riding hard on the last ledge of every lie

Am I actually going to start updating this thing or what?

There's definitely a reason why so many poets seem depressed, writers despondent and songwriters halfway suicidal. The urge to express yourself is so much stronger when everything seems almost barren and desolate and the world is in 40 shades of black and gray.

#melodramatic #firstworldproblems

2011 has been throwing me curve ball after curve ball and I just don't know where to hide or how to dodge anymore. C'mon now, we all know I've never been much of an athlete. I guess it's the powers that be telling me "GRRRRL STOP DODGING. (WO)MAN UP AND DEAL WITH ALL THIS ISH STRAIGHT UP STRAIGHT ON." I don't think I realized how relevant this would be to me 10 months after.

I've always felt that karma would have a way of delivering poetic justice to those who deserve it. But if reality isn't on the same page and the elusive karma never hits then how am I supposed to know who to believe or how to believe? When your beliefs are held hostage, what else do you have to hold on to?

Where's my real life deus ex machina?