supergp

I'm debating whether to spend my accumulated cash on a car or psychiatric help.

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Party. Saturday. 7PM.

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Lately, I can't seem to even deal with my friends well.

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Too depressed to keep writing, but I'll bet I write some more poetry later. I also predict that it will self-pitying, and annoy people.

Also, there will be unrest in the Middle East.

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Update:

Red dragons' breath is hot, I've heard
Like death rattles from Phoenix-birds
And hotter still is our only sun
(powered by hydrogen fusion)

I've heard that yetis' breath is cold
(if they'll forgive me being bold)
And colder still is the cockatrice
Whose gaze makes men to stony ice

But crueler still is one thing I know
Wonderous ice, and too warm snow
What is that thing thou art?
Well, of course, it's womens' heart.

Paler still than I can stand
Paler than the salty sand
And darker, too, than the blackest coal
Darker than the names on Death's long roll

Candy it is, the sweetest kind
(the sweetest thing that I can find)
But like candy, it slowly kills
In sugar-coated colored pills

Should such acquaintance be forgot
Lest they cause me toothed rot?
Or do I suck, seeking succor
And ruin my teeth forevermore?