Sigh...sometimes it's difficult having a highly over developed capacity for emotional responsiveness. It tends to over-ride the other parts of the brain. Like, for example, common sense and logical thought processes...

On the one hand...when I'm happy, I may as well be Mary Fuckin' Poppins on E with a glow stick in one hand and a Nitrous Oxide cracker in the other...

On the other hand...when I'm not happy, the melodrama known as "Days of Our Ir8" is on constant replay...and every channel is the same show, with no clicker to be found that can turn it off.

Reading back on some of my poetry...I have come to the conclusion that I sound like a seriously suburbanite emo child...you the type right? The ones who bitch and complain about their supposed apathetic depression because mommy and daddy didn't get them what they wanted for xmas, and for some reason still think hanging around in the mall wearing baggy bondage pants and talking about how unique and special they are is the cool thing to do? How repulsive.

So, here is my official apology to the world for the overly exaggerated gloom and doom style written words of a drama queen...

I think hence forth I will stick to literary musings apropos to absolutely nothing but randomness, and what I like to refer to as "naughty talk poetry".

~IR8 out.