dead4crow

i found this poem...i apparently wrote it when i was a kid. it was supposed to be a beginning for a child's book. anyway, what do you think?

Sitting there, all nice and square
The child stared upon the ground.
The child was small, her hair was fell,
Upon her face, petite and round.

Water scraped across her cheek
And landed softly on her vest.
Bare and cold, were tiny feet.
That peeked from under the tiny dress.
...

when i was going to college, i felt the white walls and ratty (i think that's how it's spelled) carpet was in dire need for...anything. Unfortunately, i went a little overboard with my personality and turned my closet sized dorm room into a pitch-black vortex of missing socks and left-boots. I love the color black...i REALLY love the color black. It says something when you spend real time everyday feeling around the room for missing items of clothing...in broad daylight...maybe i shouldn't have...

this is a little strange for me. i've never been involved with the gothic community before...too introverted i guess. i was the creepy kid who had a specimen collection at the age of 10 (what does that say for my parents?). No one in my family ever said anything when i decided to wear strictly black at the age of 12, or when i wanted to go see the latest horror film rather than the latest disney movie (although disney IS pretty scary). I found my first friend when i was 13 and lost her when...