in this world there are people who are considered crazy...ophelia...my mother calls me that more and more and i laugh because half the time i know that its 100% true.. no more than 2 seconds from now i might be in a depressed rage.. or i might be off of the computer and sitting peacefuly with my little brother
who knows....i have been wound soo tight these past few days i can hardly think straight...i need to find where i was last and beat the s**t out of whoever i asked to watch me because as you can see we all know they did a wonderfull job now didnt they??
There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
 Teardrops_of_Ivy · Sun Dec 18, 2005 @ 05:01pm · 0 Comments |
