<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710</id><updated>2011-09-28T08:47:08.412-07:00</updated><category term='You swallow the cure'/><title type='text'>The Scribbled Brain</title><subtitle type='html'>“Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier and simpler.”</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>60</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-2588466525401317034</id><published>2010-12-31T09:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-31T09:34:03.733-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hate</title><content type='html'>&lt;h2&gt;I am so scared. I think you might actually, really hate me now.&lt;/h2&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-2588466525401317034?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2588466525401317034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2588466525401317034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/12/hate.html' title='Hate'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-5845751947794611402</id><published>2010-12-28T22:35:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-28T22:35:55.896-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;How stupid could I be, thinking that staying at your place and sharing your bed every night after we’d broken up would win you back when you were ready?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-5845751947794611402?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5845751947794611402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5845751947794611402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/12/stupid-me.html' title='Stupid Me'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-5288972662815112466</id><published>2010-12-28T22:34:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-28T22:34:58.770-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Later In Life</title><content type='html'>Go ahead, marry him. It will just make your eventual midlife crisis affair with me all the spicier.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-5288972662815112466?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5288972662815112466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5288972662815112466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/12/later-in-life.html' title='Later In Life'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-4724252596355123547</id><published>2010-12-28T22:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-28T22:32:25.933-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hmmm....?</title><content type='html'>Just so I have this straight—you are never going to text, call, or love  me back, are you?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-4724252596355123547?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4724252596355123547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4724252596355123547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/12/hmmm.html' title='Hmmm....?'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-5693599498168149886</id><published>2010-11-19T14:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-19T14:20:53.069-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On Losing Friends</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TOb3qXvs9OI/AAAAAAAAAHE/fCI81BYuIQ4/s1600/Alone.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TOb3qXvs9OI/AAAAAAAAAHE/fCI81BYuIQ4/s320/Alone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541388698826634466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;WHAT I'M THINKING:&lt;/span&gt; Dear Lord, please don't go. I thought we were friends? I'm going to miss you so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;WHAT I SAY:&lt;/span&gt; Whatever. Fuck it. I don't need you anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-5693599498168149886?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5693599498168149886'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5693599498168149886'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/11/on-losing-friends.html' title='On Losing Friends'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TOb3qXvs9OI/AAAAAAAAAHE/fCI81BYuIQ4/s72-c/Alone.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-4975038024023448670</id><published>2010-11-16T20:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-16T20:42:30.640-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Where Were You?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TONc5UWzSzI/AAAAAAAAAG8/EAqU_tnEC3M/s1600/2631873514_b448e90c28.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TONc5UWzSzI/AAAAAAAAAG8/EAqU_tnEC3M/s320/2631873514_b448e90c28.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540374106382486322" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;It's been so long that I don't even look down your street anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-4975038024023448670?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4975038024023448670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4975038024023448670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/11/where-were-you.html' title='Where Were You?'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TONc5UWzSzI/AAAAAAAAAG8/EAqU_tnEC3M/s72-c/2631873514_b448e90c28.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-4224454216772675468</id><published>2010-10-14T23:26:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-14T23:32:31.720-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Failure</title><content type='html'>I'm jealous of him.&lt;br /&gt;He's got you right where he wants you.&lt;br /&gt;I'm jealous of him.&lt;br /&gt;Of him though, really?&lt;br /&gt;I must sound so pathetic.&lt;br /&gt;But I am.&lt;br /&gt;The thoughts of you two together run rampant through my head all day.&lt;br /&gt;I know you want him with the burning that you once wanted me for.&lt;br /&gt;And I fucked up, did stupid things.&lt;br /&gt;You no longer burn for me.&lt;br /&gt;Just for him.&lt;br /&gt;I can't compete.&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why I try.&lt;br /&gt;I've changed since my last mistake.&lt;br /&gt;I've changed so much.&lt;br /&gt;But that doesn't matter, it happened and it shouldn't have.&lt;br /&gt;I let you down one time and it was the most important time.&lt;br /&gt;I cheated.&lt;br /&gt;AND I REGRET IT EVERYDAY.&lt;br /&gt;There are only few things I want in this life.&lt;br /&gt;You, for you to forgive me and for my best friend back.&lt;br /&gt;Until the day I die, I won't have either.&lt;br /&gt;And even when I die, I know I won't have one of them.&lt;br /&gt;You.&lt;br /&gt;This singe solitary person.&lt;br /&gt;Why do we do the things we do?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-4224454216772675468?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4224454216772675468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4224454216772675468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/10/failure.html' title='Failure'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-5250338354755677239</id><published>2010-10-14T23:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-14T23:26:49.113-07:00</updated><title type='text'>With this knife...</title><content type='html'>I hate that I am still in love with you.&lt;br /&gt;I wish that I could just move on.&lt;br /&gt;But there is something about you,&lt;br /&gt;About the way you make me feel,&lt;br /&gt;About the way you look at me,&lt;br /&gt;About the way you smile at me,&lt;br /&gt;About the things we speak of,&lt;br /&gt;About the way you hold my hand,&lt;br /&gt;About the way you kiss my lips,&lt;br /&gt;About the way you hug me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is something about you,&lt;br /&gt;About the way you lie,&lt;br /&gt;About the way you go behind my back,&lt;br /&gt;About the way you keep secrets,&lt;br /&gt;About the way you still want him,&lt;br /&gt;About the lack of respect you have for me,&lt;br /&gt;About the way you use me,&lt;br /&gt;About the hurtful things you do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And people are constantly calling me crazy for loving you still.&lt;br /&gt;Because they can see the tiredness in my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;They can hear the pain in my voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do I do this to myself?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-5250338354755677239?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5250338354755677239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5250338354755677239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/10/with-this-knife.html' title='With this knife...'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-4584299262869188829</id><published>2010-10-08T05:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-08T05:51:51.910-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ad7sKEEAktQ?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ad7sKEEAktQ?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-4584299262869188829?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4584299262869188829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4584299262869188829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/10/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-8523512734406979378</id><published>2010-09-06T20:35:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-06T20:38:26.718-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Proof</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIWzPvYt2dI/AAAAAAAAAG0/gqNxPxVsKic/s1600/n1477440558_30162970_6583.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIWzPvYt2dI/AAAAAAAAAG0/gqNxPxVsKic/s320/n1477440558_30162970_6583.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514010401784584658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This photograph is my proof. There was that night when things were great between us and she embraced me, and we were so happy. It did happen. She did love me. Just look, see for yourself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-8523512734406979378?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/8523512734406979378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/8523512734406979378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/09/proof.html' title='Proof'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIWzPvYt2dI/AAAAAAAAAG0/gqNxPxVsKic/s72-c/n1477440558_30162970_6583.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-5068616549141370072</id><published>2010-09-04T13:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-04T13:48:32.772-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Shadows And Regrets</title><content type='html'>His feet move quickly against the pavement. The beads of sweat sliding down his face. He moves his long dark hair out of his eyes that are now matted to his face.His phone rings but he ignores it. He runs faster. He does not care about the burning in his chest or his calves that feel like they are about to explode. He just runs. The text he got in the bathroom scared the hell out of him. His friends will not know he left. At least not for a while. His back is starting to hurt. He has ran a mile and a half already. Two blocks to go. He is almost home. He thinks he should have driven in his own car. He would have been there by now. He would be holding her and comforting her. He pulls the keys out of his pocket, stickes them in the door and gets in. He quickly starts the car and is off. He grips the wheel hard, in fear of what he will find when he finally makes it to her house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He pulls up to her house. Puts the car in park and makes his way up the apartment building's stairwell. When he finally reaches her door, he notices that it's slightly cracked. He lightly pushes on it, in fear of what's on the other side and the door opens with a loud squeal. The only sound comng from inside the apartment was the radio, on a station that only played static. An overwhelming feeling of panic flowed through his body instantly. He ran quickly to her bedroom, she wasn't there. The bathroom, she wasn't there. Finally, the kitchen. There she was. Blood all over the floor and in the sink. Lying there lifeless. The tears begin to roll down his blotchy red face. He kneels down next to her and gras her. Holds her in his arms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He bings to cry, remenicing of the things that lead them to this point in their lives. The things that lead her to this point in her life. The last time they spoke they exchanged words of hate and anger. She was calling him once or twice a day. Texting him every five minutes. She missed him. She loved him. But he was over her. Or so he thought. He wanted nothing to do with her. "They had grown apart", he said. "Sometimes people grow apart and need to move on". And so he did... with a five foot seven, blonde bombshell. "I hate you", she said.You could hear her heart breaking with each sob and every word muttered from her mouth. "You'll regret doing this". He never understood what that