You Know, You Don't Know.
A certain bastard that I used to be quite friendly with was recently unfriendly enough to spread some ghastly rumor about me. Let's get something straight: I have never ever even feigned interest in this specific boy that I'd recently befriended. He has a bad reputation that I was willing to overlook for some time. Unfortunately, he lived up to his unspoken word. That's not my fault. For the first time in a long time, my letting someone in was a pure attempt. And it bit me - violently, no less - in the ass. I don't understand some of these people. Let's get together and beat Jiordan so far into the ground that she'll never recover. Thanks for the effort, guys. Yes, that sounds rather fantastic. I can't wait for the years that will follow the next year and a half. I'm going to dye my hair pink, get inked, and move around. If you don't like it, you can ignore the transition. It won't make any of it any less obvious.
I don't know if I know you, but you know me. That is a sentence that I will never confirm nor deny, if and when I am asked to define my past realizations. What is it that you even like about me? I'm having a small crisis in one side of my brain, just in thinking that the end is wrapping itself around the beginning of my life. Has it always been this way? When was this plan imagined? I'm no one from nowhere and nothing at all. Does that ever sound familiar? Can you identify?
I'm sick of being in Huntington. There, I've said it. The throngs of girls in spandex and the groups of boys in baggy pants can hate me for betraying my history, but I refuse to be a part of their future. I'm not like them. I'm not even like myself. I swear I've become so inside-of-myself that I'm only ever real in my own mind; a legend in her own mind.
The ice is starting to break apart and melt underneath a still-chilled sun. And just as I'm beginning to warm up to this bitter state of mind, my consistency with nature is undoing itself. I feel like I can't count on anything anymore. Can I count on you? I can number my stars on two hands. It could be worse, I suppose. I just don't know how, exactly.
My nail polish is looking pretty awful right about now, so I guess it's time for a change. I would go for black, but I'm tired of feeding the beast inside. I'd rather starve my cold, my frozen disposition, than settle for comfort in an uncomfortable position. What's so great about being alone? I can't even remember.
I wish I had the money to find my way to you. Would you be willing to let me stay? This might be your last chance to just go.
I don't know if I know you, but you know me. That is a sentence that I will never confirm nor deny, if and when I am asked to define my past realizations. What is it that you even like about me? I'm having a small crisis in one side of my brain, just in thinking that the end is wrapping itself around the beginning of my life. Has it always been this way? When was this plan imagined? I'm no one from nowhere and nothing at all. Does that ever sound familiar? Can you identify?
I'm sick of being in Huntington. There, I've said it. The throngs of girls in spandex and the groups of boys in baggy pants can hate me for betraying my history, but I refuse to be a part of their future. I'm not like them. I'm not even like myself. I swear I've become so inside-of-myself that I'm only ever real in my own mind; a legend in her own mind.
The ice is starting to break apart and melt underneath a still-chilled sun. And just as I'm beginning to warm up to this bitter state of mind, my consistency with nature is undoing itself. I feel like I can't count on anything anymore. Can I count on you? I can number my stars on two hands. It could be worse, I suppose. I just don't know how, exactly.
My nail polish is looking pretty awful right about now, so I guess it's time for a change. I would go for black, but I'm tired of feeding the beast inside. I'd rather starve my cold, my frozen disposition, than settle for comfort in an uncomfortable position. What's so great about being alone? I can't even remember.
I wish I had the money to find my way to you. Would you be willing to let me stay? This might be your last chance to just go.