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=   F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K.   =
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                   the rose and the bloodgarden
                   ----------------------------

       i often think of myself as a rose, especially
       when my inner companions sing their sweet hell
       music softly within the white tissues of my
       mind. a rose is pure perfection mottled by
       wicked thorns that jab the tender places. this
       is what i do. this is who i am.

                       [ 2 of me. & they weep. ]

       i hurt the ones i love. i have two halves. one
       is loving, passionate, generous. she is known
       by her own name, and those who love her are
       fools. the other side is heartless and cruel.
       she has no name, but she is in control. bloody
       words escape from the cage in her mind, and
       they cut others without mercy.

                       [ white & blood dripping. ]

       i know others like me. i smile tenderly at
       them when they describe their inner agony.
       i offer words of comfort, though the advice
       i give is hollow. once i received the same
       advice. ( it will pass, things get better,
       life is too wonderful to pass up. ) i hated
       the givers. theirs were lives of beauty and
       normality. no demons spoke to them of their
       dreams. no images of violence and hatred
       disturbed their thoughts. only sweet solace.
       i wanted to kill them for it.

                       [ 2 roads & i took.. ]

       i used to find meaning in the words of the
       great poets. one could say that i am a
       successful young woman carving her place in
       a man's world. those who know me are amazed
       that i am alive. neither understands me.
       it is just as well. insanity cannot be
       understood by the sane. tell me, would you
       dance with the devil if your own choosing?

                       [ bloodgarden ]

       i live in a bloodgarden, where i can
       appreciate the beauty of the rose, but i
       cannot keep myself from pricking my skin
       on the thorns. for i find more joy in the
       pain than in the purity. perhaps you are
       reading these words and cannot understand
       them. be grateful if this is so. i would be.

       [ scribbling, bibbling, bibbling, scribbling.. ]

                       mozart - amadeus


       Palpable Obscure

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