Hola este blog me trae muchos recuerdos
Estamos en el 2011
Quedan 2 semanas de clases
2 semanas para empezar a ir a universidad
3 o 4 semanas para el viaje
Y todo se va terminando de a poco
Y no me siento mal, no
Estoy como expectante, porque sinceramente no se lo que va a pasar
Me duele la garganta y el cuerpo
Y tengo que estudiar Antropologia.
Hola
Hola.

Somebody get me out of here
I'm tearing at myself
Nobody gives a damn about me or anybody else

Doodle takes dad's scissors to her skin
And when she does relief comes setting in
While she hides the scars she's making underneath her pretty clothes
She sings:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

Avalanche is sullen and too thin
She starves herself to rid herself of sin
And the kick is so divine when she sees bones beneath her skin
And she says:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

C'mon baby can you bleed like me?
You should see my scars, You should see my scars
You should see my scars, You should see my scars
Try to comprehend that which you'll never comprehend
Just try to comprehend that which you'll never comprehend

I carved your name into my arm
So I would remember you

- Como ve, todos tenemos en nuestro interior los elementos necesarios para producir fósforo. Es mas, déjeme decirle algo que a nadie le he confiado. Mi abuela tenia una teoría muy interesante, decía que si bien todos nacemos con una caja de cerillos en nuestro interior, no los podemos encender solos, necesitamos, como en el experimento, oxigeno y ayuda de una vela.

Solo que en este caso el oxigeno tiene que provenir, por ejemplo, del aliento de una persona amada; la vela puede ser cualquier tipo de alimento, música, caricia, palabra o sonido que haga disparar el detonador y así encender uno de los cerillos. Por un momento nos sentiremos deslumbrados por una intensa emoción. Se producirá en nuestro interior un agradable calor que ira desapareciendo poco a poco conforme pase el tiempo, hasta que venga una nueva explosión o reavivarlo.

Cada persona tiene que descubrir cuales son sus detonadores para poder vivir, pues la combustión que se produce al encender uno de ellos es lo que nutre de energía el alma. En otras palabras, esta combustión es su alimento.

Si uno no descubre a tiempo cuales son sus propios detonadores, la caja de cerillos se humedece y ya nunca podremos encender un solo fósforo.

Si eso llega a pasar el alma huye de nuestro cuerpo, camina errante por las tinieblas más profundas tratando vanamente de encontrar alimento por si mismo, ignorante de que solo el cuerpo que ha dejado inerme, lleno de frío, es el único que podría dárselo.

All I can say is that my life is pretty plain
I like watching the puddles gather rain

And all I can do is just pour some tea for two
And speak my point of view
But it's not sane, it's not sane

I just want someone to say to me
I'll always be there when you wake
You know I'd like to keep my cheeks dry today
So stay with me and I'll have it made

And I don't understand why I sleep all day
And I start to complain that there's no rain
And all I can do is read a book to stay awake
And it rips my life away, but it's a great escape
Escape, escape, escape

All I can say is that my life is pretty plain
You don't like my point of view
You think that I'm insane
It's not sane, It's not sane

I just want someone to say to me
I'll always be there when you wake
You know I'd like to keep my cheeks dry today
So stay with me and I'll have it made

And I'll have it made

It's not me
Buried wreckage my soul
It's not me so who am I now?

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you

That I almost belive that they're real I've been living so long with my pictures of you

That I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you

That I almost belive that they're real I've been living so long with my pictures of you

That I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you

That I almost belive that they're real I've been living so long with my pictures of you

That I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel

I just don't know what I'm supposed to be

I tried being a writer, but... I hate what I write. And I tried taking pictures, but they're so mediocre, you know. Every girl goes through a photography phase. You know, like horses? Taking dumb pictures of your feet.

Come on Baby, dry your eyes.

But Angie, Angie, ain't it good to be alive?

Angie, Angie, they can't say we never tried.

The words rot and fall away.

A short story of a lonely girl.

HE MAKES ME FEEL LIKE IT´S RAINING OUTSIDE
AND WHEN THE STORMS GONE I´M ALL TORN UP INSIDE
I´M ALWAYS NERVOUS ON DAYS LIKE THIS LIKE THE PROM
I GET TOO SCARED TO MOVE CAUSE I´M STILL
JUST A STUPID, WORTHLESS GIRL

And if they don't believe me now

Will they ever believe me ?

And if they don't believe me now

Will they ever, they ever, believe me?

Te amo como a pocas personas en el mundo. Feliz cumpleaños Frank Iero ♥
Forever and ever

Feliz dia para vos, Mamá

Para vos que sos la mejor de todas las mamis del universo entero.

Gracias por absolutamente, todo.

Te amo ♥