meant until now. And until this very moment, he didn't realize how much he really loved her. He lost something more than an ex. He lost his best friend. He lost the love of his life. But it's too late now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He sits and cries with her in his arms for a while before picking her up and putting her on the couch. He walks into the bathroom and takes his blood stained shirt off. And he stares in the mirror. Where did he go wrong? What was he thinking? Why did this happen? The answers to these questions where all the same. He just didn't care. All he had to do was care. And he didn't. And now look at his situation. He couldn't go back in the living room because seeing her body lying there was ripping a hole in his heart. While he sat there and waited for the police he layed in her bed and smelled her sheets. Her scent was all over them. He pulled the covers back and there was a note. It was just lying there.As he unfolds the thin piece of paper his hands begin to shake... and then he dives in:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;""To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer; not to love is to suffer; to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be unhappy, one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've suffered for far too long because of you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After reading that, he sat and cried for an hour. When he came to the conclusion that he didn't deserve to live a happy life anymore. For all the things he put her through and how he was the reasoning for her untimely ending. He makes his way over to the bathroom and opens the medicine cabinent. In it, her medication. Ambien for sleeping, Pristiq for depression and Lexapro for anxiety. He took a big handful and swallowed. He had clearly chosen his ending. And went into the living room and laid on the floor beside the couch where she lay. After about an hour he begins to get sleepy and feeling sick. As he lay on the verge of death there is a sudden movement on the couch. To his surprise, she is now starring back at him with a devilish grin on her face. He is too sick and weak to react. But in her hand she held a bottle of Tetrodotoxin, which slows your heart rate and lowers the bodies core temperature. And she spoke, "One pill of this and a pill of Ambien. Knocked e out cold and made me look like I was dead." "But the blood", he said with such a frail voice. She laughs, "Pigs blood, bought it from the store. I told you you would regret breaking up with me." And with that, she walked over to the sink and smears water over her eyes to make her mascara run. Then she called the police. And he lay there and watch as the last moments of his life were slipping away. He regreted it. He really did. But it was too late, yet again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-5068616549141370072?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5068616549141370072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5068616549141370072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/09/shadows-and-regrets.html' title='Shadows And Regrets'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-2251631533104136688</id><published>2010-07-25T20:39:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-02T22:42:33.666-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Inside Here</title><content type='html'>Must I go on living here?&lt;br /&gt;Among the objects we both touched.&lt;br /&gt;The air that she once breathed.&lt;br /&gt;In the name of what?&lt;br /&gt;The hope of her return?&lt;br /&gt;I hoped for nothing, yet I live in expectation.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-2251631533104136688?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2251631533104136688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2251631533104136688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/07/must-i-go-on-living-here-among-objects.html' title='Inside Here'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-5292620416534018083</id><published>2010-07-25T20:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-25T20:39:24.607-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Forget It, I Guess...</title><content type='html'>It’s when I’m standing six feet away from you and not being able to  find the words to tell you how much I love you and how much I miss you  that I want to just scream to the whole room that I’m still in love with  you. It’s when I’m sitting alone with the phone in my hand dialing your  number and hanging up that I would trade a thousand tomorrows for just  one yesterday. Then I could just call you to tell you goodnight. It’s  when I am really sad about something and need someone to talk to that I  realize you’re the only one who really knew me at all. It’s when I cry  myself to sleep at night and it hits me how much I would give to hold  you at that very moment. It’s when I think about you that I realize no  one else in the world is meant for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-5292620416534018083?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5292620416534018083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5292620416534018083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/07/forget-it-i-guess.html' title='Forget It, I Guess...'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-4473212084888893717</id><published>2010-07-19T21:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-19T21:34:19.817-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pity Party</title><content type='html'>Your eyes, they tell me lies&lt;br /&gt;But your mouth speaks a different language&lt;br /&gt;Moving quickly but carefully&lt;br /&gt;Speaking the truth for you is harder than learning Spanish&lt;br /&gt;No accents or punctuations&lt;br /&gt;Just letters and words&lt;br /&gt;Coming from the mind not the heart&lt;br /&gt;Things you can't say get lost in exhales of doubt&lt;br /&gt;Even you doubt yourself&lt;br /&gt;You're not a good liar&lt;br /&gt;It's written all over your face&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-4473212084888893717?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4473212084888893717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4473212084888893717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/07/pity-party.html' title='Pity Party'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-2419107688361302206</id><published>2010-07-06T19:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-06T19:56:31.357-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How's the veiw from your porch?</title><content type='html'>If people saw you from my eyes...&lt;br /&gt;They'd see the most beautiful woman I know.&lt;br /&gt;Those big brown eyes that pierce my soul.&lt;br /&gt;The bright smile that can light up my life on the darkest of days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If people knew you like I do...&lt;br /&gt;They'd know an intelligent woman.&lt;br /&gt;One that studies hard but knows how to party even harder.&lt;br /&gt;A woman who knows what she wants, for the most part, and tries hard to get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If people listened to you like I do...&lt;br /&gt;They'd hear a girl who is just crying out for love.&lt;br /&gt;One that sings along to corny love songs and quotes love stories.&lt;br /&gt;A woman who talks softly and speaks with meaning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-2419107688361302206?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2419107688361302206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2419107688361302206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/07/hows-veiw-from-your-porch.html' title='How&apos;s the veiw from your porch?'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-4883132992475263874</id><published>2010-07-06T19:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-06T19:45:45.389-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lonely</title><content type='html'>The feeling of the moment has lifted.&lt;br /&gt;I hear my feet move quickly against the wet sidewalk.&lt;br /&gt;And the rain is the background music to my thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;The words you said to me moments ago are echoing in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I had sex with him."&lt;br /&gt;Those five words.&lt;br /&gt;Those five words just ripped a hole in my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No more late night calls to help put you to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;No more thinking of two... just three.&lt;br /&gt;Me, myself and I.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-4883132992475263874?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4883132992475263874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4883132992475263874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/07/lonely.html' title='Lonely'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-1305058511684567728</id><published>2010-06-14T17:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T17:42:02.265-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TBbMMa14XRI/AAAAAAAAAFc/NrEYMonKGhA/s1600/Love+At+First+Sight.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 306px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TBbMMa14XRI/AAAAAAAAAFc/NrEYMonKGhA/s320/Love+At+First+Sight.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482794110105967890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;There are so many things I want to say to you.&lt;br /&gt;But time’s caught me up  and now I’ll never say them — except that I’ve loved you from the moment  I saw you and every moment since.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-1305058511684567728?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/1305058511684567728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/1305058511684567728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/06/there-are-so-many-things-i-want-to-say.html' title=''/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TBbMMa14XRI/AAAAAAAAAFc/NrEYMonKGhA/s72-c/Love+At+First+Sight.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-465834890339961542</id><published>2010-06-01T19:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T19:27:30.017-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Love</title><content type='html'>This one word makes me feel butterflies in my stomach&lt;br /&gt;It makes me text you every morning and call you before I go to bed&lt;br /&gt;It makes me watch corny chick flicks&lt;br /&gt;It makes me spend endless amounts of money on you&lt;br /&gt;It makes me take a two hour bus ride to you&lt;br /&gt;It makes me watch "The Hills" and "Reba"&lt;br /&gt;It makes me do your laundry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one word makes me feel sad when I don't see you&lt;br /&gt;It makes me walk all over the world in the middle of the night&lt;br /&gt;It makes me cuddle up to you when you're cold to keep you warm&lt;br /&gt;It makes me ditch friends to be with you&lt;br /&gt;It makes me yearn for your lips&lt;br /&gt;It makes sex that much better&lt;br /&gt;It makes you seem completely perfect&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one word has got me so wrapped up in you&lt;br /&gt;I only wish this one word made you feel the same for me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-465834890339961542?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/465834890339961542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/465834890339961542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/06/love.html' title='Love'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-6176073646928183073</id><published>2010-06-01T19:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T19:10:04.546-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Drowning In Sorrow</title><content type='html'>Your promises were left&lt;br /&gt;Broken and bloody&lt;br /&gt;Carelessly dropped amongst these very naive ears&lt;br /&gt;Taken care of by my nurturing hands&lt;br /&gt;The same hands that used to hold you close to this heart&lt;br /&gt;That is now splintered with regret and sadness&lt;br /&gt;The sadness moves quickly to my head&lt;br /&gt;Where it causes me to get dizzy and lightheaded&lt;br /&gt;The voice in my head is still yours and it's echoing in my brain&lt;br /&gt;The promises you left&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-6176073646928183073?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/6176073646928183073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/6176073646928183073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/06/drowning-in-sorrow.html' title='Drowning In Sorrow'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-9219826851949974783</id><published>2010-05-26T11:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-26T11:52:43.749-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The movement is still within my mind</title><content type='html'>I am a car with three wheels&lt;br /&gt;A phone without a charger&lt;br /&gt;A television without a remote&lt;br /&gt;A radio without speakers&lt;br /&gt;A poem without a rhyme&lt;br /&gt;A coach without a team&lt;br /&gt;I am the truth without someone to hear it&lt;br /&gt;A book without pages&lt;br /&gt;A home without a foundation&lt;br /&gt;A sun without fire&lt;br /&gt;A beer without the grain&lt;br /&gt;A teacher without students&lt;br /&gt;I am a feeling without someone to feel it.