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And so the day came
When the dear, little fawn
Was spotted alone
In depression, long gone
With a coconut pelt
And a dull-slitted eye
And a wound in cobwebs
And dusty-rained lie

She was spun in a web
Made of dewdrops and honey
And sapphire sundrops
To keep for the morning
But all was a trick
And the rainbows were lies
And the wound that lay still
Threatened cries

A freedom, a swallow
Swoops down from her nest
And nestles the fawnling close
Up to her breast
And the fawn stumbles forwards
And looks towards the sky
And wounds heal over
With time, and with time

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Ehh, not the best poem ever x3;; But hey, I felt like it. The whole diary entry page is nothing but biographies. It's scary x.o

But guess what!!

I saw the nurse practitioner on Thursday, and she figures that I have a depression / anxiety disorder, like my mom has. Basically, low serotonin levels :3 She prescribed me Fluoxitine, which is a generic brand of Prozac.

In 4 weeks, I should probably feel the full effects of it. But whee. Finally. :3

I feel happy right now. And not depressed. And no ache of anxiety in my chest. ^^; Lol, probably not the meds working already (only just took my second dose), but still. I've been depressed for weeks, so this is pleasant.

Well, anyways, that's all. Wish me luck that the meds make me a sane Zelly :3

I have an alternate dark green dragon hatchling and I need someone to babysit it. As in, could you post it for me? Doesn't matter where. I just want it to grow up. Their code is twls.



I'm gonna leave the internet for a while...so...help would be appreciated...

Too depressed to stay any longer...

Bye...

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Front

Angled 1

Side 1

Angled 2

Back 1

Back 2

Angled 3

Side 2

Angled 4

Sitting

Random

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I got bored, and decided to take some close-ups of the Great Argus Pelt. Hope they'll be of some help anyone who needs to draw the pelt for whatever reason.

My deer totally think you should, like, make fan art of them.

And, in turn, their human would be forced to write poetry for them!!! ((or sketch --- but i rarely sketch anymore))

Prettiful poems for all of their deer, or about things they choose.

:3

Anyone? Anyone? *giggles* This entry shall be VACANT!!

Finally...although my pathetic little human creature seems entirely unable to keep the forest in my sights for long, having "minimized" it several times now. What a fool. I desire my pelt and mask again.

*pokes*

...

*whimpers*

*tilts head*

Just curious, I've forgotten.

I'm thinking of being selfish and suggesting it to Michael, mwahaha.

I stare at the map and I really want to cry. I stare at the maps, all the maps in the world, that show me where I'm not. That show me that he is there, in that plane, flying to there.

That those deer are together in the forest, playing, like I can't.

All these locations, all the locations in the world but I'm not allowed to go to any one of them. I'm stuck here in a place that's only on a map if you squint.

Now you see why I hate geography.

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Lol, I'm reading a book, and felt like ranting. No reason. Blah. I see Rowan, Quad, Tabi, Atiq, Bellamy in the forest.

And I know my ex-bf is flying back to Canada, and once he's back, he will have a new girlfriend, and...

...I would like to destroy all maps and all locations. I want there to be one dimension =_= Blah

"Why is a flower so complicated?..." Taint queries, her eyes perched upon a flower, a bumblebee edging its way across the nectar and pollens with its little feet that weren't all they seemed. Little yellows upon its legs, sacks full of...what?

Tilt of the head, I wonder why...how, I mean...what do they carry it in? She looks offendedly at the little bug, an eyebrow raised in her mind. You have no sack, no web, nothing holding it in...maybe if I look more closely... Taint peered closer to the little bumblebee, and it flew away. "Pah," she said, "Bumblebugs...mmmphhhrrr..." Her gaze settles upon the stem of the flower once more.

The dew of the evening had settled upon the stem in little pockets, much like the bumblebug of early. "Tell me, little bumblebug's keeper..." she spoke to the flower, inquisitive, sly, "...why does the dew still stick to your stem?" Taking one hoove, she gently touched at the side of the flower. The fireflies shined, and it didn't do much good, Taint had more of a human's eyesight. But then, she saw the strangest thing. Little spikes, holding the little water bubblies in place. "Is that so...?"

How could this be...? she thought, and shook her head, cringing her nose at the sting of the icy night. The querious forest did not beg to differ at the difference between a night in the cold and that in the warmth. The flowers kept warm in the frostbitten cold, and so did the precious little snow that ever doth fell upon it. It was pointless for her to query any longer.

Dream dream twitter, the sparklies of look where what huh that noise. Light, little light it's all red open oh gosh the day has passed! Aye...eyes groggy and resting this birdly twittering of the Gods "la-yee-yah" I hear it cannot tune out the back of my mind...ugh...

...

Eyes watery bones ache for sleep but a twitch a twitter in my body I cannot go back to sleep I must awaken for what what to do...beasts AHH the flush of heat it is too hot hear on the soil but my hooves seem frostbitten and I hunger ache. Think no n...

Taint struggles to ache upwards. Her mind spirals out of control, the leaf swirling to the windless day with no desire but to fall again, but alas, Taint is not a leaf, and must rise up to feed herself and water her deerish maw. Water drips and she wipes it off on her breast, which furrily soaks up the droplets. She looks out.

The hours pass in a moment and she cannot think, every moment is eternal and it is nothing, and no webs can be weaved nor may prey be caught. She is dangling at the strings of the resting inertia, the sleep that is a cloak, a veil, that prevents her from awakening in a spazz and a flurry such as Pingüino. Taint isn't Taint at this time, she is just.

That is it. Just.

It is the same every morning. For she, she is just accepting her taint, because you cannot fight what you cannot realize you can fight at the time. She is a zombie from her awakening and never knows how she is, how she'll act, and she isn't herself.

And at last, the hours past, and she grasps her thoughts.

The Painted Lady is -not- a morning flutter...

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I tried to write "stream of consciousness" for the colored parts. It's a writing style I learned in English class, and it drives me mad.