(no subject)

[justexquisite]

there's a newspaper spilled open on my floor to the apartments-for-rent section, my interest in cheap things marked by blue pen curves around the sides. not full circles, as if this will help me deny it later. as if this makes it half invisible, these half circles, so i can say that i was never this way. lost, and searching for a home to call my own, in my room, on my bed, my own. so i can pretend i was never in the way that nothing is like i remember it, and this does not feel like home anymore, and i have nobody to call home. like everybody has moved on, and i am in the same place, but i don't remember a bit of this, and this is not home.

so i'm scribbling in this newspaper, blue marks around apartments that in all their squalor i will still not be able to afford. cryptic marks and feigned haphazardness, around tiny places i will try to move on to, tiny places i will never move to, this way so that i can say i was never like this, it was somebody else, and it was.