&lt;br /&gt;A gun without bullets&lt;br /&gt;A writer without a pen&lt;br /&gt;A home with no inhabitants&lt;br /&gt;This is who I am&lt;br /&gt;A mess without you&lt;br /&gt;Something beautiful with you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-9219826851949974783?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/9219826851949974783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/9219826851949974783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/05/movement-is-still-within-my-mind.html' title='The movement is still within my mind'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-767553615585567674</id><published>2010-05-04T23:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-04T23:42:40.080-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Not...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I'm not going to think about her&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; I'm not going to think about her&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about her anymore&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about the sound of her voice&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about the way she looked&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about the way her hair smelled&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she once helped me buy a new pet fish&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how messy her makeup dresser was&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she always tucked her covers under the  bed&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she always tried to steal the more  comfortable pillow from me&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she once left her juice sitting in the  windowsill and I spent most of my day killing ants&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she was really good at cooking Ramen  noodles&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would always double check herself  in the mirror anytime she put on a new outfit&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she HAD to get coffee every morning  otherwise she would be so cranky for the rest of the day&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she really hated the buzzer on my alarm  clock&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would grab for and hold my hand in  public&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would get horny in public places  and pull me somewhere private so we could have sex&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would root against me while I was playing video games&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would giggle when I said something stupid&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would come out at any time of night just to get a kiss from me&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would give me the occasional back rubs&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would tuck me in before she left me for the night&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would wear those purple plaid flats she has, even if she was only going to the bathroom&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she looked when we talked on Skype&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would always hug me like she never wanted to let go&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about what she looked like in just her skin&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she rested her head on my shoulder and cried when she needed to&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would keep wiggling her body around until she felt comfortable in my arms before we fell alseep&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would cuddle up next to me while we  were watching movies&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would sigh and moan in my ear as I  kissed her neck&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would go grocery shopping for me&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about the smooth, caramel skin of her back&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about what she looked like when I put that flower  behind her ear&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how excited she got when we watched Matilda&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how it sometimes felt that we were the only  two people on Earth&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how for a long time it really seemed like  it was going to work out&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how I came to visit her and when she opened  the door, sitting on her bed was a bag full of everything I had ever  given her&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about whatever she may be doing right now&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would always call me to wake me up  for work&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to think about how she would ask me to clean her room or  do a load of wash for her&lt;br /&gt;But now she doesn't ask anymore&lt;br /&gt;And so, she must have found somebody else to do it&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-767553615585567674?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/767553615585567674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/767553615585567674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/05/im-not.html' title='I&apos;m Not...'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-1063554426496525496</id><published>2010-04-26T11:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-26T11:23:43.328-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm going to be...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9XZ2XJzkhI/AAAAAAAAAE0/GUh1bL8k_-I/s1600/130-cats-in-apartment.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9XZ2XJzkhI/AAAAAAAAAE0/GUh1bL8k_-I/s320/130-cats-in-apartment.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464513250835272210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That ugly cat lady that lives next door. And you'll smell their piss and wonder why I don't do anything about it. But I'll ignore your name calling and put downs because my cats will make me feel better like she once did.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-1063554426496525496?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/1063554426496525496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/1063554426496525496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/04/im-going-to-be.html' title='I&apos;m going to be...'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9XZ2XJzkhI/AAAAAAAAAE0/GUh1bL8k_-I/s72-c/130-cats-in-apartment.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-1405855482868162002</id><published>2010-04-25T19:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-25T19:06:09.485-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Flowers Insomnia</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9T0spy9NCI/AAAAAAAAAEM/JxxKii14oM4/s1600/purple_lotus_flower.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9T0spy9NCI/AAAAAAAAAEM/JxxKii14oM4/s320/purple_lotus_flower.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464261295878255650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are trying so hard to be the person everyone wants you to be. Maybe you should just be the person YOU want to be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-1405855482868162002?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/1405855482868162002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/1405855482868162002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/04/flowers-insomnia.html' title='A Flowers Insomnia'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9T0spy9NCI/AAAAAAAAAEM/JxxKii14oM4/s72-c/purple_lotus_flower.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-6259087650527292590</id><published>2010-04-25T17:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-25T17:37:45.070-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Life...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9TgMntkwII/AAAAAAAAAD8/CMrsFutqAto/s1600/Life.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 251px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9TgMntkwII/AAAAAAAAAD8/CMrsFutqAto/s320/Life.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464238755330441346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is like a movie, if you've sat through more than half of it and its sucked every second so far, it probably isn't gonna get great right at the end and make it all worthwhile. None should blame you for walking out early.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-6259087650527292590?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/6259087650527292590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/6259087650527292590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/04/life.html' title='Life...'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9TgMntkwII/AAAAAAAAAD8/CMrsFutqAto/s72-c/Life.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-1007856515188223841</id><published>2010-04-22T04:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-22T04:35:35.771-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thoughts of the Dumpee</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9A0Y6PanvI/AAAAAAAAADU/2AaCwpcLh4U/s1600/78608792.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9A0Y6PanvI/AAAAAAAAADU/2AaCwpcLh4U/s320/78608792.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462923950555832050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your last breath lingers on my neck. Like a memory burnt into my skin.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-1007856515188223841?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/1007856515188223841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/1007856515188223841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/04/thoughts-of-dumpee.html' title='Thoughts of the Dumpee'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9A0Y6PanvI/AAAAAAAAADU/2AaCwpcLh4U/s72-c/78608792.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-8952138003813125374</id><published>2010-04-22T04:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-22T04:16:46.206-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9Av37uWyqI/AAAAAAAAADE/H1SJswuPVgE/s1600/head-in-hands-md-new.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9Av37uWyqI/AAAAAAAAADE/H1SJswuPVgE/s320/head-in-hands-md-new.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462918985971845794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can I forgive when I'm in so much pain?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-8952138003813125374?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/8952138003813125374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/8952138003813125374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/04/how-can-i-forgive-when-im-in-so-much.html' title=''/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S9Av37uWyqI/AAAAAAAAADE/H1SJswuPVgE/s72-c/head-in-hands-md-new.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-6534850393572508505</id><published>2010-04-22T03:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-22T04:04:30.863-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ever feel like you're not good enough?</title><content type='html'>Because I don't call when I should.&lt;br /&gt;Because I get angry for no reason.&lt;br /&gt;Because I raise my voice.&lt;br /&gt;Because I don't make you feel comfortable.&lt;br /&gt;Because I cheated.&lt;br /&gt;Because I act differently around certain people.&lt;br /&gt;Because I don't fight fairly.&lt;br /&gt;Because I only make you feel more insecure.&lt;br /&gt;Because I don't truly make you happy.&lt;br /&gt;Because I'm a slob.&lt;br /&gt;Because I am not liked by your family.&lt;br /&gt;Because I don't like your friends.&lt;br /&gt;Because I don't understand why you can't not talk to him.&lt;br /&gt;Because I am ALWAYS doing something wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not good enough for you.&lt;br /&gt;Which means I'm not good enough for anybody.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-6534850393572508505?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/6534850393572508505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/6534850393572508505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/04/ever-feel-like-youre-not-good-enough.html' title='Ever feel like you&apos;re not good enough?'