bacchanale

My worst habit must be writing poetry...although i must say it's one of my many abilities.

Poetry revives things i'd rather forget.

Poetry is the heighest form of my intellectual masturbation

Though it always follow my demise.

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Today i found myself unearthing old cd's...way back to my Aesma Daeva, Penumbra, and Tristania days.

Sigh...

Nostalgic. HAunting...

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Our team manager called me early this morning...She was asking if i'm a hundred percent sure about going to Penang and if my parents have approved on it.

I said yes but she insisted for the truth.

Apparently, my dad had called them threatening to press charges if they allowed me to compete on this international race.

And that kinda pissed me...what the hell was he thinking???

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Last night, out of nowhere he said i was beautiful. He never saw that before since i was always wasted. He finds me interesting and all those things but never beautiful.

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Patrick sent me an email. Told me i still turn him on. Too much for my ego that i was again wishing him all the world's torment. I wish him death.

I'm not really picky as to how i would want him to die but i wish it'd be  slow and painful. Brain cancer would suffice.

Currently listening to: Aesma Daeva's The Loon
Currently feeling: off