the dirty mirrori will run in toa kid who sold me potwhen i was sixteen-he will be-a devil in a magazine,a flu-struck hand of Januaryname? the same, buta commodore of industrya peaceless bastard. green-graced sleepthe trivia of time-has fucked me from behindi will search, but never findand dream... but nevermind-will reach, but cease to climb,will fight, and lose my mindwill look, but see i'm blind-and i will burn.but never shine-
if people didn't filter their emotions and justthrowing yourself on floors doesn't fix anything,but it sure seems to.
inferiori don't know how to talk to you. it is likebeing in second grade again but trying to understand algebrabecause i always liked letters better than numbers butthat doesn't mean they ever made any sense (they didn't)if you could teach me, maybe, reach me somehow or make it an option -there are never any options anymore. i miss the numbers on doorsthat never reached over two dozen because we didn't need that manybut now there are numbers reaching up to the hundredsand casing children behind them that have their own doors, somelocked and others torn off their hinges, some with keyholesand others without handles, not meant to be opened.none of them go anywhere and that's not the important part buti could never pinpoint what it was even if i wanted to.something about you and your plots of running away or tempting deathby your own hand or changing your name and your hair and your faceto face the indifference of passing days on a regular basis.you always seem to be searching for
081012this is the kind of music youdance around in your underwear toat four in the morning drinkingraspberry vodka and spilling itsticky sweet on bare feetand staining the dress you neglect-ed, silk slickon wooden floors
Chadi remember chad.he was bigger, all the way around. there was more of him than i was used to.what i was used to: skinny drug addictschad had a little girl. chad had a little house. chad had a little car. chad had me.when i was with him, when i was his, i thought he had a little life. because everything he owned was miniscule, or damaged.miniscule: his child, her fingers barely making it around my wrist.damaged: me, my heart still in tennessee, and nowhere close to being my own again.i felt bad for chad.but i could barely speak, and i think he might have liked that.chad had to listen to people all day long. his boss, his mothe
Anagapesis.Early morning;white china flies by my head and I roll my tongue around the hairpinbend for'I love you'over'I wish you were dead.'
fragment 1for natalie -sorry you had to see that.
chronolgical orderfor the life of me I could never keep a journal formore than a month, butI don't mind muchbecause you could read everything I've written, the fiction and truth and thein between, and see the slow and steady deterioration of a girljaded
remindersand,hey,it's okayto run sometimestoo:even when it'sin your natureto fight,and no -running is not alwayscowardice,knowit's oftenbrave.
well i'm here and now whati've got all this alcohol and nothingto light on fire,so i supposei'll just have todrink it.and i've gotall this gasoline andnowhere to go,so i supposei'll just have todrink that,too.
the seconds moved slower than the hourssitting on my windowsillwith the glass pushed all the wayup, screen off,there is enough windthat if you close your eyesit will take you tothe ocean forjust a moment.
i've never understood small talkwe met between cars on a train.i'm sorry but i don't think i caught your name-there may have been hellos,the usualformalities, buti don't remember. all i know isthat you were headed homeand i was trying to findone, andit all felt so very fitting,at the time.i'd been seeking solacein people, notplaces,the way it should be and nowi was lostit wasempty.you had thesemint green eyes;such a soft shock fromthe darkness i was used tosuffocatingin - such brevity inthe spaces between glancesthe look over your shoulder whenyou swore i fucking felt ittoo, andi can promise you that is the last timei'll ever let someone like thatgowithout saying a word, butyou were too goodto bedragged downwith me.
repercussions 1see the thing is thatnobody ever thinks theirtaste in music isbad.nobody everfinds themselveson the wrong side of the warif they're stillfighting.the only time it everhappensisif there is no wayout.
on being and belonging toi hate that to other people,there is no'me'. it is always'you and z',it is always 'us',it is always 'we'.not to saythat being with someone for so longdoesn't make them a part of you,(because it does),but it doesn't make youthe same person.last time i checked,i still have a cunt between my legs& flowers in my hair, thoughwilted & bloomed again intosomething else entirely.last time i checked i still sleep alonemost nights, and the earth doesn't crumblebeneath my feet and the sea and the moondon't sway from their keep if i am seenwithout him, and the bonesin my spine and the beatin my heart do notdissipate if i seem steadyas a girl belonging to no onebody mind & tongueof her own.
countingshitshit, Itwo fifths of vodka for the crowda pair of crystalline relationships evolving:the one descending and the other risingthings are going to come to a headI can't do anything for your third suicidal crisis but sit and tell you you're beautiful from far awayI can't do nothing for youclimbing my own ladder, I can't do--shit,shit Ithose hips
lol
this is simple, but beautiful, and full
PS - I'm still waiting for my V-Day card shark biatch.