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-8203391215276576483</id><published>2010-04-01T12:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-01T12:48:41.872-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Break Apart Her Heart</title><content type='html'>When you call she doesn't answer&lt;br /&gt;when you write she doesn't answer&lt;br /&gt;You go out you see him with her&lt;br /&gt; she told you she was sick at home&lt;br /&gt;The ring you gave her thrown away with all the letters&lt;br /&gt;And when you see him with her, he doesn't even care at all&lt;br /&gt;As she follows him around like you follow her around&lt;br /&gt;He doesn't even care and your figuring out&lt;br /&gt;The only way your gonna keep somebody around&lt;br /&gt;Well I'm about to let you know&lt;br /&gt;There's something I don't wanna understand&lt;br /&gt;The only way a woman is gonna want a man&lt;br /&gt;The only way you'll ever keep her in your hands&lt;br /&gt;Is breaking apart her heart&lt;br /&gt;Don't tell her she is the reason that you live&lt;br /&gt;Don't give her everything that you got to give&lt;br /&gt;If you want to keep the girl for as long as you live&lt;br /&gt;Just break it apart her heart&lt;br /&gt;Can't you see the way she's crying&lt;br /&gt;Well thats what keeps her trying, she knew that she could have you&lt;br /&gt;And he don't give her what she wants&lt;br /&gt;There's truth about this, you say you want to be noticed&lt;br /&gt;Well if you want to be noticed you gotta learn to break some hearts&lt;br /&gt;Don't try to understand&lt;br /&gt;Can't you see what you've done?&lt;br /&gt;What I've become?&lt;br /&gt;Can't you see?&lt;br /&gt;I don't understand this cruelty&lt;br /&gt;I don't understand but now I&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-8203391215276576483?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/8203391215276576483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/8203391215276576483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/04/break-apart-her-heart.html' title='Break Apart Her Heart'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-1625571786280626056</id><published>2010-03-19T22:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-19T23:03:01.420-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dangerous Love Affair (Hold On) by ??</title><content type='html'>This was a dangerous love affair&lt;br /&gt;She kept me guessing&lt;br /&gt;While I was open like a book&lt;br /&gt;I was her old guitar&lt;br /&gt;that played her every hook&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was always there for her to fall back on&lt;br /&gt;She had me clinging to every word&lt;br /&gt;While I was just a filler&lt;br /&gt;I was the murder victim&lt;br /&gt;And she was the famous killer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told me to hold on&lt;br /&gt;Hold on just a little longer&lt;br /&gt;You'll be my only one&lt;br /&gt;I just wanna have a little more fun&lt;br /&gt;Hold on just a little bit longer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nights I spent tossing and turning&lt;br /&gt;She spent with other guys&lt;br /&gt;More worthy of her time&lt;br /&gt;I was her skip button&lt;br /&gt;But for me she was on repeat&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told me to hold on&lt;br /&gt;Hold on just a little longer&lt;br /&gt;You'll be my only one&lt;br /&gt;I just wanna have a little more fun&lt;br /&gt;Hold on just a litle bit longer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like Haley's comet shooting 'cross the sky&lt;br /&gt;She came and went so fast&lt;br /&gt;Just here for a moment&lt;br /&gt;(This was a dengerous love affair)&lt;br /&gt;I won't see another like her&lt;br /&gt;Nope, at least not for another century&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told me to hold on&lt;br /&gt;Hold on just a little longer&lt;br /&gt;You'll be my only one&lt;br /&gt;I just wanna have a little more fun&lt;br /&gt;Hold on just a little bit longer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until she slipped away and was gone&lt;br /&gt;Gone forever and out of my life&lt;br /&gt;(Hold on)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was a dangerous love affair (x2)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-1625571786280626056?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/1625571786280626056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/1625571786280626056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/dangerous-love-affair-hold-on-by.html' title='Dangerous Love Affair (Hold On) by ??'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-8933891409485176408</id><published>2010-03-16T12:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T12:38:52.559-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I was once told, "Don't let your wants kill ya"</title><content type='html'>I want to be the one who makes you smile.&lt;br /&gt;The one who makes every day worth waking up for.&lt;br /&gt;The one who cooks you breakfast in bed.&lt;br /&gt;The one who you greet when you walk in the door from work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to be the one who holds you when you cry.&lt;br /&gt;The constant whisper in your ear, "Everything will be alright."&lt;br /&gt;The one who whipes the tears from your eyes and brushes the hair from your face.&lt;br /&gt;The one who sits on the couch and eats junk food with you until you feel better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want you to wonder how you ever lived life without me.&lt;br /&gt;How you could have ever used the word "love" before me.&lt;br /&gt;I want you to consider our life together forever.&lt;br /&gt;I want you to kiss me and feel all the love I have for you.&lt;br /&gt;I want that kiss to make your heart explode and leak love into my mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in love with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EVERYTHING about you drives me insane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please say you want all of that too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to be your everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-8933891409485176408?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/8933891409485176408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/8933891409485176408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-was-once-told-dont-let-your-wants.html' title='I was once told, &quot;Don&apos;t let your wants kill ya&quot;'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-3201624431880485120</id><published>2010-03-16T12:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T12:32:24.920-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Even though I don't believe in God...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_coMBoUlI/AAAAAAAAAC0/rf72RDmbKuc/s1600-h/man-praying.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449316657122529874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_coMBoUlI/AAAAAAAAAC0/rf72RDmbKuc/s320/man-praying.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I sometimes get down on both knees, Fold my hands, and bow my head. And I pray. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I pray that maybe one day you'll realize that I am the one for you. And that you cannot live without me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm beginning to think it will never happen.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-3201624431880485120?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/3201624431880485120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/3201624431880485120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/even-though-i-dont-believe-in-god.html' title='Even though I don&apos;t believe in God...'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_coMBoUlI/AAAAAAAAAC0/rf72RDmbKuc/s72-c/man-praying.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-589398915939293453</id><published>2010-03-16T12:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T12:19:11.143-07:00</updated><title type='text'>If you find love, could you save me some?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_ZpuAM2TI/AAAAAAAAACs/kj6AefUq9do/s1600-h/eye.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449313384888326450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_ZpuAM2TI/AAAAAAAAACs/kj6AefUq9do/s320/eye.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The tears that fall are all your own. I tried to be there to catch them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;But you pushed me away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;If alone is what you want. Alone is what I'll give you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-589398915939293453?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/589398915939293453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/589398915939293453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/if-you-find-love-could-you-save-me-some.html' title='If you find love, could you save me some?'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_ZpuAM2TI/AAAAAAAAACs/kj6AefUq9do/s72-c/eye.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-3596628989623328632</id><published>2010-03-16T11:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T12:00:50.027-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You're Gone</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_VTAOTgiI/AAAAAAAAACk/_cZ60zcQKVE/s1600-h/hawkins-cemetary.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449308596595819042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 243px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_VTAOTgiI/AAAAAAAAACk/_cZ60zcQKVE/s320/hawkins-cemetary.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had no idea it would be this hard.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Forgive me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-3596628989623328632?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/3596628989623328632'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/3596628989623328632'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/youre-gone.html' title='You&apos;re Gone'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_VTAOTgiI/AAAAAAAAACk/_cZ60zcQKVE/s72-c/hawkins-cemetary.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-5484251906702851188</id><published>2010-03-16T11:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T11:50:27.731-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Void</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_S23gUb-I/AAAAAAAAACc/_K1TGZO-g_c/s1600-h/2377785.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449305914195865570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_S23gUb-I/AAAAAAAAACc/_K1TGZO-g_c/s320/2377785.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes I feel like you're wating for him to realize he loves you. And when that happens you will leave me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm just filling a void until then.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-5484251906702851188?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5484251906702851188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5484251906702851188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/void.html' title='Void'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_S23gUb-I/AAAAAAAAACc/_K1TGZO-g_c/s72-c/2377785.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-5338525876868016884</id><published>2010-03-16T11:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T11:46:09.666-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lonely</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_RXLKlRAI/AAAAAAAAACU/6ERjcX8Fr_8/s1600-h/lifemonies-homeless-man.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449304270205961218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_RXLKlRAI/AAAAAAAAACU/6ERjcX8Fr_8/s320/lifemonies-homeless-man.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;     Lonliness is the most terrible poverty.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-5338525876868016884?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5338525876868016884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5338525876868016884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/lonely.html' title='Lonely'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5_RXLKlRAI/AAAAAAAAACU/6ERjcX8Fr_8/s72-c/lifemonies-homeless-man.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-5497415614799247038</id><published>2010-03-10T22:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T22:42:25.399-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sex Could Kill You</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5iPck_q1BI/AAAAAAAAACM/Vf1a-eyilDI/s1600-h/22fe5684.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 224px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447261470434448402" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5iPck_q1BI/AAAAAAAAACM/Vf1a-eyilDI/s320/22fe5684.