fucking faggot

fuck you and your career and all your useless things

ps this is a letter to myself.

i know it's wrong, but i want some sort of horrid disorder

I have something to blame for all my fucking problems, my zoning out, my most of me.

-why I wake up with all the bruises and cuts that I can't explain or even begin to understand where they come from.
-why I hear voices in my head and aloud and I feel hands on me when I'm completely alone.
-why I feel something else take over me when I'm angry, another person almost, and I can't explain why I just said that or I just fucked up your perfectly arranged things.
-my hatred for everything and my other worlds.
-the fact that I feel so much pain from some stupid little thing for hours after the fact.

it's all closing in. I hate it i hate it.

rr again

and hours and hours and hours

you're still not done, he said, and left with a wink.

There are so many people that I wish I knew, that I wish I could talk to and tell my secrets. They're so big, they're so successful, and I want so badly to be in that circle so I'm validated somehow. Always a dreamer, a quitter, a lover (but no, no) and a fighter for a stupid cause.

i am the kill, you see

and I delayed everything I did always, even now

It's so much easier to do this than to take the time. I'm bound to my technology, the breath of machines, the breath of disease as well, always just the right words or I freak out

"leave her alone, it's not that bad" until it gets worse, you fucking bitch

Maybe I'm just wrong, maybe no one is (use me holly, come on and use me, though I didn't even write this line) You know me best, after all, now don't you with all the condescensions necessary and I don't even know if that's the right term! fuck it! fuck you, stupid whore! (My maturity is striking) i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you.

nothing is funny because everything is, and don't decipher this because you're wrong already.

and i shouldn't feel

as though it were breaking really
because it's not, because my corrections are merely reflections of my transgressions. the dull sound at the end, the anti-din, the zone where I sleep too late and eat too much.

it's funny how fast I'm falling and how I still can't let you go, let it go, let go. I want to affect someone so badly, just to make a difference in someone's life, have them think about me nonstop for a change. maybe i want him to fall off the face of the planet and for her to love me again. maybe i want a lot of things I can't have.

I want someone who can be there for me, someone who will slap me and tell me I'm wrong and tell me to stop martyring myself, and then to kiss me better. Or hug me better. Or simply be patient with me, because I'm all sorts of fucked up and I get nervous just thinking about someone loving me that way, like that, like all of that. A bundle of conflicting emotions, in a satchel or a handkerchief.

and I feel like one of those rock stars who uses their blog to write cryptic messages. I idly wonder if anyone reads this from time to time. and then I realize it doesn't matter who reads this, they can't say a thing. they can just be affected.

that alone is reassuring, at least.

this is a place for my deeper thoughts, but...

RULE 34 HAS JUST RUINED MY CHILDHOOD.

ruins

i had felt you

better by my design, by design, screen, desire

forceps, concepts, made up words and misprints

"boy has fears of a child" I don't want to grow up I swear it

and I can't deny you everything anymore.

much love, much love, squalor and all the rest.

progress

January bit me baby-gentle and still left a mark,
an imprinted arch, easy like the sun.
it was the best blur:
(field trees sidewalk school home home school you you you)
and I couldn't have wished for anything better
if you sold my dreams and pocketed the rest, it was fine.
teenaged and irrelevant, the girls laughed
as they cradled the world in their painted hands and jewels.
It was there that I wanted to evoke some form of tragedy,
to be still, to stand with limbs jutting into awkward angles,
wearing the white dress you loved on me,
dusted with blues that would make you shudder like no other.
charmed, I was so sure of that, impassioned by how you moved
my conversations were rehearsal on the streets at night
wild and alone, with moonbeams for eyes
and bones beneath taut skin
I spoke such pretty words, made all the right moves
and still could not get you to look at me.
The cat scratches on my hands chased one another, not making it.
As I prayed you weren't in love,
it was as though I had passed through time by mistake, still a child
broken and crazy I didn't belong

I was too medicated to feel your grip --
or maybe I felt it and I just didn't care, like with everything else,
words slipping like water through my stubby cracked fingers
postmortem depression, I supposed, with the melodrama to match
the flowers floated on air and flew away, with hints of tar and lace
and I smiled for lack of any appropriate reaction
otherwise I would have cried, I really would have, honest
leaning against the cardboard artwork I wanted to destroy
grimy and decayed because I didn't want to be noticed anymore,
and it was a time when I just didn't want to wake up anymore
and I wouldn't miss the sunlight, and I wouldn't miss the rain
those things held so dear in single numbers, small teeth and all
I listened to synthetic music and felt the same,
and I finally felt your grip, and the prepositions and connecting words
it all made sense somehow, through the worn away haze, unappreciated
"there is no finality as there is no certainty. there is no finality as there is no certainty."
and I was still killed by the oncoming car
and I was still killed by the onslaught of pills
and I was still killed by assumption
and I was still killed
I hoped you slept well that night, up till all hours, still wide eyed and plagued
I ignored the sunrise, like I always do, flattering by reflecting its acceptance
as I waited for you to let me go and watched you leave without a look back

"your anxiety is endearing, but really love, get a grip"

I am jittery like always, thoughts racing, head pounding.

miss that, miss that, miss that, miss you, miss us.

