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    Яαgιи Яαvєи
    Cairo, Egypt
    God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
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Tapping at my chamber door



In 2008, I'll Get Me A Shotgun


I will also:
1.
Yield
2. Get closer to
God
3.
Job hunt some more.
4. Get closer to my
family.
5. Learn a new language.
6.
Finish at least one screenplay.
7.
Lose the extra weight.
8. Get a
driver's license. I will not buy a car.
9. I will
rule my world.
10. I will have my
revenge.

« Home | Over-rated » | I am Joe's Vegas » | I am Joe’s sinking regrets » | Discovering Joe » | I am Joe’s long awaited plague » | Madrid » | I am Joe's bending container » | Water Breathing Potion » | Breathless » | Excerpt from My Page »

Pulling it off

Then you look deep down and it's empty. Someone drank the last of your drink, consumed the last of your overwhelming shadows, and burnt out the last of your candles.

It's just you now.

Deep down all you have is a void, a bubble, floating around waiting for someone to poke it, to remind it of what it's like to feel blessed again. So you decide to think positively, make the best out of things, look at the half full glass… You start grabbing things from your mind to fill up the empty gap, to make best out of the volume, the space, the lot big enough to build a castle for you to hide…

You grab an old pencil you used to write in a 15 year old diary. You grab an old tape, email print outs you had framed and hung on the walls of your heart, a new age CD, a promotion letter, a picture of the two of you together, words she once whispered to your ears… Fill it alllll up ol' champ. 'It gets better', you convince yourself as you dig deeper, moving the dust from one part of your body to another… until there's no more room to fill.

All excited you run to the mirror to witness the new and improved you, but as you stare down at yourself your smile begins to wane. All the pencils, paper, whispers, and dust couldn't fill the void that your soul left behind; they will never write, sing, dance, or whisper the same way your soul did… and the glass'll remain half empty no matter how many pints of blood you pour in it.

Nothing's changed. It's been too long you wonder if you'll ever fully heal, if your soul will ever grow again.

It is, by all means, just you now no matter how many words you manage to pull on to a stupid blog page that no one reads.

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