(no subject)
I am in love with a boy who lies to me and makes me fucking crazy. I am in love with a boy who hates my science fiction novels, whose hands never stay put. I am in love with a boy who is warm like stones in the sun, whose body is solid and presses against mine like earth. I am in love with a boy whose eyes are the color of grass. I'm in love with a boy who makes me want to commit suicide. Seriously, he makes me want to go to the bathroom right now and run the tap until the water is scalding and just deep enough to brush my knees and then sit down and fuckin' pull the knife and do it. I am in love with a boy who doesn't have any sort of appreciation for life, who barely notices natural beauty and would never want to live with me in a small shack on the side of a mountain. I am in love with a boy who does not understand the leading edge of a hawk's wing, who has never studied the delicate feather whorls there.
I am in love with a boy who is in love with lots of other things, all of which he loves more than he loves me. I am in love with this crazy motherfucker who could drive me to suicide, who could drag me from my dreams of a shack in the forest and into the city.
I frankly don't know why I do it to myself. I'm pretty sure it's no longer the sex, unless I'm deriving some kind of subconscious masochistic pleasure from it all.
I like to sit in the front at movie theaters because I imagine that maybe someone, somewhere, some forlorn forgotten fucker in the back will pay more attention to me than he is paying to the movie. He'll be captivated by some kind of stray arm movement, or maybe the soft oval silhouette of my head against the big screen, and there it will be. He'll never approach me, of course: people like that never have the courage. I'll never know when or why or who. I can only sit in the front and trust in God and blind stupid faith and the complete illogical mess that is the human brain, and know that someday it will happen. And maybe it will happen again and maybe Scott will really quit drugs and maybe my dead bird will burst through the soil in the side yard like a phoenix, like he does so many mornings in my dreams. I keep his cage in the garage. I'm waiting. I really miss you Birde.
I am in love with a boy who is in love with lots of other things, all of which he loves more than he loves me. I am in love with this crazy motherfucker who could drive me to suicide, who could drag me from my dreams of a shack in the forest and into the city.
I frankly don't know why I do it to myself. I'm pretty sure it's no longer the sex, unless I'm deriving some kind of subconscious masochistic pleasure from it all.
I like to sit in the front at movie theaters because I imagine that maybe someone, somewhere, some forlorn forgotten fucker in the back will pay more attention to me than he is paying to the movie. He'll be captivated by some kind of stray arm movement, or maybe the soft oval silhouette of my head against the big screen, and there it will be. He'll never approach me, of course: people like that never have the courage. I'll never know when or why or who. I can only sit in the front and trust in God and blind stupid faith and the complete illogical mess that is the human brain, and know that someday it will happen. And maybe it will happen again and maybe Scott will really quit drugs and maybe my dead bird will burst through the soil in the side yard like a phoenix, like he does so many mornings in my dreams. I keep his cage in the garage. I'm waiting. I really miss you Birde.