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Do you know what the human body goes through during sex? The pupils dilate, your core temperature rises, breathing becomes rapid and shallow, your arteries constrict, your heart races, secretions spit from out of every gland, the brain fires bursts of electrical impulses from nowhere to nowhere, and your muscles spasm like you're lifting three times your body weight. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's violent. It's ugly. It's messy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And if God hadn't made it unbelievably fun, the human race would have died out so long ago.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-5497415614799247038?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5497415614799247038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5497415614799247038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/sex-could-kill-you.html' title='Sex Could Kill You'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S5iPck_q1BI/AAAAAAAAACM/Vf1a-eyilDI/s72-c/22fe5684.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-8622695511157048974</id><published>2010-03-10T22:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T22:30:35.281-08:00</updated><title type='text'>This Kiss</title><content type='html'>Is when the world stopped turning.&lt;br /&gt;Is when an old dog was taught a new trick.&lt;br /&gt;Is when the angels were filled with envy.&lt;br /&gt;Is when Jesus rose from the dead.&lt;br /&gt;Is when Pigs flew.&lt;br /&gt;Is when pain became love.&lt;br /&gt;Is when the dead rolled over and wished to live again.&lt;br /&gt;Is when hell froze over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This kiss was pure, raw and explosive pleasure.&lt;br /&gt;It set my world on fire.&lt;br /&gt;A fire I will let blaze forever.&lt;br /&gt;Until there is nothing left but the embers that continue to be red hot.&lt;br /&gt;Like my love for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please. Please say you feel the same way too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-8622695511157048974?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/8622695511157048974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/8622695511157048974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/this-kiss.html' title='This Kiss'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-4003478581920234456</id><published>2010-03-03T14:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T14:19:04.107-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lovers Past</title><content type='html'>And you taught me what this feels like.&lt;br /&gt;And then how it feel to lose it.&lt;br /&gt;And you showed me who I wanted.&lt;br /&gt;And then who I wasn't.&lt;br /&gt;And you ticked every box.&lt;br /&gt;And then drew a line.&lt;br /&gt;And you weren't mine to begin with.&lt;br /&gt;And then not to end with.&lt;br /&gt;And you looked like everything I wanted.&lt;br /&gt;And then became something I hated.&lt;br /&gt;And you get thought of everyday.&lt;br /&gt;And then not in a good way.&lt;br /&gt;And you let me leave.&lt;br /&gt;And then wished I stayed.&lt;br /&gt;And you almost killed me.&lt;br /&gt;But I didn't die.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-4003478581920234456?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4003478581920234456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4003478581920234456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/lovers-past.html' title='Lovers Past'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-2848075960675103378</id><published>2010-03-03T11:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T11:59:23.789-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Things...</title><content type='html'>1. Do You Remember&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you remember when we vampires?&lt;br /&gt;Do you remember when we ran through the streets at night?&lt;br /&gt;Our heads back, laughing and screaming.&lt;br /&gt;So alive it felt like we owned the world.&lt;br /&gt;Do you remember?&lt;br /&gt;Do you remember me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Tree&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to weave you into me.&lt;br /&gt;Stick your thorns in and grow.&lt;br /&gt;Bleed sap and feel this shining light.&lt;br /&gt;Grow strange leaves.&lt;br /&gt;Bear this fruit.&lt;br /&gt;Share this soil.&lt;br /&gt;Bury ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;Reach for the sun.&lt;br /&gt;Strip this bark.&lt;br /&gt;Carve a name and a heart into me.&lt;br /&gt;Please.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-2848075960675103378?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2848075960675103378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2848075960675103378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/little-things.html' title='Little Things...'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-2080101465529486718</id><published>2010-03-03T11:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T11:10:39.511-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S460A7M_JRI/AAAAAAAAACE/qbUZG9A6JZI/s1600-h/Morpheus-Red-or-Blue-Pill-the-matrix-1957140-500-568.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 282px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444486927522669842" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S460A7M_JRI/AAAAAAAAACE/qbUZG9A6JZI/s320/Morpheus-Red-or-Blue-Pill-the-matrix-1957140-500-568.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; There's nothing scary about choice. Scary is when you don't have choice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-2080101465529486718?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2080101465529486718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2080101465529486718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/theres-nothing-scary-about-choice.html' title=''/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S460A7M_JRI/AAAAAAAAACE/qbUZG9A6JZI/s72-c/Morpheus-Red-or-Blue-Pill-the-matrix-1957140-500-568.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-3475026012846403775</id><published>2010-03-03T10:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T11:02:27.475-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S46yHIsvTEI/AAAAAAAAAB8/Fzh0ReDa0l8/s1600-h/653_ParadiseSunmain.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 226px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444484835201469506" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S46yHIsvTEI/AAAAAAAAAB8/Fzh0ReDa0l8/s320/653_ParadiseSunmain.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This place could be paradise. All that it's missing, is you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-3475026012846403775?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/3475026012846403775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/3475026012846403775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/this-place-could-be-paradise.html' title=''/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S46yHIsvTEI/AAAAAAAAAB8/Fzh0ReDa0l8/s72-c/653_ParadiseSunmain.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-5632214532606745319</id><published>2010-03-03T10:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T10:48:02.239-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sometimes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S46uNZD1x7I/AAAAAAAAAB0/4KDJbrFcxiY/s1600-h/ny_subway_72nd_st_640.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444480544626034610" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S46uNZD1x7I/AAAAAAAAAB0/4KDJbrFcxiY/s320/ny_subway_72nd_st_640.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;                                Sometimes I think the only reason you stay in touch with me is to&lt;br /&gt;                                let me know how "well" you're doing now that you've moved on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                I'm happy for you. Now fuck off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-5632214532606745319?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5632214532606745319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5632214532606745319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/03/sometimes.html' title='Sometimes'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/S46uNZD1x7I/AAAAAAAAAB0/4KDJbrFcxiY/s72-c/ny_subway_72nd_st_640.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-2143007158587983598</id><published>2010-02-16T19:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-16T20:03:13.241-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Free</title><content type='html'>Go to school.&lt;br /&gt;Get your license.&lt;br /&gt;Graduate.&lt;br /&gt;Get a job.&lt;br /&gt;Get a car.&lt;br /&gt;Get a girlfriend.&lt;br /&gt;Get married.&lt;br /&gt;Have children.&lt;br /&gt;Raise children.&lt;br /&gt;Save for retirement.&lt;br /&gt;Retire.&lt;br /&gt;Obey the law.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, repeat after me... "I AM FREE"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-2143007158587983598?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2143007158587983598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2143007158587983598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/02/free.html' title='Free'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-8790951203632487478</id><published>2010-01-07T15:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T15:12:52.145-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Help me out?!</title><content type='html'>I have no idea where I was going to go with this one... someone finish it? Let's see how creative/emotional/crazy/funny/sad this could get! Haha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I chew up my words and spit them out&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feed them to you like a mother bird feeds her young&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The mushed up words spill out amongst your damaged ears&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Damaged ears that only hear what they want to hear&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The seriousness of what I have said has made it's way to your brian&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Food for thought, you take it in like you're starving&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But you're picky and only take what you enjoy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-8790951203632487478?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/8790951203632487478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/8790951203632487478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/01/help-me-out.html' title='Help me out?!'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-4020910687216594377</id><published>2010-01-02T19:51:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-02T19:51:00.288-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My BUCKET LIST… So far…</title><content type='html'>&lt;span xmlns=''&gt;&lt;p style='text-align: center'&gt;&lt;h1&gt;&lt;span style='text-decoration:underline'&gt;Kicking The Bucket&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h1&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Befriend a stranger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Become an early riser.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Donate blood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Sleep under nothing but the stars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Road trip it; coast to coast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Send a message in a bottle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Go through a drive-thru in a car made out of cardboard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Scuba dive. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Go see the Northern Lights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Train for and complete a triathlon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Visit a "REAL" Blues Bar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Go to New Orleans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Attend at least one major sporting event (i.e. Olympics, Super Bowl, or a World Series).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Drink beer at Oktoberfest in Munich, Germany.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Be someone's mentor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Shower in a waterfall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Stay out all night having fun and go to work without having gone home yet (Just once).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Experience weightlessness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Take a ride on the highest rollercoaster in the country.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Forgive my parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Learn to juggle three balls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Overcome some of my greatest fears (i.e. Failure, Spiders, the dark, heights).