If you are reading this I commend you for finding it because it was never sent. In fact, it isn't supposed to be written. This is my letter to you inside my head, not the first and never the last, even splinters of a letter counted. I miss you. I wish I could love you.
The lights shine in Beijing, I hope you're thinking of me. I doubt a thought crosses your mind. We're bitter (I'm bitter). I'm convinced by now that you hate my existence and that I am useless to you. I probably am but a small thought of kindness would do wonders.
Let's go. Let's go away from everyone.
Opportunity rides by and laughs in my face, but your laugh stings more because you are something I can reach out and grasp. You are the spokesperson for the elitist generation, I swirl with the crowd.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Monday, August 28, 2006
Monday, August 21, 2006
the talking just makes me smile, thin but true
I've been lax because i forgot to care. oh monstrous, oh strange.
I think I like punk more because of the anger and simplicity. spikes are attractive. packaging hate and spite into three chords. alienation in studs, hair dye, lips rings. Only then can I imagine the sneer on his face as he sings.
you can never be too unhappy pretending you know. and I love you from afar, but i don't love you because I cannot love you nor I will not love you.
Unashamed of who you are? Well, you should be.
I think I like punk more because of the anger and simplicity. spikes are attractive. packaging hate and spite into three chords. alienation in studs, hair dye, lips rings. Only then can I imagine the sneer on his face as he sings.
you can never be too unhappy pretending you know. and I love you from afar, but i don't love you because I cannot love you nor I will not love you.
Unashamed of who you are? Well, you should be.
Friday, August 18, 2006
create and disintegrate
disappointment is valid. anger is not.
"What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here?"
she spoke of love and conquest and I couldn't help but stare out the window and observe life passing me by.
please please please
"What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here?"
she spoke of love and conquest and I couldn't help but stare out the window and observe life passing me by.
please please please
Monday, August 14, 2006
I was in love with a difficult man.
he was dead, he was dead, with eyes blue and hopeless, lost on cheekbones defined with vapid young ones screaming and grabbing at and crying uselessly oh shut up why won't you.
and his hands were cracked with worry and his eyes burnt by fatigue and spite. and she growled at him let me go let me go. he never liked them vicious. it's hard to be him, it's hard to be him.
eyeliner drip, heavy mascara tears. nothing nothing. please, my dear, no one believes you anymore. so stop trying. beads, silver beads looped round once and suddenly it's "you're so beautiful, you're so frail, let me take you home and baby you"
drip drop you are the lie, don't you get it.
and grasped from the far corners of the mind, putting yourself on display is often easier than lying. the truth is not easily swallowed. pink hair and white lie intentions. and we are the children of other people, people who stopped existing when they were our age. smoke cigarettes and stare off in your own world you brittle little thing.
he was dead, he was dead, but he rose again and now screams and tells all with a vengeance unlike that of fables, knights and dragons colliding head to head. he is alive, he is whole, he is something of little value and worth but to the kids with lost hopes and dreams and hair as false as their personas, they scream with him and he can forget that he is beautiful. he can forget the curse.
you still can't decipher the ticking of his soul. he has a murmured heart beat like love notes in the dark, and still you can't write what you feel. your voice is silenced. you have nothing to do. boredom isn't safe for the young. you will do something you regret, stop stop stop or you will have to drag me with you.
and his hands were cracked with worry and his eyes burnt by fatigue and spite. and she growled at him let me go let me go. he never liked them vicious. it's hard to be him, it's hard to be him.
eyeliner drip, heavy mascara tears. nothing nothing. please, my dear, no one believes you anymore. so stop trying. beads, silver beads looped round once and suddenly it's "you're so beautiful, you're so frail, let me take you home and baby you"
drip drop you are the lie, don't you get it.
and grasped from the far corners of the mind, putting yourself on display is often easier than lying. the truth is not easily swallowed. pink hair and white lie intentions. and we are the children of other people, people who stopped existing when they were our age. smoke cigarettes and stare off in your own world you brittle little thing.
he was dead, he was dead, but he rose again and now screams and tells all with a vengeance unlike that of fables, knights and dragons colliding head to head. he is alive, he is whole, he is something of little value and worth but to the kids with lost hopes and dreams and hair as false as their personas, they scream with him and he can forget that he is beautiful. he can forget the curse.
you still can't decipher the ticking of his soul. he has a murmured heart beat like love notes in the dark, and still you can't write what you feel. your voice is silenced. you have nothing to do. boredom isn't safe for the young. you will do something you regret, stop stop stop or you will have to drag me with you.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
well well well
I can't float. You make me ache because I can't save you. PLEASE LET ME SAVE YOU. You have to let me in.
can't float NO PILLS
they don't help me anymore they make me feel worse should i take more or less. i want to take more i want to take the whole bottle.
can't float NO PILLS
they don't help me anymore they make me feel worse should i take more or less. i want to take more i want to take the whole bottle.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
a little boy in a boat over the sea
Today is the fourth of July and you know what? I don't care.
Oh mercy me, god bless catastrophe.
I feel nothing. I'm a statistic and I'm fine with it.
Oh mercy me, god bless catastrophe.
I feel nothing. I'm a statistic and I'm fine with it.
Monday, July 03, 2006
hello dears.
Lost at sea again. Feeling headachy and hopeless.
Sometimes I wish for his eyes again and sometimes no. I feel rather silly telling stories I know to myself, but hopefully it helps.
Good day to you all.
the boy at the end of the world, i salute your last efforts
Sometimes I wish for his eyes again and sometimes no. I feel rather silly telling stories I know to myself, but hopefully it helps.
Good day to you all.
the boy at the end of the world, i salute your last efforts
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