11:25PM - fuck
you're fuck.
What swear word are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
fuck. indeed.
it's merely a cliched borderline-psychotic love-hate relationship. took me a while to realise.
i thought it to be something different. (god, what was i thinking?) i must say i'm relieved, yet disappointed.
my lips have scabbed over. it's painful to talk... not that there's anything left to say.
keep your head up, movin' on. on to forgetting. getting colder. forever in debt for fear caked in the corners of scrutinizing eyes.
i still have to learn what's inside. have to take pleasure in exposing and gnawing on those sweetest rainbow candy guts... for this one last time.
i must beware, for my my enemy is stronger... colder. coldest.
softest.
we're done taking turns in miscomprehending. it's officially dead. APPLAUSE, BITTE. vomit blood now.
once again, i'm on a quest for something new to obsess over.
i hope i hold a special place with the rest of them.
again, i'm smiling: it's not as bad as i thought. it's even worse, but at least it's not personal... and so i'm smiling with selfish glee.
we're not through, i can't deny there's something between us... something beautiful and dead.
59 minutes left before the blitzkrieg. god help me. godfuckit.
the fall was creeping up on us... before we knew it, its cold fingers were burning under our skin... burning us down to a pile of ashes.
it's not half bad. when it gets bad, i just close my eyes.
eyes closed, i'm falling, falling, falling. falling apart. i wish i were the rain. i wish i never had to wake.
i wake up to ear-splitting silence of the phone. it hits me hard, it feels like a kiss. it starts phasing, disappearing, crowded out by hiss and static... annoying, pulsating noise inside my head. my mind flashes up occasional pictures like a detuned TV screen, making me queasy.
i vomit all over the ceiling... or is it the floor? it's impossible to tell.
i'm jonesing for the smell of a motorcycle jacket.
give no names, attach no labels. look beyond, it's all in the numbers. one is on the lips, two is on the cheek, three is on the forehead, four is on the ear... better not forget. better not promise to be true, staple your mouth shut to prevent lies from spreading, for lies seek to smother us all. remember to give the benefit of the doubt, doubt the benefit, five is on the neck, six is on the chest... it is only a flesh wound, a momentary lapse of reason, and your denial is just another defense mechanism, leading to addiction, leading to denial... hush, dont' cry... the scars will remain, but the shock of hearing those screams will fade away, leaving you alone in an open field, suspended in silence, so beautiful and dead...
four walls. dozens of megalomaniacally drunk social byproducts in leather jackets.
low-quality vodka. acrid cigarette smoke. aural cake and sodomy.
plastic ashtrays. depressive barmaid. toilet wasted with urine and puke.
heavenly. divinely godawful.
despite him being overprotective, i found my way in. oh shit, what a surprise! ...i'm full of shit and unpleasant surprises.
i kissed a stripper. la-la-la-la-lovely.
herpes can be transmitted even when a person has no symptoms, although the risk of transmission is much higher when sores are present.
i'm unsafe.
no longer could i stand it. i unlocked Pandora's jukebox and faced the music.
i wanted to say: "let's just be friends", but the music was too loud. my switchblade tongue slipped and stabbed him in the back. i kept stabbing him until i hurt myself.
and we were silently bleeding in our shells of make-believe indifference untill we were too drained to care...
sex is but a tasteless joke. funny for a while, but then it wears thin. perhaps, i'm the lost case. clueless to a degree, i couldn't care less to learn. i fear to find out.
the inborn fear of the unknown breeds anger. the next step down is hatred... we need to hate certain things in life, so we’ll appreciate the things we love all the more, don't we?
there is no doubt that i love him deeply. i am torn by mixed emotions about him. he doesn't mean to hurt me, does he? is it my fault touching feels unsafe? am i to blaim for wanting to to take off my skin?
it's all angry questions i fear to verbalize, multiple orgasms are by no means the answer. so i zone out and pray it goes away. i dare myself to play along. out of self-hatred hammered into women as they grow up in a male-dominated society. out of love for my enemy.
i could never resist a challenge. still, i'd rather not be picking pubic hairs out of my teeth.
when i fake being awake, it's still too early for those pills. he gave me a reason for this comfortable, monochromatic numbness, gave me a reason i couldn't find. i wonder if i could care less, emotions locked in a padded box. runaway train of my psyche heading for self-destruction, somebody stop me. I DARE YOU.
i have an uncontrollable urge to ruin everything... DESTRUCTOMANIA is at her best.
you're fuck.
What swear word are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
fuck. indeed.
he's sick.
he's going to stay sick. i'm going to stay till we die. every beat of his heart makes my heart skip a bit, i'd sell my soul for his worthless mortal body.
god knows i never wanted to feel like this.
god knows i never wanted to feel at all.
once upon a time, a good bad boy met an evil good girl. inexplicably, their heretic heredity made them click... and it was a devilish vaudeville ever after.
two wrongs do not make a right, yet i hope it lasts. i love my enemy.
hope is dope to keep us pacified and oblivious to lies... lies, falsities, falsified hypocricies. tangled in their sticky cobwebs, wondering wither will this withering drive us?
post-coital. postal. carpe diem. rape everyone with your hatred and kill your darlings. kill yourself, kill yourself, kill your mom and dad. ultimately, we will diguise what we know with slimy smiles, turning it into something we can enjoy... SO LET US BE ENTERTAINED.
every other day i'm a needle-and-pinup model of sexual anxiety. yet i'm always late, procrastinating consensual rape, clinging to the illusion of being in control.
inevitably, i cut wallpaper with my nails as shock rock camouflages the creaking of the bed springs. i climax out of frustration. i climax in near-hysteria. i climax till i beg for mercy. "i'd love to have more, but my cunt is a sore... i am, i am, i am so yours."
Navigate: (Previous 20 entries)