maybe I would have been something you'd be good at.

I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if I never met you. If I didn't walk the streets without thinking about your hair, your clothes, and your eyes, because I wouldn't know them. I wouldn't know your scent. I wouldn't know your fingers or your hands. I wouldn't hear your voice or see your face even if we're estranged. I wouldn't know about it because we wouldn't know each other.

And I finally realize now that I don't care.

I don't regret you. Not in the slightest. I just regret that you thought that way about me. And that it ended so badly. Two different people in different phases of moving on. So yes, I had forgotten about needing you by the time you "broke it off". I had forgotten what it was like to have the longing, the stupid aching feeling in the chest. You hadn't become insignificant to me so much as I forgot how to love you, how to want to talk to you. I'm not sorry about it. I just regret that you couldn't acknowledge the inevitable. I wish you the best of luck, really. And I'm glad it's weird for you, because it's weird for me too.

I'm not the bad guy here, you know? Don't make me out to be that. It takes two to fall apart.

i don't follow anything

because I don't know where it will lead me,
whatever it is.
you say you want things I could give you,
but I'm too shy to say
you're a wreck, just a soft, sweet wreck
and the conventions of this language can't
even begin to describe any of this
six months to this day and i would have gone for it
gone for you and the idea of you, I guess that's what I loved
and even after all of this, I cradle my head in my hands
and taste the same old regret, over and over again
just musky enough to let me know that it's weird for you
it's too normal for me. i can't say what I feel because I am blind
don't you even speak to me, because I am avoiding being an idiot and fool
and breaking off what could have been beautiful.
i'm sorry.

there is nothing here

and there is nothing less than nothing left

I'm writing a novel about a girl who has to save the world and is barely passing Precalc.

Her name is Molly Jane Fitzgerald and I love her to pieces.

As I have many times, I wonder if anyone reads this. Hmmm.

I can't wait to meet you either.

i'm still trapped between the end and the means

I wonder if anyone actually reads this thing, if anyone actually acknowledges my existence, hangs on every word.

I want to be you. I don't want this. i'm already gone in so many ways and it hurts to say, oh it hurts hurts hurts me to say this to you

"harsh but excruciatingly true" oh you would think that wouldn't you, tear me in two, oh my isn't this a funny little mess i've gotten myself into.

and it's only you who would expect so much of me. how kind. how generous. how considerate of you. I don't fucking care. This is a place for florid poetry and pretending I'm smarter than I actually am, but right now I'm just really fucking mad. I never realized that there was any color in the pture at all, I thought there was only dust and sepia. not even sure how to pronounce sepia. (see-pee-a? seh-pee-ah?) I don't know, and I can't be sure, and I can't say I want you because I don't know you . I don't know a lot of things. This is a surefire place for repetition and it's boring and I hate myself for things I don't even know about. What is my swing state? What is the color of my rain? Why does the sky listen, not listen, throw itself before my feet and laugh in my face?

why is there such laughably bad handwriting in this? It's not as though I haven't tried to fight it. I really have, honest/. I'm being good. I'm not even bothering to correct this and it's rife with grammatical errors and my fingers hurt and this is not even a grammatically correct sentence and i don't care what you think as long as it's about meeeeee... oh I love quoting horrid lyrics. I can't spell, but the thing is I really can.

I just want to be told pretty lies. I want you to treat me like I deserve to be treated. I want you to not tell me how a relationship should go, that I'm wrong when I know that I'm right and you're just being a bitch.

Love me, love me, say that you love me. Ha.

turpentine kisses and mistaken blows

I want you to be my heart, the lining of my coffin, casket, silver basket

and the ruins of my name be the father, the son, the holy spirit, and all that catholic bullshit they feed you under the frames.

take me down and make me whole again.

repeat me on and on

"lovely lovely lovely bones until I get my own"

but you wouldn't, would you?

cryptic city, no party for a sad sad soul.

it all came out of the blue and I tore after you
you can't recall, well neither can I
lying in this field of broken glass,
the moments passed and you said,
"you could be my boy if you only tried"

and how am I supposed to feel about that?
where am I to go when there's no holding back?
and what did I do to veer off the tracks
you said, "now that the world is something..."

girls will be boys all torn up inside
and boys will be girls with nothing to hide
and I'm in the middle, just 'cause I lied
and said, "I need to let it go"

love is

all relative

the poor and the wise all know the same tricks

and here I am
weaving charms through the hair of old wives,
gypsies, men of distortion/distinction

they wear converse and speak in tongues
beards and all, I love them and their urban smell
i still feel so unclean and tainted by their world