fuck, and that's all I feel.

we are useless words, the word "useless" popping up everywhere, and unashamed and proud and all that. and i'm freaking out and i want to cry, I want to scream I want to do all those things I see in books in magazines in love and lovers of it. my ideas of humanity are off and that's fine by me just as long as you keep it down

"maybe yr just like me
maybe noone is" (wentz from wherever)

and it rings true after all because i can only quote things I didn't do but make sense, it makes sense, it all makes sense in the end.

and it never goes, never ever until i die, which at this rate is not far off

save me

this is a pattern, I see

another depressing entry, but what else is new

I've been lied to obviously, and I hate that, resent it so much

FUCK

i somehow think that

you're bluffing or pretending

please don't, it'll break my little stone heart

videotape

there is a distinct sadness that only you can make me feel
you, with your cutting fingers and horror eyes
I wear sleeves because I hate my arms, and you are so perfect
there are so many things you don't know
and you can't know
because I never will, I never will
"you're getting so thin, you're slipping away"
people don't ask me how I am really
chupacabra, and its awful claws,
and it's awful because i can't spell that, i don't think
his voice twists me in ways your words are more successful with
and it is so long after dark, you have to come inside
and there is so much silence here, it's pressing me down like no other
there is no need to interpret this, you'll be wrong
there are no metaphors, no similes
but there are people who do exist, even if in my mind solely,
they are based on true events and facts.
i look up ghost stories because I want to scare myself into submission
and still it doesn't work, and I am left merely with dreams
and the faint ocean spray, and your voice calling me on and on
in the distance, on the horizon, into the black and grey,
the blue of all things real and poignant, and that is where I belong.

self

I'm depressed

and that's all I can really say

because I am

and it's mindless, and I don't know where to start

you are my nightmare

i wait a little while longer, green haired and fearful, your stupid face is etched in my skull. and I hate you. and I hate you. starting sentences with prepositions never got anyone anywhere. Behind locked doors I can do whatever I choose. I can't cry I really can't and i'm sick of punctuation, it's really something. I can't sit still but I don't know where the fuck I want to go or what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I hate it. I hate this all so much. it's my hatred and honor and despair but goddamn it eats me alive. These are words. these are words all words and the worse it grows the bigger hole I dig for myself the grave to throw myself in, the maggots crawling into my orifices. don't you love it. isn't it precious. are. you. in. love. with. me? I don't know. I don't even want you to be because he will always be in the back of your mind, always always and I cry at night in my dreams because they will not surface and I am ultimately numb but you knew that and this is essentially the greatest run on sentence in creation. I am not you and you are not me but we should be one but we can't and he is the girl, the love, the one that you hold dear and obsess obsess there are so many esses and ems and all that is awful and i hallucinate because yes i still love you I will never quite be over you it was not long ago it was something of a dream and I hate it this is one big block and it will never stop it goes and goes and goes and I can' say hello because i'm terrified. there is only you.

chains

you broke me



into this person that I never wanted to become, but was going to anyhow. I love you still.



For it? I don't know.



I want to be tough and I hope I am succeeding at giving the image of self assuredness, at the very least. I don't want to be afraid anymore.

I don't even know what I'm running from. Always running, never giving in. I can't. Especially not now.

And all these nights, where you just feel so desperate and alone and wanting to cry.

but I will not let myself cry. I can't. I can't let anything happen to me, can't put anyone in the position where they could take advantage of me. The last time I let someone in I got fucked over. And I still love her. Still I do.

you're all I have and even if you're part of me, there's still something there.

they sold me dreams that I pocketed too

"my girl, I know what it is to be you

but I must say

I would never want to be you

again"

don't let it

my senses uprooted from somewhere.

I was a kid once, I swear, with gold hair and light skin, a charmer if any, and all the wiser than I am now.

funny, it's a week till christmas and eight days to a year older and I don't feel changed.

well of course I am, but at this second no. was the epitome of teenage catastrophe, with bloodshot eyes and all the rest, screechy laugh because really, what is there that I could say that would change a thing? She spends her times with her old friends and new, walls spinning and pen ran dry with lack of inspiration. She gets nowhere. She sees too many things. She falls in love.

She is me, but not so much anymore. My palindrome, I suppose, my reverse that could be the same, it has enough potential anyway.

the calluses on my fingers peel and dry, cracked under pressure and dry cold air. It makes me smile, however small and my back hurts.

loneliness makes me glamorous.

i wish I could stay sane when I'm around you

but I can't and oh how the tide changes

hhnhcvkgs bvxdfh

try as i might, it's funny how you slip by me

i love lovelovelove to see you fall, to see the twist of your body as you move. it's fire for my writer's mind, ever the observer.

perhaps there is some beauty in lust, an artform

I never knew who I was and who you were but it was rather fun all the same

there was nothing like it.

I want to be that irrational girl sometimes.



I am her, everyday, but I fail to let her fly.



one day I will grow wings and do somethin with myself. and to seey ou smile is enough.



get over her, she's not going tolove you like you love her and she won't sto loving him, so there is really no point.

h. + s = alsjd,

I don't know what is wrong wth me

opportunity knocks and I beat it with a bat.

of course

\i'm such a fucking asshole