Is about a spider guiz

A sparkling, silver twine,
Like the tender hair of some long forgotten saint,
Trailing weightlessly from a crumbling, tapered sill
Dripping with the neglected upkeep of crusted paint
And the remains of nature's yielding twill.

At its end, she dangles:
A thousand greedy eyes roll in an awry head.
Pincers contract. Her delicate fibres of strength
Stretch comfortably, pulling as tight as her silken thread
Against a chilling and unsturdy length.

Faith moans about photography.

Today, I am feeling like an intrepid photographer. Went to Asdaaa this morn, and got my awesome films processed, and here is the product of a Thursday morning well spent:

My friends are beautiful. They also make me feel like, no matter how pathetic snails treat me, I'm going to be alright. Of course I am. Silly little teenage girl. Of course I am.
Over and out.

Faith moans at parties.

A couple of days ago, I went to a sort of acquaintance gathering, and the product of that was letting one of my other friends down by not spending the day with him when he, unbeknownst to me, missed an important plan to do so, and a bank-breaking taxi home 3 minutes after the last bus. On the plus side, my 99p Ebay jumper arrived and, as you can see from this incredibly informative photograph (which pretty much sums up my night) it has some radical mountains and wooden houses on it. I wish I could live there, tangled somewhere in that 70s woolen cabin. Over and out.

Me falling out of a window. What a night

Faith moans about love.

I would dearly like to believe that there is someone else out there who doesn't have a Valentine love besides me. Everyone seems to have a Valentine, and on Monday I will be sat alone in the cinema watching Paul surrounded by sickening amounts of couples. It's going to be another depressing lonely year. Woohoo.

This Cold Queen

Do you see me when you look up at the sequins,
Embroidered delicately into the Windsor Blue
Crimplene that drapes in steep, glossy rags
from the raging heavens?
Do you see the face that I see,
Shrowded beneath the soft'ning clouds?
I doubt you do.

Do your feeble whimpers of loneliness wake you
From Wintry, undefined illuminations of sleep
As you drag your frozen limbs into
The spotlight of conscious.
Is mine the smoky smile surging
From the cracked chrysalis of your dream?
I doubt it is.

Do you hear the lull? Echoing; familiar reams
Beating at the snares and timpanis above your lobes;
Thrashing in the shallows of silence,
Stirring the calm of thought.
Does my song trick your defense?
Or beckon your guards from their duty?
I doubt it does.

Does the mem'ry of my presence trouble you now
That it no longer rings true. They only intertwine:
Its ghostly talons; your sturdy bones -
Each tainting the other.
Does that spectre mirror me?
A portrait of threat'ning ancestry?

I doubt it resembles this cold Queen -
A hand you plagued with a pipe-dream.

I've braved a few life tests so far. Made some difficult decisions when I wasn't really qualified to. Taken so many chances where there wasn't really any room for error. Felt as though I'd pissed a situation right up the wall - fucked something to the point that it couldn't really have been done any worse. I've faced regret and apology and disappointment, but I've never been so afraid to fail anything as I am to fail you.

Faith moans about her life.

Negative notes of the evening: we didn't watch 'Where the Wild Things Are', and I ended up going to Boscombe and later trekking back to Poole (which is a HUGE distance) with no shoes on because my Diana Broadways deheeled themselves and threw me into the road. It has recently rained, so the floor is puddly and I practically swam home, thus inevitably ripping my new Topshop tights and rendering them henceforth unwearable. I also fell over a disembodied branch and fell in a heap on the floor, cutting my palms. Fucking rogue shrubbery. I have done no work today, so I have an entire French oral to write and memorize, all my art coursework for this quarter and specification 2 Graphics to be done tomorrow. Due to the sheer vast size of the broken shoes contained in it, my favourite old hand-made leather bag ripped, AND TO TOP IT ALL OFF I bought a huge tub of Nutella and couldn't fit it in my bag, so I had to leave it behind. Fuck my life.
Positive notes of the evening: I had a long talk on a trampoline with someone I don't talk to enough anymore. She's lovely and I hope that this lasts, but I doubt it will since we're all leaving compulsory education in 4 months.  Someone who means a lot to me who was supposed to be going to Australia in two weeks time for a 2 year runaway spree has decided against leaving England (which, though I'm glad in a selfish way, is pretty shit for him). My room is finally tidy and I can walk around it without the fear of: a) impaling my heels on wires and earrings b) breaking valuable camera appendages or c) embarrassing myself in front of anyone who happens by my door. My mum just gave me a Milka. Life is okay.
I also wandered by a graveyard upon my merry ventures East, and, inspired by the poetic lyrics of the 'Return to Cookie Mountain' playlist on my ipod, scurried in, paying no heed to the strangeness of the situation in which I had found myself. I sat on a bench looking at the gravestones for half an hour. It was possibly the most peaceful half an hour of the year so far. It seems odd that I felt so comfortable there, just comparing the ages of the skeletons buried at my feet. I love being able to do things like that; I could only ever afford to sidetrack to such a degree alone. Evenings like these pose one of the foremost reasons why I appreciate social independence.

Faith moans about failing her exams.

I should be learning my French oral right now, as it is on Monday, but I couldn't really care less because I'm uncompromisably happy! Firstly, I'm spending the night with two of my favourite people watching 'Where the Wild Things Are', I'm currently drinking Carribean Rum, I've finally finished trimming my worker skirt with lace, I've made something cool out of my old man's shirt (originally bought to dress me as David Bowie for Halloween) and the cobbler has FIXED MY ORIGINAL 1940s DIANA BROADWAYS! Even if silly boys are ignoring me for no apparent reason, this is the happiest I've been in months.
PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE OF MY JOY:

NEW OUTFIT

I LOVE THE COBBLER

overall, pretty spiffing