dream lover so i don't have to dream aloneeeeeeee
wefxwgdsfgwdewgbf
dream lover until then....
ziwqswz won'tjh5j5j5h5thhing to do..d.t.
6t6666till 21huy
yeah yef46h
WTI6Y3E
please don't make me dream alone....
eew2wwwwq
better off
say anything anything your heart desires1
i gotta get away 1f1rom1 1h1er1ee1.1.1
1
1say1 1an1yt1h1ing1 y1ou1r 1111h1ea1r1t 1desires
111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111112222222222222222222222
22222222222222222222222222222222222222233333333fnfdy5htgvfuhygtfredxws3333333333333333344444444444444444444444444r6
666666666fg6
jjgsrfewdsbvhvt
rex
i cannot hlpe but find you're runnig around my mind
ignoring everytime i pass
let's make thsi thing lasttttt
afsoiafoiaefoiajefoiwajeoifjwoijefiojeifj
----------
It's these moments that kill me inside. The ones that like you know it should work out. In fact you have it planned out in your head, and you know what you're gonna do and what's gonna happen. The ones where it would be a crime not to go your way. Of course, they don't work out, nothing can be planned out, and you never do what you say you're gonna do. It's why people are so bent on fortune cookies and Ouija boards. I don't know what I was doing in the first place though, so maybe it treats me right. I waited too long. I procrastinated. As usual. I won't get anywhere this way. It's better to get shot down than to fade away. Well, in someways. So now what am I doing? I'm wearing scents I had in ninth grade. Now all I can think about are old movies and puppies. I can't seem to find anything remotely entertaining anymore. That nervous feeling in my gut? A mixture of backstage jitters and anger at myself. I'm too busy looking for scapegoats and insulting other people. I'm such a dick. The real problem is with me. No one else really did anything, they just went on with their lives and I congratulate him. I don't say it's done. No, I'm the one that has to fucking point out everything and wait. It's when the chase ends that I have nothing to do. Now, love is a strong word. I say it anyway. There were times when I said to myself that, "Yeah I think I do love her." To quote an old friend, "It's lust not love." Not really an elaborate, historic, strong quote, but it's true and it gets the job done. It's what I think when our eyes connect because I'm too afraid to be the sucker who fell for more. It's alright though, there's other people, other fish, as they say. There's other things to do, people to see. Other...opportunities? I'm so alone because I pushed everyone else out of the way. Now, I kinda want to be alone. I want to get my thoughts together and set myself straight for once. I don't want to tell myself the same goddamn lives every time. I want to stop hating people when it's me. I want to stop harassing my soul with all these interests. I haven't tried or looked, but there's no drug in the world that could possibly help with anything here. No secondhand relief. More than once I've put my hand to my head and pulled the trigger. It just hurts that's all. It's not you, it's me. It's my thoughts and my jealousy that put me over the edge. I'm sad now.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Shredded (Scorn)
Part of me wants to stay up and slowly die.
The other wants to go to sleep and over analyze the details.
Listen, where'd I go?
Where did I go wrong?
Where did I go wrong recently?
Where did I go wrong recently and why?
Where did I go wrong recently and why am I doing this?
I'm yelling into your ears and drowning your remaining years.
No longer can I watch TV and wonder if you and me could end up like that.
It's too far down the line now.
It's way past any crossroads.
I picked my path and if I try to cut through the woods separating the two, things will only get worse.
I don't want to say I'm sorry.
What does sorry mean anymore?
I overused it and now I don't know what to say anymore.
Where is this going? Please please please don't toss me aside.
I'd only be doing it to myself, though you don't seem that interested.
----------
He listened closely to the words in the wall. The syllables echoed but didn't reply. There was no chance of figuring out what the definition of those sentences were. When the walls cave in, who will be there to keep him up? When the floorboards give out, where will he be? Now that the other days are gone and the curtains are picked up, where's the drama? Where's that thrill and excitement? Let's say he did succeed. Where does he go from here? These were the moments that encouraged a teenager's scapegoat. The parents, the pills, the sex. Shadows poured over his body and he swallowed every depressing piece. Every ounce of sorrow caressed his body. His pillow became salty and his arms numb from coldness and pressure. Every day's goal made him feel worse in the end. Is this procrastinating or thoughtful thinking? Wait. Just keep waiting. The moment will either pop up right in stride to his feelings or leave him standing on his own. Little movements, little thoughts, little emotions dissolved his frustration and he felt special. But everyone was special. If everyone's special then no one is. Does that put him back at square one or give him a dilemma with the weight of relationship hanging in the balance?
The other wants to go to sleep and over analyze the details.
Listen, where'd I go?
Where did I go wrong?
Where did I go wrong recently?
Where did I go wrong recently and why?
Where did I go wrong recently and why am I doing this?
I'm yelling into your ears and drowning your remaining years.
No longer can I watch TV and wonder if you and me could end up like that.
It's too far down the line now.
It's way past any crossroads.
I picked my path and if I try to cut through the woods separating the two, things will only get worse.
I don't want to say I'm sorry.
What does sorry mean anymore?
I overused it and now I don't know what to say anymore.
Where is this going? Please please please don't toss me aside.
I'd only be doing it to myself, though you don't seem that interested.
----------
He listened closely to the words in the wall. The syllables echoed but didn't reply. There was no chance of figuring out what the definition of those sentences were. When the walls cave in, who will be there to keep him up? When the floorboards give out, where will he be? Now that the other days are gone and the curtains are picked up, where's the drama? Where's that thrill and excitement? Let's say he did succeed. Where does he go from here? These were the moments that encouraged a teenager's scapegoat. The parents, the pills, the sex. Shadows poured over his body and he swallowed every depressing piece. Every ounce of sorrow caressed his body. His pillow became salty and his arms numb from coldness and pressure. Every day's goal made him feel worse in the end. Is this procrastinating or thoughtful thinking? Wait. Just keep waiting. The moment will either pop up right in stride to his feelings or leave him standing on his own. Little movements, little thoughts, little emotions dissolved his frustration and he felt special. But everyone was special. If everyone's special then no one is. Does that put him back at square one or give him a dilemma with the weight of relationship hanging in the balance?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
