The Truth Is That some dreams never come true.

Grease Mode On People may think i'm a Grease Boy. Or just John Travolta. Black tight pants, white t-shirt and a black jacket on me, my hair is wet like a dog's fur, it wouldn't look better than this if i had gel on my hair. Where did this rain come from, i have no idea. Nevermind, WE GO TOGEEETHER LIKE RAMA LAMA LAMA KE DING A DE DINGA A DONG REMEMBERED FOREEEEVER LIKE SHOO BOP SHOO WADA WADA YIPPITY BOOM DE BOOM HELL YEAH.

Houston, I Have A Problem. Well, it's 2:53 here now. As i keep writing few words and erasing again and again, it became 2:56 already. Right now, i'm here to run away from my sucking, empty #life. From the damn reality. To you, with whom i can at least share my thoughts independently. Fuck this shit. All i need to do is to drink. Get high as fuck. I cannot do these because my mother would probably rape me. Why can't i? There is no specific reason. I just can't. Because everyone around me thinks that i'm a pure, clean goddamn boy. Where did this idea come from? Why should i go on the same way, once they accept me as this. Why can't i just go out with my pijamas right now, get a six pack, and drink till the sunrise, wander around, shout out loud until some neighbors throw a slipper towards me. What keeps me away from this? What blocks my way out of home at 3 am in the morning? Most of you didn't even read until here because the post looks really long and if you're still reading, know that it will be. If no one's going on, than i'll just continue to fucking relax myself. But no. I changed my mind. This is the first time i do such thing. I had never gone this far before. I was thinking of deleting this after i finish writing, but hell no. This will be much better. I'll cut it here and stop making you pity me. Sorry for the fucking aggressive grammar.

Annoying. You cannot imagine a color that is not on the scale. That's it.

Just Wednesday -Pass the salt. +And what's the magic word? -NOW! (Wednesday and Morticia Adams)