delete button: find this.
there is no love, there is no heaven, darling there's no god. then why do i feel so safe? i've done the whole introspection thing. it doesn't work. i'm not there. and that's ok. i'm always going to have those "boy, she talks too much." days followed by, "fuck, does that girl know what words even are." days. and i'm never going to understand.
i never sleep. i would. i could. i should be medicated. only i don't believe in drugs. so my nights are spent with a guitar i don't know how to play, a sketchbook i stare at, and a millionandahalf ideas of what the world is thinking about me. i care too much about other people's perceptions of me. i like hearing all the nice things people can say. and i like hearing that i'm a cold-hearted shallow bitch too. and to be honest, i think that's all because i don't read my horoscope- which prevents me from creating a self-image for myself.
i drink too much coffee to keep up with my lifestyle. and too much alcohol to keep up with my mind. my insides are probably a mess and i'm too sick to notice. my liver is more than likely plotting my brain's suicide. i just hope i hang a piece of art in a museum before my internal organs pull the plug.
that's my obsession. the aesthetics. i was born to love art and sex. i'll never trust you. and i'll probably never love you. tangible attachments just don't excite me. [and i'm really trying not to lie here] i don't think there is an exception. i'm selfish and don't like people. but you can't play a game of cards by yourself [fuck solitaire]. so i've learned to smile and keep things fun. and if you want to keep trying, go ahead: whisper things in my ears, tell me i'm the one. sell it. we might sleep together once, a hundred times, [zero if you're fat, ugly, diseased] but i'm always counting down. and one day the calendar will win, you'll wake up, and i'll be in a new city. forwarding addresses don't exist in my story.
your best bet to "winning me over" is to talk shit. the nice boys do nothing for me. i like the boys that never bleed from biting their tongues. call me a skank. throw me up against a wall. make me slam doors. and then guilt trip me for calling you an asshole under my breath. i'm still going to leave you for the next big city, but hey. we all like those chapters that are page turners.
and that's true. but- i'll read anything. anything. i take all book suggestions seriously. i can't tell you my favorite type of book. i can't tell you my favorite genre. if i can hold it in my hands: i'll read it. and if it really is well written, i'll cover it in post-its. little notes i'll never, ever set my eyes on again. i'm organized to the point it doesn't make sense. and then i throw my laundry all over the floor.
i think i've come to terms that i'm always going to be too stubborn. i'll end up alone. and i'm practicing. i hide from the world all the time. and when it finds me. i drink too much, kiss too many people, make plans with too many friends and then i run away. you'll probably find out what happened from the internet. anyone can stalk anyone else online [hi family. hi people i roll my eyes at when i see you smoking at my fav't coffee shop. hi girl whose boyfriend i drunkingly made out with [[please leave me a comment calling me a floozy. i love laughing.]] and hi kid i sat next to in second period sophomore year.] i'm not into modesty, and i think it's way too hip how stalk worthy i appear to be.
the only thing consistant with me is the fact i'm not consistant. as soon as things begin to work, get all figured out. i change it. i'm not sure if this is intentional or not. maybe it's a cry for something. maybe i just want attention. i don't even know. but i do know i get drunk and cut my hair in bathrooms. i'll wake up some days and want to throw away all my clothes, i pick a new style and don't care that i now have to wear the same shirt three times this week. i'll talk shit about every girl that wears too much make up- then next week my eyes will be bleeding eyeshadow just because i thought it'd look cute with my shoes. something i thought was funny the last time you saw me, could now make me want to punch things in the face. [this probably doesn't fit. but i never cry in movies.] i listen to ambient instrumental music all the time, except when i'm listening to way too loud hardcore. and i can't even explain why i'm into polar opposites. i have one tattoo and i don't want anymore, except i like to think about what i'd look like with a leg piece, or that b&w piece i talk about on my ribcage.
if i don't know someone, or you're mean to me first. or you're flat out obnoxious. i can say the most hurtful things. i'll post dirty pictures of you on the internet. and i won't think twice. i'll actually probably laugh and tell the world i'm funny. but if we've ever sat down and had a real conversation. i don't know how to say one fucking mean thing outloud. i'll think it, and almost say it a thousand times. but i'll always hold my breath. i care about people in the moment. too much. and that's why i'll always drop you.
i never want to own a car again. the only reason i drive is to sing songs way too loud while i drive. and i figured out i can do that in the passenger seat and forget about responsibilities. so goodbye rearview mirror, hello feet on dashboard. and if no one likes it. i'm cool with trains too. oh and i promise none of this has anything to do with the ozone. if i ever had kids [and i really think that's an "i'm not."], i'd have a lot more to worry about than ozone. so fuck that.
basically. i'm a terrible person. i had a terrible childhood [oprah book club scribbled everywhere], an even worse adolesence, and i'm too angryfuckedupapatheticsadidk to fix it. don't ask me to tell you. i won't. i never, ever tell secrets. which is the reason to tell me yours. i'm great at listening, just not taking turns. so bitch to me then buy me drinks-because even when i turn twenty-one i'll be too young to order my own. [i love how everyone assumes i'm nice because i'm little and cute. fuckfuckfuckkk.] seriously, i'm bad news. and you'll probably love me anyway. and i'll never feel guilty.
i'll talk to anyone. i'll give you second chances. i'll hope you're the one that breaks all my rules [it's ok, you won't be]. and then i'll run away. i was born an introvert with a type a personality. i'm too smart for this shit. i'm nice and then i'm not. i'm an endless imbroglio, a walking conundrum. i've said too much.
