And I'm done with this song

Yeah, that's where Fallon (she's the piece of arm/elbow in the far left-hand corner) and I sat to wait for a Hunger Games showing the day it released, at 3:40 in the afternoon. Yeah, they still had to have people wait in lines. Weird, right? However, the 7PM showing had a line around the building. The movie, what can I say. It should've stayed a book or had more going on with the character's head. Because, as I heard a woman tell a manager of mine, "It would've been better if they had a narrator in it. I mean, when she's sitting in a tree, that's all she's doing." I've noticed the hype is lessoning. People probably thought a hardcore bloodbath. They were sadly mistaken. It was PG-13 with senseless romance and plot-lines that were never fully answered. They were like, "That fighting was so anti-climatic." It was.
They were in the forest for at least a week, right? Well, she kisses this boy who just had this muck and shit on him and I say, "Ewwww."
Fallon asks, "What?"
I reply, "Their breath probably smells like rotten fish."
She just blinks, "Is that what you're seriously thinking about?"
Yes, yes it always is.

So, Battle Royale was released Tuesday. I am so fucking excited to have it on DVD. It'll be here next week for me :( Once it is, I'm ignoring the world for a couple of hours, like I do when True Blood playing. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. I've followed it since episode one, don't ask me why. I also like Jersey Shore and Ghost Whisperer. I'm not going to say anything else, I'll just let you think about it.

I am also trying to write on a Sonnet that's do Monday. I suck at poetry. No shame.
Here's what I have so far:

The smell has you in it -- a soft, but firm
Aroma soaking in the clothes, fabrics,
the thoughts of you. Somehow the odor squirms
Under my skin, infecting the rhythmic
Beat of my heart. I feel as if it murders,
Slowly constricting pumps to make venom.
Veins alter color: Green, red, black deeper
Than I can clarify. 

I HAVE FUCKING WRITER'S BLOCK. FUCK IT. FUCK LIFE. Haha. I hate poetry. I respect it, but it doesn't meant that I have to like it. I know it's not in perfect iambic pentameter, but it's hardddddd.
I am trying to go that she is the smell, and he hates to love it, or she, doesn't matter - I try to make my writing as androgyny as possible.