petak, 26.05.2006.

cutters lie

As much as I lie
The truth is still evident
Leaving scars on my wrist

My blood dampened my soul
It is weighed down by pain
No longer visible, no longer sane

I lied when I said life was great
Now I drown in mascara tears
Still alive, yet death so near

Maybe if I cut deeper
Took a few pills
U would understand
Why life was unfulfilled

26.05.2006. u 23:12 • 5 KomentaraPrint#

utorak, 23.05.2006.


She sits there and cries, alone in the dark
Her surroundings reflecting the true feeling in her heart
Wanting to cut her wrists open so bad
And still feeling so amazingly sad

Gone, empty, nothing more
Physically rich, emotionally poor
Never again to have anything
Destined to live life in suffering

What is her problem, why so dull
She has almost everything, friends and all
Suddenly she breaks out in a scream and a yell
The words she says are drowned in her hell

She raises her hand and touches her cheek
Finding a mirror, she takes a peek
Suddenly realizing what true ugliness is
She falls once again into a dark abyss

Unable to take the image anymore
She throws the mirror to the floor
As it shatters, she sees herself
Only to feel her insides melt

She cant handle it and grabs the knife
And once again begins to slice
The pain searing through her arm
The blood running down onto her palm

She runs some water over the gash
The red disappearing in a flash
Spiraling down the drain, it goes
Along with the promise she had made to her friends.

23.05.2006. u 16:48 • 5 KomentaraPrint#

petak, 19.05.2006.

dobro jutro

dosadno mi je... popizdit cuheadbang skola ce me izludit. samo uciti uciti uciti... iduci tjedan pisam 4 kontrolna... bas fakin krasnomad a dobro... ne da mi se pisat uopce... bokbang

I cannot hide my feelings, my feelings tell me more
A sickness I've been given, a sickness that's so pure
Come here and let me taste you,
Your blood that tastes so sweet
Reach out and seek forgiveness
You're my chainsaw-butchered whore
smijehobozavam ovu pjesmu...rofl

19.05.2006. u 22:47 • 1 KomentaraPrint#

subota, 13.05.2006.

proglasili su me sotonjarom... pa se ja sad pitam... kako ja mogu bit sotonjara ako ne virujem u boga (a time ni u vraga)?! mislim, ono... helloooou! he he... ja nisam sotonjara... niti sam zla... samo sam neshvacena... dobro, mozda jesam malo zla... wink no dobro... odoh... bok

13.05.2006. u 13:54 • 3 KomentaraPrint#

četvrtak, 11.05.2006.

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zdravo marihuano, listova puna, blagoslovljena ti medju biljem, i blagoslovljen plod listova tvojih. sveta marihuano gori za nas i na casu smrti nase.
amen
roflroflwinkzujodeadnaughtyparty

11.05.2006. u 16:10 • 2 KomentaraPrint#

srijeda, 10.05.2006.

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Jedan od najsmješnijih procesa protiv vještica (koji su inače bili najužasnije što je čovjek u stanju napraviti svome bližnjemu) obavljen je 1474. god. protiv dijaboličnog pijetla, koji je bio toliko drzak da je snesao jaje. Jadno pernato stvorenje je prisustvovalo svečanom procesu, na kojem je osuđen na lomaču i javno spaljen u gradu Bazelu. Ništa čudno. Pa i Isus je demone prebacio u svinje i potjerao ih u provaliju.
sta kazete na ovo? rofl jadan pijetao... njami pjetao na zaru...wink
ima josh toga na stranici 'znanost i Biblija' ... da vam stavim link? ma neecu, zadrzat cu ga samo za sebe Image Hosted by ImageShack.us... ma zahebajem se, evo vam: link smijeh no dobro... uzivajte mahwave

10.05.2006. u 19:14 • 1 KomentaraPrint#

ponedjeljak, 08.05.2006.

dobro jutro. ili vecer. kako god. jeste dobro? jeste? aj bash mi je drago

evo se ja doshla malo javit... nisam vech dugo... prestala san pushit. i opet pocela. pa cu opet prestat. i tako. huh... nemam shta pisat... a dobro... i taaako.... shat ima kod vas? hmmm... a da! prestala san se rezat! nemam vishe skrga po rukama. yes he he... pukla san... zujo no dobro... ja bi pudlicu! ne bi, to san stavila samo zato sta san vidila sad tu bestiju na tv. a dobro. ne znam. sta ja znam? nista. i tako...
Image Hosted by ImageShack.us evo vam jedna liiipa slija... uzivajte...

08.05.2006. u 21:30 • 0 KomentaraPrint#

četvrtak, 04.05.2006.

In the moonlight I felt your heart...beautiful and haunting but cold...like the blade of a knife, so sharp and so sweet, no body knows your heart...

