Hmmm... end feb, roughly a year since the tragic dumping of me. Happy Anniversary. For the life of me, i can't remember the day we got together, that first kiss, that wonderful wonderful day. Juz like I cannot recall when it all began to go wrong. Call me insensitive, the prick of a lifetime, not SNAGish, but that's the bitter truth.
But that's not the reason of the melanchony.
Nor is it the endless dying from Warcraft... or Jedi Academy.

I dunno. My ex has been over at my place for the LAN, and she's been asking a lot of favours from me too. Like a fren. I dunno. I mean, this is gonna sound so bitchy but, she was the one that dumped me... she was the one that hurt me.. she's the one that's using the comp in my living room now. And I can't stand it.

Yesterdae she asked me to escort her through lygon cause she thought it was dodgy.
She asked me from all the 6 guys at my place.

I dun wanna do it.

I get tired sometimes. Not only becoz of non-stop gaming n sleeping at 10am etc, but... well... hmmm...
suddenly realise it's hard to explain.
muz be the lack of sleep....
love and frenship are never friends, only family...

am not making snese

tell u good pple out there later

The Fallen Angel's Ballad

An angel came up to me one night
Not the kind that existed in tales and movies
fake with halos and arrows or flaming swords
Smelling of lavender and oh so pure
This angel was different from the hallelujahs,
from the prayers and wishes granted and thrown
This angel came up to me
With soft blue eyes, eyes of millenia, eyes of pain and regret
love and death
But the death shined through
The angel had hair of blonde, of the sun, of the fire's outer limits
radiant without stain
It was naked, a babe, weak and vulnerable
an angel just born perhaps, I never could tell
I never lived a millenia
This angel had wings, like the movies and tales,
and the stories told from wise old men
This angel had six wings, protruding from
his back, three of black, three of crimson
Kuroi, akai
The black wings had black feathers, black feathers had black feathertips
The red wings had red feathers, red feathers the red tips
Black ink dripped off the black wings, drip drop onto the ground, a trail
Scarlet, crimson, they all look the same, blood, drip drop drip drop
Crisscrossed in a mixture of ink and blood and the body that holds
the Words and the Heart

The angel came to me, saying nothing, doing nothing
except to come to me
It embraced me, and I felt heat searing within me, and cold from outside
The heart fired, the body cooled
The mind imagined the words
"I did it for love"
I could see the wings more clearly
Proximity aids the senses, and the view of black and red
And the view told me, the red wings had black tinges at their bases
The feathers were black at the roots, though red everywhere else
I asked it then, why the wings weren't pure
The angel pulled away, and smiled which pierced my heart with sorrow and bitterness
The words formed again in the mind
"I'm tempering my love for His Law, and I will return"
Then it kissed me on my cheek, the kiss burning me with the passion of an angel that
had fought and still fight for love
The blood that rages throughout all Man and reveals to all what they are
The angel was keeping the passion at bay, but it was hard
To fight all alone, without friends, to enter a world where the Law does not want it
And then the angel is gone and I am alone once more
And the memory fades and I forget the thoughts in my head
And I am an old man
who had only seen an angel, nothing more

This is just a poem/story, don't read too much in it, and does not mean to offend anybody

There's a fly buzzing around in my room. I will kill it later. Yes.

Did something different today. Went to see a play! A japanese play called Tokyo Notes. It's about how people treat major world events with indifference. Hard to describe to you the plot, you had to be there. Anywaes, no more shows so awwww :)

Went to a pub to watch soccer too. The atmosphere was good and made the game all the more interesting.

And the bloody atm machine ate my card... so am poor now. Stop laughing.

Quote of the post: "An image from somewhere: a scribbled drawing of two angels in flight above a perfect city; and over the image a child's perfect hand print, which stains the white paper blood-red. It came to my head unbidde, and I no longer knew what it meant."

-Neil Gaiman, Murder Mysteries