From the Desk of Sergeant Failure

myself 

oh, hi. i’m josh.

the state i live in is the largest outdoor jail in the world.

my best friend is a girl as often as she is a guy - we are in the business of harvesting souls and i also used to work in a piercing and tattoo shop.

i’m openly gay, and terrified of other gay guys - as they tend to emotionally mutilate me and tell me how horrifically ugly i am.

although deeply sarcastic in text, i’m extremely quiet in person. although brooding in thought and my own writing, i’m upbeat in person.  i play cello, go to college, and my curiosity to see what the apocalypse would look like far outweighs my fear of it.

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I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate.
I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned,
Since from myself another self I turned.

My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.
His too familiar care doth make me rue it.
No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be supprest.

Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
Let me or float or sink, be high or low.
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die and so forget what love ere meant.

Skype = watercolorsoda