myOtaku.com: sailorcrystal

myO Still <3's You

Vitals

Birthday
• 1991-01-05
Gender
• Female
Location
• throughout the vast infosphere network
Member Since
• 2004-05-05
Occupation
• metal collecter
Real Name
• Nazo or what most of my friends call me...Dracula..

Personal

Achievements
• pulling myself apart for others, achieving peace with myself
Anime Fan Since
• 5, ( sailormoon 1st aired)
Favorite Anime
• descendents of darkness, tsubasa,chrono crusade, FMA, rurouni kenshin,fruits basket,naruto,trigun, full moon,aria,ghost in the shell, clamp works, and others
Goals
• collect even more manga, and rid the world of my misfortunate cousin
Hobbies
• reading, collecting manga, sometimes writing poems, and collecting pieces of metal.
Talents
• expressing emotion in the ocassional poem, and serious devotion and loyalty

myOtaku.com: sailorcrystal

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

long goodbye
On wide notebook paper people trace moments
of who they once were. Beats pulse slowly on the
inside of that dry head. We have our revolutionaries
and our inner children crying out for mother. We
now a days do not care for lives within the vicinity.
We instead snarl and quip about shit that annoys
and strikes a cord. Never realizing we may have
adult bodies however, we are still children on the
inside.

We play this game, and caresses and love become
nothing more than irrational fullfillment from
which we define ourselves. Child lend me your
hand because then I can whisper to you lies in
the dank dark to gain your innocent trust.
For once I have you, I `ll rape you with truth in
the morning. With everything from heightened
sensuality comes crashing down and you at a
loss turn up the volume and listen to the
pounding beats in a foreign tongue.

On wide notebook paper we trace the patterns
we previosly enamered, leaving a messy trail
by which we cannot be located. Movement
rocks you back and forth the familiar swoosh
and clang of steel and the streets passing at
the width of breath. Eyes of a million or so
watch the commotion as if to recite a
million miles in a single word.

We yell, we scream, we cry, we run far far
away. On lonely evenings dip into beats pounded
with foreign tongue then hate ourselves even
more and in frustration pound on the walls of our
minds as if a broken record. Who are we to say we
can fly when our wings have been torn clean off?
Emotion is the most rancid curse and the most
praised blessing. It drives to wound, to save.

Time continues, unhalted by anything until one
world leader falls from the seat of favor and
another automatton pops up to take his place.
We fade into the unending distance, to find
that there are too many notions to notice,
Matte i en narro...as the pounding beats
become rythmic and you state normal racking
of the bus and other automobiles makes it
impossible to write stably.

From then to now is a half hazard trip willing
to bang LSD, to take it? Do a few hits while
you're at it. Please do me a favor as I get up
and waltz away. Whisper ....the forgotten words....
The long goodbye.

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