"as the statues cry
and the buildings crumble side by side
at least we'll know now who was left behind
shattered through the halls
with your arms spread wide to love it all
I'm not sure if I can break these walls

trip on icy stairs/stares
my whole world is burning, I don't care
because you're not here
breath on jaded glass
we all knew that this would come to pass
but will I disappear?"

life (spare) changes

I guess I really am losing you. is it bad that I don't feel bad?

i'm blue and floating, a different face in different water, time changes, fish slowly drying up on beaches and hurt life no other

(dreaful sentences, "you can't wirte you can't think anymore")

and every word I remember, because it's only you. hurt me and take me with you, but fuck all if you're taking my soul.

and all the hurt you call your own, you know, you know (nobody's ever you)

I still feel like killing myself all the time. And drinking myself half to death, chemical cocktails all in a stir.

don't wait up for me. let your mess and fairy wings fly you away. I can't find the words I want to express the image and the moment. I want your smile, your voice, your face, your eyes. I would make the perfect freak baby/child/woman.

want me I am all yours for the taking

still

I wonder if the moon ever gets lonely.

when the lights went black

we fell in and out of love so easily
repeated letters and phrases, over and over again
though I did, I really did mean it in the end

I recognize the song in your headphones, in your heart
you look lost and I feel that stretch
between seriousness and playing it off as some fun

and my mediocrity shines through like no other
like crystals set in gates, like china trapped in glass
and really, my skin is disgusting, I want to unzip myself
and walk some great distance for you

I stay away from the specifics, but I want someone to hold my hand and mean it

oh can't you stop me from thinking so much?

itrwywfm v 2.0

you don't have an original thought in you

and we are lonely planets, constellations, missing links and half broken pieces. I can't imagine you underwater, but it would be nice if I could.

x out the numbers. I want you to notice me though you wouldn't. it's sad and pathetic but perhaps I have surpassed you in the vague category.

definite. not defiant. not definate.

ridiculous, not rediculous.

why can't anyone spell?

about a girl

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.

is this really what you want from me?

fell into the well long ago

i never meant to learn it, to recite poetry with hands tied behind my back.

HURT ME. it's all i deserve

"sometimes I want to know what it's like in your head"

in fickle bouts of weather, the artist clings to her pen and weeps tar tears.
and she laughs at the crybabies around her because she never really will.
the crocodiles and ticking clocks, and I don't ever want to grow older
I pulled your hair back when you threw up,
and it was true love spread against the porcelain
and I suppose I could want you sometime.
You're just too far behind to tell loose tales; it seems I'm farther up the tree.

The artist found her niche amongst the flower children of her mother's youth
Finding cinnamon boys to inhale and alabaster girls to smooth over,
She leaves no preface or explanation, just fills the tank with liquidated dreaming
and keeps driving past roses and crumpled street signs
I am not connected with her in any way, but I know that one day I will meet her.



It's been a while since I've really used this. I've missed you all, even if I'm the only person who reads or writes in this. Please tell me otherwise. I've missed this feeling.

rossie radetsky won the war

you're the only thing worth fighting for in this place, kid.

I'm not even sure if I love you. Maybe I'm telling myself to love you so the pain isn't so big when you don't love me. I feel your love slowly sinking in, and I'm not the best part about this place. I'm not saying things to be self-deprecating, I'm being honest: you can do better than me. In fact, I want you to do better than me because I love that woman there with her bleach blonde hair. tell me there's a way out because I will follow you.

Is there something you wanted to talk about? Hear about? Tell me about?

thorns and you have no idea

why am I so okay with everything? I really, really shouldn't be considering the circumstances.

I feel sick but it's funny how I can laugh at everything.

"take cold showers every day and throw my life away"

felt as though you were spiraling out of control?

As though nothing you say matters because in the end, you're wrong anyway?

I take a lot of patience. I deserve all I get. But I do think you should feel bad.

Despite the fact that I'm a monster, you did hurt me
who's martyring themselves now?

I feel old and young and fucked up. My right eyes hurts so much. I do like myself, I do, I do. This is who I am. I will not apologize for anyone.

Congratulations, you deserve this so much. Fuck your religion, I just want to see you happy. I prefer my characters to my friends, is that sad? I don't know. I don't care, I don't, I don't.