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Grow a garden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Spend three months getting my body into optimum shape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Run on a golf course at night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Adopt an orphan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Have my future told.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Fill up my own treasure chest and bury it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Learn how to play chess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Take my dad to a baseball park of his choice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Become a vegetarian for at least 6 months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Fly first class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Visit the adults who were important to me in my childhood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Fall asleep to the sounds of waves in the ocean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Get a tattoo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Plant a tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Get a college degree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Write a book/screenplay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Give a stranger a fifty-dollar bill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Get something named after me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Tell a priest everything I have done wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Read, at least, thirty good books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Live in California for one month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Go camping on a beach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Go on a real ghost hunt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Get kicked out of a bar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Post It Note someone's room (In its entirety).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Walk across a state (i.e. Rhode Island is 25 miles long).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Own an original piece of art.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Go on vacation for two weeks in Ireland.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Cook my breakfast on an outdoor fire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Go to a classical concert outdoors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Go Go-Kart racing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Learn CPR.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Learn sign language.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Zip line(Preferably in Costa Rica)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Go canoeing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Say yes to everything for one day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Make a music video.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Jell-O wrestle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Play the buckle game.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Be in two places at once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Looge down a street in San Francisco.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Make an impact in someone's life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Watch the ball drop live in New York City.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Try a foreign delicacy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-4020910687216594377?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4020910687216594377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4020910687216594377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2010/01/my-bucket-list-so-far.html' title='My BUCKET LIST… So far…'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-4921079509243244931</id><published>2009-12-20T10:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-20T10:54:56.321-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My life</title><content type='html'>Looking back on the past couple of years I've come to realize that I make the worst possible decisions ever. And in these decisions... I've come to this point in my life. So, in reality... I am the reason for the pain and suffering in my own life. I have no one to blame but myself. Wow! Puts a lot into perspective. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-4921079509243244931?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4921079509243244931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4921079509243244931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-life.html' title='My life'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-6978506217838252921</id><published>2009-12-20T10:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-20T10:38:08.738-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fog</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; "&gt;These broken arms won't hold you down&lt;br /&gt;These ruptured lungs won't make a sound&lt;br /&gt;These syllables won't bring you back,&lt;br /&gt;Won't stitch the holes, no bones intact&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I can't pretend that you were there&lt;br /&gt;And I can't pretend I held your hand&lt;br /&gt;And I miss your smile&lt;br /&gt;I miss your smile&lt;br /&gt;I need you now&lt;br /&gt;I need you now&lt;br /&gt;And I am not scared of falling down&lt;br /&gt;I am not scared of dark dark clouds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss your smile&lt;br /&gt;I miss your smile&lt;br /&gt;I need you now&lt;br /&gt;I need you now&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-6978506217838252921?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/6978506217838252921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/6978506217838252921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/12/fog.html' title='Fog'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-7642425631231191046</id><published>2009-12-20T10:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-20T10:24:34.273-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='You swallow the cure'/><title type='text'>Untitled</title><content type='html'>You swallow the cure&lt;div&gt;Temporary&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Numb&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You puke up the hurt&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Flush the pain away&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Watch as it twirls to the melody of your thoughts&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, you can pass out next to your carelessness&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Waking up is no longer and option&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Eternal sleep&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Rest&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You're tired&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And you're finally getting the sleep you deserve&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-7642425631231191046?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/7642425631231191046'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/7642425631231191046'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/12/untitled.html' title='Untitled'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-9138495647847313566</id><published>2009-11-16T00:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T00:55:18.020-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Mind Is Not Such A Terrible Thing To Waste...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;Take the white pills&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;swallow them whole&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;You'll feel alright&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Relax yourself&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Let it flow through your blood&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Quickly making your heart rate slow down&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Your pupils get bigger&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Your speech becomes slurred&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;You're still not satisfied&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;You still think&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Think about the things you cannot fix&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;And you're ashamed of the things you've done&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;You're tired of being left alone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;So, you take more&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;This time you crush them and sniff them&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Your nose bleeds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;But this is the least of your worries&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;You still think&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Think about how you can't do things right&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;And why you don't have the power to forget&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;You're tired of tryin so fucking hard&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Only to get nothing in return&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;So, again, you take more&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;This time you mix it with alcohol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Alcohol always makes you forget&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;You still think&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;But this time not about the things before&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;More of your chest hurts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Your head hurts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;And you feel extremely dizzy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Sit down, lay down&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Anything to stop the world from spinning&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Rest your head child, Everything will be alright&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Close your eyes now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Don't fight to keep them open&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Besides if you make it through this&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;You'll just do it again next week&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Same problems&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Same thoughts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;So, rest your eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;They're tired, just like you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Funny circle right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;You do this to forget&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;So you don't have to fight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;But you wind up fighting anyway&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;A fight to stay alive&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Or a fight to forget and feel better&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Either way you're going to lose&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Just give up and die&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Everyone will talk&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I knew her, I was her friend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;False sentences falling from busted lips&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Blood filled mouths&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;The same blood that spewed from your mouth&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;From the mouth where you bit your tongue&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;You wanted to scream for help but no one cared anyway&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;So, you take the white pills&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Take the white pills&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;swallow them whole&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;You'll feel alright&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Just looking to fill a void&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;These pills are all you really have&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-9138495647847313566?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/9138495647847313566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/9138495647847313566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/11/mind-is-not-such-terrible-thing-to.html' title='A Mind Is Not Such A Terrible Thing To Waste...'