Eloquent baptism of wish wash, like a spice in my dream.
Mmmm...The Spice must flow.
So, anyway, I've gotten over myself, I've cried in the arms of my beloved, I've watch an Anime version of Dreamscape (God, who remembers that movie?) and I've found my calling in the siren sound of macabre poetry, it's time to get back down to business. I have a problem, you see. It' so simple, it's stupid. I'm not writing.
<_< Why am I not writing?
>_> Wait, deja vu, I've been here before.
And frankly, I'm kind of sick of it. It's like being caught in Greymore (wow, there's a refference no one will get). I'm bored with not puking out my harmful ideas in comic form. I'm tired of not bleeding out of my fingers. I'm sick of being too sick to draw. And, let's face it, in the sea of excuses, there seems little more than just coughing up black for attention's sake.
Of course, I want attention. That's why I fucking started this mess.
Hang on a sec. Is that a flying pollup? Fuck, I gotta go.