onward and inward we coil amongst snakes.
the march goes on through dead and dried leaves and into snow banks covering the exterior of soul that transended temperature somehow to become a beautiful crystal on a mirror amonsgst others. i'm so tired and becoming less bored with feelings and escaping them. i've lied in every single other instance--nobody is closer or any further apart. the only reason anyone still wakes up is because god is an alarm clock. cancer and cocaine will only lead to hell, but somehow people think otherwise. this is all nonsensical and reminds me of 1998 when scrunchies were still in style; oh the wonder years.
i'd make little faces and pretend i cared to write things that accounted for each step of the way and that doing drugs with people in shitty bands did actually help to pass the time. instead i'll figure out how to make this seem interesting and embelish every line with sparkle and horror.
i've woken up next to two different people within five different days. the clove smoke and the residue it leaves in my sinuses reminds me to not wake up with demons when sleeping with angels. make sense? tonight is christopher and his subversive attitude towards downtown and the homeless and even myself at times. we've held hands but haven't gotten so far yet as to kiss--what am i thinking? while he's not gorgeous, in the right light he looks like an actor i don't remember. he tells me about his ex-girlfriend, how she'll wear tall heels and a short skirt and complain about how cold it is when walking to and from the car. does he think i enjoy these stories? inhale and exhale--little plumes of crystalized gasses will emit from mouths. finally he changes subjects; he'll say something like he thinks he's falling for me and i'll tell him he's silly and the whole idea of love and togetherness is a myth perpetrated by corporations to sell more houses and valentine's day candy. he won't wake up tomorrow. something to do with a hang over or maybe an overdose, i really can't remember.
i've been fine and will become even finer yet come the beginning of the next year. i'm not worried and without that weight the race carries on towards a point somewhere in the future on a line not yet drawn.
i'd make little faces and pretend i cared to write things that accounted for each step of the way and that doing drugs with people in shitty bands did actually help to pass the time. instead i'll figure out how to make this seem interesting and embelish every line with sparkle and horror.
i've woken up next to two different people within five different days. the clove smoke and the residue it leaves in my sinuses reminds me to not wake up with demons when sleeping with angels. make sense? tonight is christopher and his subversive attitude towards downtown and the homeless and even myself at times. we've held hands but haven't gotten so far yet as to kiss--what am i thinking? while he's not gorgeous, in the right light he looks like an actor i don't remember. he tells me about his ex-girlfriend, how she'll wear tall heels and a short skirt and complain about how cold it is when walking to and from the car. does he think i enjoy these stories? inhale and exhale--little plumes of crystalized gasses will emit from mouths. finally he changes subjects; he'll say something like he thinks he's falling for me and i'll tell him he's silly and the whole idea of love and togetherness is a myth perpetrated by corporations to sell more houses and valentine's day candy. he won't wake up tomorrow. something to do with a hang over or maybe an overdose, i really can't remember.
i've been fine and will become even finer yet come the beginning of the next year. i'm not worried and without that weight the race carries on towards a point somewhere in the future on a line not yet drawn.