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-3552947843378921271</id><published>2009-10-15T17:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T17:20:28.239-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Untitled</title><content type='html'>It's been a while since I've last written on here, almost a month. I don't know. I haven't really thought of anything to write. Nothing has come to me. I haven't been compelled to write or draw anything. Two of my only 3 outlets for anger and stress have become dismal to say the least. Maybe it's a sign I'm getting worse/more depressed. Maybe it just means I should take some time and try to write. Who knows? Not me. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-3552947843378921271?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/3552947843378921271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/3552947843378921271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/10/untitled.html' title='Untitled'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-6621010278838251134</id><published>2009-08-22T15:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-22T16:03:14.644-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Untitled</title><content type='html'>One kiss is all I ask for&lt;div&gt;With hopes it will lead to more&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Don't get me wrong I love you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But tonight my hormones are in control&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The kiss you give is subtle&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just barely touching my lips&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want more&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Crave more&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Need more&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I pull you in close &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Smushing my lips upon yours&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Things quickly escalate from there&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Something I've wanted since you let me through your doors&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I remove your blouse&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And you slowly raise my shirt &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Up and over my head&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My head that's thinking thoughts &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thoughts that could get us in trouble if we were caught acting them out&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Zippers come undone &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And now your bra is on the floor&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You cover yourself &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As I take my socks off&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now we're skin to skin&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lying under the covers&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One last kiss before I go under&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then there's a knock at the door....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-6621010278838251134?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/6621010278838251134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/6621010278838251134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/08/untitled.html' title='Untitled'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-1055028301201537398</id><published>2009-07-28T14:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T14:29:19.015-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't know............=/</title><content type='html'>All she does is love me. All she does is care.&lt;div&gt;And I'm so wrapped up in myself that I am pushing her away slowly. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She says I never tell her how I'm feeling.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If she only knew that my thoughts would scare her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She says we never go out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But she doesn't know that I'm scared of the world.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As much as I talk about getting out of this shit hole of a town, I still find comfort in it... so, I want to stay here.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She says that I don't care enough.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What she doesn't know it I care so much it hurts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She says that we're fighting too much.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I say we don't fight that often.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She says she believes me when I tell her I love her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know she doesn't.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Her heart is still entangled with his.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I still want to be with her, even though I know in the end... she's going to leave me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;FOR HIM.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-1055028301201537398?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/1055028301201537398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/1055028301201537398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-dont-know.html' title='I don&apos;t know............=/'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-5143126577216167467</id><published>2009-07-26T10:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-26T10:23:44.120-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dream Meanings</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Climb &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;To dream that you are climbing up something (ladder, rope, etc.), signifies that you are trying to or you have overcome a great struggle. It also suggests that your goals are finally within reach. Climbing also means that you have risen to a level of prominence within the social or economic sphere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Hiding&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;To dream that you are hiding from some authority figure (police, parent, teacher...), implies feelings of guilt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt; Breaking &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;u are literally at your breaking point.  Police  To see the police in your dream, indicates a failure to perform or to honor obligations and commitments. The police also&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;To dream that objects around you are breaking, suggests that you are under tremendous stress. The dream could be a metaphor that y&lt;br /&gt;osymbolizes structure, rules, power, authority and control. Perhaps you need to put an end to your reckless behavior or else the law will catch up to you. You fear punishment.  Hill  To dream that you are climbing a hill, signifies your struggles in achieving a goal.   Car Accident  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;o see or eat a pastry in your dream, refers to indulgence, sensual pleasure and satisfaction. You are enjoy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;To dream of a car accident, symbolizes your emotional state. You may be harboring deep anxieties and fears.  Competition  To dream that you are in a competition, represents your need to grow and expand. Learn the value of endurance and perseverance. Also be more assertive.  Pastry &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;To see or eat a pastry in your dream, refers to indulgence, sensual pleasure and satisfaction. You are enjoying life and reaping its rewards.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt; Mean  To dream that someone is being mean to you, suggests that you are being too hard on yourself. You need to give yourself a break. Alternatively, the dream may be a metaphor that you are looking for "meaning" or significance to some life issue.  Mother  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;To see your mother in your dream, represents the nurturing aspect of your own character. Mothers offer shelter, comfort, life, guidance and protection. Some people may have problems freeing themselves from their mothers and are thus seeking their own individuality and development.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;  &lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-5143126577216167467?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5143126577216167467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5143126577216167467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/07/dream-meanings_26.html' title='Dream Meanings'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-3255596828502090568</id><published>2009-07-26T09:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-26T09:44:08.393-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreaming On A Stomache Full Of Alcohol</title><content type='html'>So last night I had a dream. It was quite weird and very random. And well, I want to know what it all means. So, this post will have my dream in it and the next post will have the interpretations. Here goes:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was walking with Ang, her brother and his friend. The friend lived right next door to Ang and George. Ang had to go home for some reason and we all walked to the friends house, where Ang parted ways with us. But before she did she told me to climb up in the tree so that when her mom drives by she won't see me. I climbed up the tree and she kept telling me I wasn't high enough. So, I kept going higher until eventually I was at the top of the tree. Then she went into her house. She was taking a while so I climbed down from the tree and hid in this friends backyard. I could see Ang's house from here, her front door and bushes, etc. There was a little garage in this backyard and there was sounds of little girls inside of it. They busted through the brick in the back and all came pouring out of the garage, their brother(the friend) was like "I'll fix it later, just get out of the way."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And finally came out with her mom, got in a car and literally sped away. Her mom was driving so fast the car screeched along the pavement. Then maybe a minute or two later they came screeching back and with the cops following them. I don't know what they did, maybe it was he speeding, but the cops followed them home. Ang and her mom ran into the house. After a few minutes of trying to get them to come out a news van pulled up and started filming. The news crew was shoved off to the side of the scene and they were in the friends yard. They told George, the friend and I to move because we were in the way then I said "Na, you're in his yard... you move". So, they did. Then the cops busted into Ang's house and there was a lot of screaming and cursing. Ang's father came out in shackles pretty much. Around his hands, ankles and neck all connected together. He begged for us to undo them. So, George and I began trying to take them off. As I bent down to do so I realized it was velcro. So, as I was undoing the shackles I asked "If I do this for you will you let me be with Ang?" and he said, "I like you, I just don't want you to hurt her." and of course I said "I will not."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, George and I run away with her father to the Wawa. Except it wasn't really the Wawa it was like some store on a hill. We got to this hill and Mr. Brauner past out and said go on without me. And I begged for him to keep trying or let me carry him on my back but he said no... and then he fainted. So, I ran up the hill and George was in a car with a black kid. So, told them to wait there. I ran down the hill, got Mr. Brauner and put him in the car. I told them to take him to far away so the cops won't get him. There was a group of black kids standing with me. The kid driving the car started to pull away, he tried squeezing between a wall and a huge 18 wheeler. He got smushed somehow and Mr. Brauner and George died. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, the black kids took me back to my house. Except that wasn't really my house it was like Real World. And I was on one of those food shows. Like we were in teams and had to make pastry. And we got thrusted into this competition. We had to make some kind of appetizer. And my team was not listening to me. They were all being assholes to me. So, I freaked out and told them all off. Everyone was watching me and they were listening to me. And in the middle of my rant my mom walked through the door and waved at me. She hugged a girl next to her and made her way towards me. She then said, "Get up out of bed." and I thought to myself "I am out of bed". Then I woke up. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have no idea what any of this means. Haha! It's a kinda crazy dream! I did a lot of drinking last night... and right before I went to bed I at 2 slices of pizza. What do you think my dream means? I can't wait to find out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-3255596828502090568?