Is it deep?

I want to write more poetry, but I lack skill to make bright, happy poems. I make poetry about killing myself when I don't feel like it. I write something about hurting when I'm not wounded. I can only produce words that are about pain, whether emotional or physical. Gashes in my soul do not heal. Yeah that last line was kind of stupid, but I won't erase it. I like pure shit. That's pure shit. Everytime I write poetry I cast a dark cloud upon myself and I don't know where the fuck it comes from. My mom is too protective to feed me some prozac, not even fake ones...what do you call 'em? Gazebos? I forgot...listening to the Xmas Chipmunks right now. Too cool. So rock and roll. Anyway, today all I can offer is poetry and this weakass entry.

Oh yeah, French Club is a cool club ::wink to Loan and Mary:: Good cake!