(no subject)
I have built a castle in my bedroom.
I will allow nobody in.
love will not get in.
sex will not get in.
i can feel nothing in my room
i can feel nobody in my room
i can't see pictures of whores.
i can't taste whores.
my head is filled with pictures of whores
filled with pictures of self humiliation.
It has been a few months and i haven't talked to many.
last week the mc came over after one of his classes and brought me a six pack of gansett. I tried explaining to him that i need more now but he still brings me the same six pack. he was dressed nice with dark jeans and a dark brown shirt. he has been working way up in the fashion industry or some shit.
"james when are you going to go back to school." he asked in his caring voice that he uses every time he comes over. you see the mc really cares about me and he tells me how it is so when i hear that voice it freaks me out. i usually never reply and jsut change the subject.
"i saw the girl that used to live upstairs last friday at the bar." she hated me. he knew it. "she asked how you were doing but now how i was. didn't understand that. I was the one talking to the bitch."
The mc wasn't listening to me. he had poured himself a glass of milk and was rifleing through my cabinets. he finally found a bag of chips. "i saw big cheeks at the little girl from quebecs art show." I didn't want to talk about her but he had to say it anyway. she was a girl i had known since who i was madly in love with. she was stunning. long, skinny legs that reached for days. her hips were small and pointy but you could fit in them just perfectly. anyway, we would drink. or i would drink and she'd get mad. but we had great sex. the point is she left me. left me for freedom. not even another man, i had driven this poor girl so crazy that she had to be alone. i still don't get it. i never really see her often anymore. last week i had ran into her sister. she acted like nothing had happened. i was a wreck. smoking a pack a day, listening to fucking the saddest music over and over. and this girl was acting like nothing was wrong. i couldn't believe it. I DON"T WANT TO WRITE THIS. IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE AN ASSHOLE. EVERYTHING MAKES ME FEEL LIKE AN ASSHOLE. ASSHOLE ASSHOLE ASSHOLE
ASSHOLE
ASSSSHOLE
AASSSSSSSSSHOLE
assHOLE
HOLEASS ASSHOLE
I WANT TO FIND SOMETHING. NOT SURE WHAT. WHETHER IT IS SOMETHING NEW OR SOMETHING OLD.
OR ANOTHER ASSHOLE LIKE MYSELF.
I DON'T WANT TO USE THE WORD I WHEN I WRITE ANYMORE.
I WANT TO USE SHE.
SHE HAS TO BE HAPPY.
SHE HAS TO BE HAPPY.
SHE HAD TO LEAVE.
SHE HAS TO KNOW THAT SHE IS BEAUTIFUL............................................................................SHE SHE SHE
SHE ISN'T GOING TO GO BACK TO HIM.
SHE HASN'T DECIDED WHERE SHE WANTS TO GO.
FOR SOME REASON HE THINKS SHE WON'T GO BACK TO HIM.
SHE HATES VIKING.
EVERYONE HATES VIKING.
HE LOVES VIKING..............................................
THIS FONT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I'M ACTUALLY WRITING SOMETHING.
IT'S LIKE MURDER SHE WROTE. HOW THE WORDS ARE TYPED AS THE TITLE.
FUCK YOU,,,,,, I LOVE VIKING.
BEETHOVEN, BEATHOVEN, BEAT HEAVEN, BEAT....
BATHE.BATHE.BATHE.NO
SINK,SINK,SINK.NO
VIKING. THATS IT.
I will allow nobody in.
love will not get in.
sex will not get in.
i can feel nothing in my room
i can feel nobody in my room
i can't see pictures of whores.
i can't taste whores.
my head is filled with pictures of whores
filled with pictures of self humiliation.
It has been a few months and i haven't talked to many.
last week the mc came over after one of his classes and brought me a six pack of gansett. I tried explaining to him that i need more now but he still brings me the same six pack. he was dressed nice with dark jeans and a dark brown shirt. he has been working way up in the fashion industry or some shit.
"james when are you going to go back to school." he asked in his caring voice that he uses every time he comes over. you see the mc really cares about me and he tells me how it is so when i hear that voice it freaks me out. i usually never reply and jsut change the subject.
"i saw the girl that used to live upstairs last friday at the bar." she hated me. he knew it. "she asked how you were doing but now how i was. didn't understand that. I was the one talking to the bitch."
The mc wasn't listening to me. he had poured himself a glass of milk and was rifleing through my cabinets. he finally found a bag of chips. "i saw big cheeks at the little girl from quebecs art show." I didn't want to talk about her but he had to say it anyway. she was a girl i had known since who i was madly in love with. she was stunning. long, skinny legs that reached for days. her hips were small and pointy but you could fit in them just perfectly. anyway, we would drink. or i would drink and she'd get mad. but we had great sex. the point is she left me. left me for freedom. not even another man, i had driven this poor girl so crazy that she had to be alone. i still don't get it. i never really see her often anymore. last week i had ran into her sister. she acted like nothing had happened. i was a wreck. smoking a pack a day, listening to fucking the saddest music over and over. and this girl was acting like nothing was wrong. i couldn't believe it. I DON"T WANT TO WRITE THIS. IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE AN ASSHOLE. EVERYTHING MAKES ME FEEL LIKE AN ASSHOLE. ASSHOLE ASSHOLE ASSHOLE
ASSHOLE
ASSSSHOLE
AASSSSSSSSSHOLE
assHOLE
HOLEASS ASSHOLE
I WANT TO FIND SOMETHING. NOT SURE WHAT. WHETHER IT IS SOMETHING NEW OR SOMETHING OLD.
OR ANOTHER ASSHOLE LIKE MYSELF.
I DON'T WANT TO USE THE WORD I WHEN I WRITE ANYMORE.
I WANT TO USE SHE.
SHE HAS TO BE HAPPY.
SHE HAS TO BE HAPPY.
SHE HAD TO LEAVE.
SHE HAS TO KNOW THAT SHE IS BEAUTIFUL............................................................................SHE SHE SHE
SHE ISN'T GOING TO GO BACK TO HIM.
SHE HASN'T DECIDED WHERE SHE WANTS TO GO.
FOR SOME REASON HE THINKS SHE WON'T GO BACK TO HIM.
SHE HATES VIKING.
EVERYONE HATES VIKING.
HE LOVES VIKING..............................................
THIS FONT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I'M ACTUALLY WRITING SOMETHING.
IT'S LIKE MURDER SHE WROTE. HOW THE WORDS ARE TYPED AS THE TITLE.
FUCK YOU,,,,,, I LOVE VIKING.
BEETHOVEN, BEATHOVEN, BEAT HEAVEN, BEAT....
BATHE.BATHE.BATHE.NO
SINK,SINK,SINK.NO
VIKING. THATS IT.