04.05.2006. u 22:11 • 2 KomentaraPrint#

ponedjeljak, 01.05.2006.

deaduf uf... nisam vec neko vrime pisala... zaboravila san korisnicko ime i lozinku pa san popizdila mad skoro sam komp razbila... enivejz... stucavica me uvatila... cili dan samo stucan. izludit cu! bang ermmm... bila san u subotu u admirala... BelfastFood je svira... skakala san ko lud. sad me noge bole. uzasno! i pokisla san kad san isla na koncert. obula starke. nut. enivejz, bilo je bas lipo, klasicni kozni kiltovi naughty, prija zbog koje san i isla na koncert se totalno uzivila... a ja san se cilo vrime pitala jesu li i oni ko i svi pravi irci? he he... sta mislite, imaju li sta ispod kiltova? smijeh. he he... ja nisam mogla vidit... iako san bila u prvom redu. prije nego sta san pocela skakat. nisan puno pila... (party) no dobro.
sad san se uzivila u panteru. stalno mi svira 'cementary gates' i 'good friends and a bottle of pills'. zapravo, uglavnom mi svira samo 'cowboys from hell' (album) a 'good friends' se ubaci... no dobro.
i za kraj: BelfastFood je zakon!! jesam ja to upravo rekla na glas? eek to njet gud... evo vam par lipih slikica...
Image Hosted by ImageShack.us BelfastFood (svi imaju marte na papcima yes)
Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us phil anselmo sa svojim malim slatkim kucnim ljubimcem...
Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us i opet phil, ali na anstupu

01.05.2006. u 17:30 • 5 KomentaraPrint#

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Ph-nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'leyh wgah'nagl fhtagn

'Niti ne treba misliti da je čovjek najstariji ili posljednji od gospodara Zemlje, ili da obični život i njegova tvar hode sami. Stari bijahu, Stari jesu i Stari će biti. Ne u prostorima koje mi znamo, već između njih. Oni hode, svečani i drevni, nedimenzionalni i za nas nevidljivi. Yog-Sothoth zna vrata. Yog-Sothoth je vrata. Yog-Sothoth je ključ i čuvar vrata. Prošlost, sadašnjost, budućnost, sve su jedno u Yog-Sothothu. On zna gdje su se Stari probili u davnini, i gdje će se Oni opet probiti. On zna gdje su Oni hodili poljima Zemlje, i gdje Oni još njima hode, i zašto Ih nitko ne može vidjeti dok hode. Po Njihovu mirisu može čovjek nekad znati da su Oni blizu, ali Njihova lika čovjek ne može spoznati, osim samo u crtama onih koje su Oni začeli čovječanstvu; a od tih ima mnogo vrsta, što se po obrazu razlikuju od čovječjeg vjernog eidolona do onog oblika nevidećeg i nestvarnog koji je Oni. Oni hode neviđeni i zli po onim samotnim mjestima gdje su Riječi izgovorene i Obredi urlani kroz njihova Razdoblja. Vjetar blebeće Njihovim glasovima, a zemlja mrmlja Njihovom svijesti. Oni iskrivljuju šumu i lome grad, ali ne može ni jedna šuma ili grad ugledati ruku koja udara. Kadath u hladnoj pustoši spoznao je Njih, a koji čovjek zna Kadath? Ledena pustinja Juga i potonuli otoci Oceana drže kamenove na kojima je otisnut Njihov pečat, ali tko je vidio duboki smrznuti grad ili visoku zapečaćenu kuluodavno iskićenu morskom travom i školjkama? Veliki Cthulhu je Njihov rod, a ipak on Njih može uoćiti tek mutno. Iäl Shub-Niggurath! Kao gadost ćete ih spoznati. Njihova je ruka na vašim grlima, a ipak vi Njih ne vidite; a Njihova nastamba jedno je s vašim čuvanim pragom. Yog-Sothoth je ključ vrata kroz koje se sfere sreću. Čovjek sad vlada tamo gdje su Oni jednom vladali; Oni će uskoro vladati gdje čovjek sad vlada. Nakon ljeta je zima, i nakon zime ljeto. Oni čekaju strpljivi i moćni, jer ovdje će Oni ponovo vladati.'

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The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door --
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; -- vainly I had tried to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Lenore --
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore --
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door --
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; --
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you " -- here I opened wide the door; ----
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" --
Merely this, and nothing more.
Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore --
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door --
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door --
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore --
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no sublunary being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door --
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered -- not a feather then he fluttered --
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before --
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster so when Hope he would adjure --
Stern Despair returned, instead of the sweet Hope he dared adjure --
That sad answer, "Never -- nevermore."
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite -- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Let me quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil! --
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted --
On this home by Horror haunted -- tell me truly, I implore --
Is there -- is there balm in Gilead? -- tell me -- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil -- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us -- by that God we both adore --
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore --
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting --
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted -- nevermore!

E.A.Poe

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FOR ELAINE

She'll never know how much I love her oh it's to late now
She'll never know how deep my love is
It's to late now

For Elaine it's too late
It's too late now, her soul cannot be saved

She tasted white, oh white she loved the most
Is it to late now?
If I knew I would never let her go
But it's to late now

For Elaine it's too late
It's too late now, her soul cannot be saved

I brought her white roses, oh white she loved the most
Dropped them to her beneath her name
On her grave

For Elaine it's too late
It's too late now, her soul cannot be saved

Embrio

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