I know that I am a machine, but don't you still believe that I can feel?
That I'm real somehow? Really now?
Why don't you spin some dreams for me
lace and wine, ghosts in the arrangements
"and it never, it never made her happy"
she brooded over counterfeit dollars and loose change
hey babe, don't you fall down, I'll be there with a little hand
Champagne breaths; phrases becoming sentences
(I hate roses because they remind me of everyone that has ever left me)
I don't think I have ever loved anyone.
It's just too easy.
Sometimes I feel the words expand and contract in my head.
sometimes I wonder if there's anything worth being in this place.
can someone prove me wrong? can someone stop me from sealing the walls off in my own little world?
I read my old journals from junior high school and realized what an asshole I was. What the hell did I know? Everything was buried. Everything I know now was not apparent then. All I knew was that I was miserable and nothing was right about the world. I still think about killing myself on average three times a day. It's mostly out of habit now -- the only security I have now is my bullshit misery.
