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| 03:56pm 21/11/2008 |
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.. How sad, this is what your life has been reduced to: a single room apartment containing no more than a mattress. How sad but the strings have been removed from the blinds and all the outlets have been painted over. and the television screen is streaked with blood and smeared from your knuckles as you were trying to punch it out but you underestimated your strength, or maybe you just weren't trying hard enough. Startled by a knock at the door you rise for the first time in two days to answer, but you can only greet the visitor with one short statement.
'Hello my first name is Distance
And I really don't care
if I never wake up again'
.... err.. well i'm not sure if this is allowed to post or not [[so if not.. MY BAD!]] i have three PUDDLE OF MUDD TICKETS FOR SALE. libertyville IL , november 29th.. anyone interested in purchasing them from me? $25 each! |
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| 03:52pm 20/11/2008 |
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i know i know i know
you've had this request so many times,
but i need suggestions on books :]
so dig out those lists & gimme your best shot.. |
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| 08:43pm 18/11/2008 |
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That's how I run from my problems. |
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| 12:53pm 18/11/2008 |
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To the cold fingers that used to trace up my spine--
You are connected to the hands that hurt, the hands that held, the hands that are attached to the devil himself. It was never enough, but you fed me more and more chemicals and sedatives and numbness that I gladly accepted. I broke down the same way your bones broke on my skull. And I still can't believe I stayed with you through the hospital run. I should have wrapped the belt tighter around your throat, I shouldn't have asked for the favor back, but you were willing and I was desperate. The hands that hurt, the hands that held... release. Those weren't conversations, they were manifestations, you swore you heard demons and they were demanding death upon me. You really wanted to kill me. I said, "Go ahead and just fucking do it." You were close, I know, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see, I couldn't hear. You were close.
I remember one night a companion's voice fluttered through the phone line, behind the voice with the summer sky eyes, "Maybe she likes it."
Cold fingers, you really fucked me up, I think. The last snow fall held your deathbed, yet your murderous breath still tickles my nape and whispers degrading stories of disgusting love.
I hope you're rotting into a shade of red and brown.
-- spine. |
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| 11:07pm 17/11/2008 |
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i got caught shop lifting this stupid cd.
dumbest thing i think i've done in a while.
and by far most embarassing. |
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| 09:48pm 15/11/2008 |
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i feel like even if he was interested in me, i'd always have to feel body conscious. he builds sexy bodies for his career... how can you compete with that? |
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| 11:59pm 13/11/2008 |
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what the fuck do i get my boyfriend for his birthday? its on the 20th and i'm re-thinking what i was gonna do for him. i was gonna basically help him pay for a tattoo cuz he's been wanting another one for a long ass time but now i feel like thats just dumb. ahh i don't know. help?! |
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