7:00 p.m. - 2007-06-07
Wheel chaotic
Can't get hold, can't control, I'm going to surpass dissallusion, once again. Signaling the end yet starting all over again, with the pain. It seems to repeat itself all over, I supposse the blade is part of a whole, circling in a murderous motion. I"m the hand that moves the wheel, I'm the one who moves this wheel, against me.

Plans fade away, some stay, but to be motionless was never part of one. Life moves forward, backwards, and still back again. I can't leave unscathe, I can't move forward without a couple knifes on my back. Switchblade pass the face, scarred forever, nevermind the chest. I have no one else to blame cuz I am the hand that moves and grinds, that makes and denies, I am the blind masochist, slowly ruining my own life.