, be offended.

I wish instead for what those women had, the bravery pocessed. They never backed down but never had to fight, they just lived for the simple fact that one day, they too would die. They were fearless, with no limits. Nobody could stop them, only they could create hinderance. Defined, independance. They were made of what humans will be one day, steel and metal, compared to bones and marrow. Plath and Woolf, they were invincable; I like to think that they still are, even.

I'll promise myself to never stop these words, always continue the currant.

.....

We run across the streets, daring cars to chase us and calling cops 'Pigs'. We laugh at jokes that aren't even funny, and talk a good game. Listen to music in near empty parking lots, and share with each other cigarettes. We even climb through the woods, just for the sake of 'adventure', just for adventure. We even silence secrets; why keep them said?

And there's one, she's beautiful. Eyes like a dream, and a past of something amazing. You could never stop guessing about her, because she says only enough to make you think. And you're left,wanting, more words, please.

More words.

More?

Please.