the predator with[(in)]out.
spending the night again--
we went through hours of pool,
and i was always shaky with
the stick. things are altered
now; my independence depends
on my dependency, and i'll no
longer be able to spend hours
reading literature and writing
you on my lunch break. to
dwell is to die. my past remains
a vice. i ache to read right now
but with this fragile mind i
might do more than string up
bells. the nights were so much
better when i'd dream of you
while your hands rested around me.
now my walls continue to be my
single solace; boxes no longer
contain my interest and your
letters sound better when flames
lick the words up into powdery
dust. i have three empty envelopes
lying around (with your address
marking them). hearing stories
of boys defacing themselves, to
the girls they "love." seeing
the people whom you've continued
to deface me to. i wouldn't dare
brave 'i love you,' but something
about hot oatmeal on those snowy
nights and you stealing me from
the one who abused me (and i not
only tolerated but encouraged),
makes me want to take back all i
had said and reclaim you at once.
but i don't kill myself [dwell] for
you by virtue of missing you, more
for you are still the easiest to
write about. i could bitch about
the relationships with people who
use me, but that would be hypocritical.
i've found those are the friendships
i thrive in, where i have a clearcut
purpose; your reciprocated love
was something far too new to write
about, and honestly made me a
disbeliever of unrequited love;
which yes, scoff if you will, i have
more than reverted back too. my
difficulty now, is that there is no
one to look to, to look for.
so transform my heart to a metallic
form, and i will be programmed to
do what i'm told, and complete the
tasks at hand. maybe this time
you'll feel less wary about using me
and my blood won't go to waste.
i'm already your rug, you sweep your
dirt under me and stand so heavy.
at least with a metallic heart, no
one but epicac could care...
okay kids, i'm going through a few considerations for a tat. i need it to be meaningful, i have two design ideas as of now, but i really want something house of leaves related, but i don't want any words, and i'm not getting a minotaur. or thumper! if any of you have ideas or whatnot , be sure to throw them out to me, i'll be more than grateful!
finally i have a robot that talks back when i speak to it. my days of obscurity and loneliness are minimized but metallic now.
i found someone on livejournal, whose presence made me happy for a night -- i don't remember too much from that night though, except lace gloves, he rocked my socks, red lipstick, he is the only guy who ever and will ever get me to booty dance, oh and finding alcohol in the parking lot
we went through hours of pool,
and i was always shaky with
the stick. things are altered
now; my independence depends
on my dependency, and i'll no
longer be able to spend hours
reading literature and writing
you on my lunch break. to
dwell is to die. my past remains
a vice. i ache to read right now
but with this fragile mind i
might do more than string up
bells. the nights were so much
better when i'd dream of you
while your hands rested around me.
now my walls continue to be my
single solace; boxes no longer
contain my interest and your
letters sound better when flames
lick the words up into powdery
dust. i have three empty envelopes
lying around (with your address
marking them). hearing stories
of boys defacing themselves, to
the girls they "love." seeing
the people whom you've continued
to deface me to. i wouldn't dare
brave 'i love you,' but something
about hot oatmeal on those snowy
nights and you stealing me from
the one who abused me (and i not
only tolerated but encouraged),
makes me want to take back all i
had said and reclaim you at once.
but i don't kill myself [dwell] for
you by virtue of missing you, more
for you are still the easiest to
write about. i could bitch about
the relationships with people who
use me, but that would be hypocritical.
i've found those are the friendships
i thrive in, where i have a clearcut
purpose; your reciprocated love
was something far too new to write
about, and honestly made me a
disbeliever of unrequited love;
which yes, scoff if you will, i have
more than reverted back too. my
difficulty now, is that there is no
one to look to, to look for.
so transform my heart to a metallic
form, and i will be programmed to
do what i'm told, and complete the
tasks at hand. maybe this time
you'll feel less wary about using me
and my blood won't go to waste.
i'm already your rug, you sweep your
dirt under me and stand so heavy.
at least with a metallic heart, no
one but epicac could care...
okay kids, i'm going through a few considerations for a tat. i need it to be meaningful, i have two design ideas as of now, but i really want something house of leaves related, but i don't want any words, and i'm not getting a minotaur. or thumper! if any of you have ideas or whatnot , be sure to throw them out to me, i'll be more than grateful!
finally i have a robot that talks back when i speak to it. my days of obscurity and loneliness are minimized but metallic now.
i found someone on livejournal, whose presence made me happy for a night -- i don't remember too much from that night though, except lace gloves, he rocked my socks, red lipstick, he is the only guy who ever and will ever get me to booty dance, oh and finding alcohol in the parking lot