hi. my name is amber. i'll probably delete this before it gets me into trouble. but not before you're able to say everything i just did more poetically.
ps. i notice everything, and i never forget.
i never sleep. i would. i could. i should be medicated. only i don't believe in drugs. so my nights are spent with a guitar i don't know how to play, a sketchbook i stare at, and a millionandahalf ideas of what the world is thinking about me. i care too much about other people's perceptions of me. i like hearing all the nice things people can say. and i like hearing that i'm a cold-hearted shallow bitch too. and to be honest, i think that's all because i don't read my horoscope- which prevents me from creating a self-image for myself.
i drink too much coffee to keep up with my lifestyle. and too much alcohol to keep up with my mind. my insides are probably a mess and i'm too sick to notice. my liver is more than likely plotting my brain's suicide. i just hope i hang a piece of art in a museum before my internal organs pull the plug.
that's my obsession. the aesthetics. i was born to love art and sex. i'll never trust you. and i'll probably never love you. tangible attachments just don't excite me. [and i'm really trying not to lie here] i don't think there is an exception. i'm selfish and don't like people. but you can't play a game of cards by yourself [fuck solitaire]. so i've learned to smile and keep things fun. and if you want to keep trying, go ahead: whisper things in my ears, tell me i'm the one. sell it. we might sleep together once, a hundred times, [zero if you're fat, ugly, diseased] but i'm always counting down. and one day the calendar will win, you'll wake up, and i'll be in a new city. forwarding addresses don't exist in my story.
your best bet to "winning me over" is to talk shit. the nice boys do nothing for me. i like the boys that never bleed from biting their tongues. call me a skank. throw me up against a wall. make me slam doors. and then guilt trip me for calling you an asshole under my breath. i'm still going to leave you for the next big city, but hey. we all like those chapters that are page turners.
and that's true. but- i'll read anything. anything. i take all book suggestions seriously. i can't tell you my favorite type of book. i can't tell you my favorite genre. if i can hold it in my hands: i'll read it. and if it really is well written, i'll cover it in post-its. little notes i'll never, ever set my eyes on again. i'm organized to the point it doesn't make sense. and then i throw my laundry all over the floor.
i think i've come to terms that i'm always going to be too stubborn. i'll end up alone. and i'm practicing. i hide from the world all the time. and when it finds me. i drink too much, kiss too many people, make plans with too many friends and then i run away. you'll probably find out what happened from the internet. anyone can stalk anyone else online [hi family. hi people i roll my eyes at when i see you smoking at my fav't coffee shop. hi girl whose boyfriend i drunkingly made out with [[please leave me a comment calling me a floozy. i love laughing.]] and hi kid i sat next to in second period sophomore year.] i'm not into modesty, and i think it's way too hip how stalk worthy i appear to be.
the only thing consistant with me is the fact i'm not consistant. as soon as things begin to work, get all figured out. i change it. i'm not sure if this is intentional or not. maybe it's a cry for something. maybe i just want attention. i don't even know. but i do know i get drunk and cut my hair in bathrooms. i'll wake up some days and want to throw away all my clothes, i pick a new style and don't care that i now have to wear the same shirt three times this week. i'll talk shit about every girl that wears too much make up- then next week my eyes will be bleeding eyeshadow just because i thought it'd look cute with my shoes. something i thought was funny the last time you saw me, could now make me want to punch things in the face. [this probably doesn't fit. but i never cry in movies.] i listen to ambient instrumental music all the time, except when i'm listening to way too loud hardcore. and i can't even explain why i'm into polar opposites. i have one tattoo and i don't want anymore, except i like to think about what i'd look like with a leg piece, or that b&w piece i talk about on my ribcage.
if i don't know someone, or you're mean to me first. or you're flat out obnoxious. i can say the most hurtful things. i'll post dirty pictures of you on the internet. and i won't think twice. i'll actually probably laugh and tell the world i'm funny. but if we've ever sat down and had a real conversation. i don't know how to say one fucking mean thing outloud. i'll think it, and almost say it a thousand times. but i'll always hold my breath. i care about people in the moment. too much. and that's why i'll always drop you.
i never want to own a car again. the only reason i drive is to sing songs way too loud while i drive. and i figured out i can do that in the passenger seat and forget about responsibilities. so goodbye rearview mirror, hello feet on dashboard. and if no one likes it. i'm cool with trains too. oh and i promise none of this has anything to do with the ozone. if i ever had kids [and i really think that's an "i'm not."], i'd have a lot more to worry about than ozone. so fuck that.
basically. i'm a terrible person. i had a terrible childhood [oprah book club scribbled everywhere], an even worse adolesence, and i'm too angryfuckedupapatheticsadidk to fix it. don't ask me to tell you. i won't. i never, ever tell secrets. which is the reason to tell me yours. i'm great at listening, just not taking turns. so bitch to me then buy me drinks-because even when i turn twenty-one i'll be too young to order my own. [i love how everyone assumes i'm nice because i'm little and cute. fuckfuckfuckkk.] seriously, i'm bad news. and you'll probably love me anyway. and i'll never feel guilty.
i'll talk to anyone. i'll give you second chances. i'll hope you're the one that breaks all my rules [it's ok, you won't be]. and then i'll run away. i was born an introvert with a type a personality. i'm too smart for this shit. i'm nice and then i'm not. i'm an endless imbroglio, a walking conundrum. i've said too much.
hi. my name is amber. i'll probably delete this before it gets me into trouble. but not before you're able to say everything i just did more poetically.
ps. i notice everything, and i never forget.