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/3255596828502090568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/3255596828502090568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/07/dreaming-on-stomache-full-of-alcohol.html' title='Dreaming On A Stomache Full Of Alcohol'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-5559451241719654447</id><published>2009-07-25T16:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-25T16:52:11.593-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Loans for the poor?</title><content type='html'>I'm starting school again very soon and I'm excited as hell. It's about time I finally got the money for it. The first two times were like a tease. I'd have enough money for one semester. That's what I did at Penn State and The Art Institute. But this time I should have enough money for the Art Institute again. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What bothers me is... what if I don't? There's alway that what if. I really do not know what I will do with myself if I do not have enough money the third time around. I see the people around me going to school and passing me by. This is not a fun thing to watch. It only makes me feel useless and stupid.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was also thinking about the people I know who failed out of school or go kicked out of school and are not  going to school anymore. Really? How could you be so careless. Wasting your parents hard earned money or wasting a loan. It makes me sick to see kids fail out or get kicked out of school. I could be using that money to make myself better. It seems like the kids who care and want to do something with their lives can never get the money and then the kids who are using college as a way to get out of their parents houses, party more, or just fiddle with life get all the money they want/need. It's ridiculous. And there needs to be a change in this somewhere. Where's our modern day Robin Hood? I sure wish he was real/here cause a lot of people need help.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know. This just hurts me a lot. I want to go to school and make something of myself. I don't want to have to live the way I'm living anymore. Don't get me wrong, my dad is tryin his hardest to make my sister and I happy. But in the end, there is never enough food, old clothes, lonely weekends and money fights. I want to be able to not have to worry about wether or not there will be food to eat. I want my kids to grow up with everything I never had...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But will that make them like those kids I mentioned above? I sure hope not. I want my children to be humble even if they have money. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hope I have enough money this year. I really do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-5559451241719654447?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5559451241719654447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/5559451241719654447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/07/loans-for-poor.html' title='Loans for the poor?'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-2125779263366729858</id><published>2009-07-24T14:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-24T14:40:11.839-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Take the wheel and drive....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', fantasy; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-weight: bold; "&gt;I’m not sure what I am…I just know there’s something dark in me, and I hide it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:'lucida grande', fantasy;font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt; I certainly don’t talk about it but its there. Always. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;This dark passenger. And when he’s driving, I feel alive—half sick with the thrill…complete wrongness. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;I don’t fight him. I don’t want to. He’s all I’ve got. Nothing else could love me. Not even, especially not me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt; Or is that just a lie the dark passenger tells me? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;Because lately, there are these moments where I feel connected to something else, someone. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;It’s like the mask is slipping and things, people that never mattered before…are starting to matter. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;It scares the hell out of me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-2125779263366729858?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2125779263366729858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2125779263366729858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/07/take-wheel-and-drive.html' title='Take the wheel and drive....'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-6893469016870956879</id><published>2009-07-23T14:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T14:37:58.487-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I've Learned In My Life... So Far</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Over the years I have learned many things, some have impacted my life tremendously and made me who I am today. Here are a few...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. You will never find true love if you look for it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. People are going to be dicks... get over it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. When think everything is going perfect, something WILL come along and ruin it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. Over time people get used to things and take them for granted.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. Blood is not always thicker than water.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. The best classroom in the world is at the feet of an elderly person.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7. Ignoring the facts, does not change the facts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8. No one is perfect until you fall in love with them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9. Never make someone your priority when you are only their option.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10. I cannot choose how I feel but I can choose what to do about it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-6893469016870956879?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/6893469016870956879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/6893469016870956879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/07/things-ive-learned-in-my-life-so-far.html' title='Things I&apos;ve Learned In My Life... So Far'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-2986598402504690830</id><published>2009-07-22T11:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T12:13:55.692-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Religion?</title><content type='html'>So, I was talking to my grandmom today about God. She's a fairly religious lady. Goes to church occasionally, reads and quotes the bible everyday, prays for everyone and everything. After a while of calmly discussing religion it turned into a shouting match of why I should believe in God and that if I don't I will be damned to hell.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Really? I am deeply angered by this. It seems like every religious adult, mainly Christians, I encounter always say that I should believe in God, I should bow down and praise the grace of God or I should pray that my soul will be saved on judgement day. My grandmother started bombarding me with "facts", proverbs, and things. I hate how they push their religion on me. If I want to believe, I will believe... If I don't want to, I won't. I feel like I can't have my own thoughts and opinions on religion without someone getting angry with me and my disrespectfulness. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know, I just have a hard time believing in something I've never seen, never experienced. I'm sorry if I've never seen Jesus in my mashed potatoes. At least I don't think I have. I always wondered why people follow the Bible the way they do. How do we know everything in it is true? What if it is just a story book all made up? You've heard of fiction correct? My mom says, "Of course it's true, people are telling you what happened to them, telling you how they say these things happen." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ok. Well, what if I told you that I saw a man rise form the dead today? Out of his grave. Saw him dust of his shoulders and walk away like nothing ever happened. Just went on about his day. Would you believe me if I told you? Probably not. You'd think I was crazy... or lying. So, why did we believe these people who were merely writing down what they saw(or thought they saw), telling us what happened to them? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I've lost my train of thought. My grandmom is yelling for me to help her. I'll come back to this post later and finish what I was writing. But ponder this post while I'm gone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-2986598402504690830?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2986598402504690830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/2986598402504690830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/07/religion.html' title='Religion?'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-865546142919057412</id><published>2009-07-22T11:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T11:27:03.624-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Let Me Go In Peace</title><content type='html'>The thought of your death angers me&lt;div&gt;It fills my blood with hate&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The stupidity, the fear in your eyes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can only imagine it&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They say the way you died was gruesome but quick&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Your heart was twice it's normal size&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And your brain was a sickly grey&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Foam pouring out your mouth&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As your reached for you phone&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The phone you used to call me a few hours before&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I lied to you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went out with Danielle and Alex&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And that night you left me&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You went to go where ever it is dead people go&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I bet you watched me party that night&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I bet you hate me for letting this happen to you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm sorry, I'm so sorry&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have failed you my friend&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I regret it everyday&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-865546142919057412?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/865546142919057412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/865546142919057412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/07/let-me-go-in-peace.html' title='Let Me Go In Peace'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1519592640565253710.post-4034331987759509210</id><published>2009-07-22T10:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T10:55:56.789-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First one... feels good</title><content type='html'>So, I was on my buddy's blog today and I was intrigued. Maybe I should start blogging. People might want to hear what I have to say about school, relationships, my goals, or life in general. So, I will write in my blog everyday. About the things that I find significant, funny or important to me. Hopefully, my blog will look as good as his. Haha!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1519592640565253710-4034331987759509210?l=scribbledbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4034331987759509210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1519592640565253710/posts/default/4034331987759509210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbledbrain.blogspot.com/2009/07/first-one-feels-good.html' title='First one... feels good'/><author><name>The Clever Kid</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06099497413365652913</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y6DUb4dpk3U/TIKcrMNuTMI/AAAAAAAAAGU/5MBgWa5HcTg/S220/Snapshot_20100902_3.jpg'/></author></entry></feed>
