day one hundred thirty-nine: when?

when did this become

some silly popularity contest?

some silly beauty game?

when did this become

this, this, fake thing

that isn't pure like it once was

who made it this way?

can we ever take it back?

and make it that happy

because i don't think

we are powerful enough

to bring it back

from such a torn and stained

state of being.

day one hundred-twelve: time for me.

time for me

to liberate

to live

to love

to lie

time for me

to find

to flee

to forget

to fly

time for me

to escape

to emancipate

to examine

to elaborate

time for me

to be.

day eighty: yesterday.

yesterday

i was supposed to write this

yesterday

so i'll just writ this now

and change the time stamp

at the bottom, there.

and now you wont ever know,

unless, of course,

you looked at this blog yesterday.

well, and of course

the fact that i'm telling you now

informs you of my fib.

so, i lied.

i wrote this today.

not yesterday.

but i guess it doesn't really matter

because you read it anyway

just not on yesterday.