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Oh. My. Fucking. Gods.


Just call me Cinderella.


I've still got mopping, vaccuuming, dishes and bathroom to do. ._. Since when was I the fucking maid?

<EDIT> This is going a lot faster than I thought. I bet it would go even faster still if I stopped working on this prose piece and actually went and vacuumed. XD </EDIT>


<EDIT2> Fin. 11:03AM </EDIT2>

::: I am Made of White :::

the soap upon my skin
shampoo upon my hair

I am made of white

toothpaste in my mouth
toilet paper beneath

I am made of white

shirt over my head
bra upon my breasts

I am made of white

bread into the toaster
milk within my glass

I am made of white

semen in my mother
many years ago

I am made of white

verse thursday

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease has all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often his gold complexion is dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st
   So long as men can breath, or eyes can see,
   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

         Sonnet 18 - Shakespeare

::: Dig My Grave :::

Title: Dig My Grave
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Personal work.
Warnings: Slightly scattered train of thought.
Summary: A look within myself, going back to roots in childhood. Deals with death, belief, and love.
Note: This is truth from my point of view, if you ask others who were there, they might see it differently.

( I've always wanted to go to my own funeral )