(no subject)
Do you truly not realize that you have "lemming" tatooed on your forehead? Do you not understand that you've become a souless golem, sucked into a painfully trite cliche? I mean, hello!
When you look into the mirror, do you see a human being; a true individual? Or do you see a living, breathing doll, painted and oh-so-pretty?
That's all I see when I look at you.
How can you be content with being a void? You fill in all the little nooks and crannies with all the latest trends. You gloss over the imperfections with cheap scented chapstick. You plug up your ears and glue your eyes shut with superflous bull. I can't love something that's not there. I refuse to comfort a mannequin.
And, by the way, grow the hell up.
I don't know what makes me me. I haven't any idea why I won't stop 'til I glow brighter than the sun. I'll not be content with any less and I won't be content with you collapsing into something less.
Dammit all, you were so grand. I admired you so, but then I watched -- actually could see... -- as you washed out from a thunderstorm to a late autumn drizzle. All in the name of "self-discovery". But you didn't discover your self! You uncovered a phenomenon that has the power to swallow a soul. Then, having released this disgusting thing, you let it eat you.
It doesn't matter. You can't hear a lone voice, not matter how loud that voice is or where it emanates from (even if it's inside of you) if your head's shoved up your ass.
It makes no difference if your doing ice or a pretty boy. It makes no difference that I honestly cry. That my breath comes in sharp gasps or my heartbeats comes in irregular rhythms is lost on you. 'Cause there is no "you". And you don't care. Momentary comfort is more important than anything else. Allow me to rephrase, please: YOUR momentary comfort.
I can't quite bring myself to close down.
I'm just sicker the sick of watching this. Get a clue, please. Better than that, get a spine. Or don't. Stay a complete pussy without a shred of dignity, pride, indivuality or intelligence. Sink your claws into the nearest piece of meat just cause it's there and smiles at you. Please. I hope when you eat that rotted meat that it doesn't kill you. I'd offer to pick your ass up off the ground, but the fact of the matter is that you won't have an ass left to pick up.
This world will chew you up and spit you out in a sugar-coated pile of bile and then all I'll have left is cracked bones.
Dammit all! I'm sitting here crying, sick to my stomach and absolutely worked up. Why is it so plain to me and so impossible for anyone else? It's so unfair. I just want you back in my life. That's it. All of you, all in one piece. You're so wonderful, in your own gooberish way. Well, what used to be your own way. Now it's just a shot-up remnant. Like you, an torn pair of shoes that I can't quite bring myself to throw outta my closet.
Good night. Maybe tomorrow I'll be strong enough to say goodbye.
--jennifer
When you look into the mirror, do you see a human being; a true individual? Or do you see a living, breathing doll, painted and oh-so-pretty?
That's all I see when I look at you.
How can you be content with being a void? You fill in all the little nooks and crannies with all the latest trends. You gloss over the imperfections with cheap scented chapstick. You plug up your ears and glue your eyes shut with superflous bull. I can't love something that's not there. I refuse to comfort a mannequin.
And, by the way, grow the hell up.
I don't know what makes me me. I haven't any idea why I won't stop 'til I glow brighter than the sun. I'll not be content with any less and I won't be content with you collapsing into something less.
Dammit all, you were so grand. I admired you so, but then I watched -- actually could see... -- as you washed out from a thunderstorm to a late autumn drizzle. All in the name of "self-discovery". But you didn't discover your self! You uncovered a phenomenon that has the power to swallow a soul. Then, having released this disgusting thing, you let it eat you.
It doesn't matter. You can't hear a lone voice, not matter how loud that voice is or where it emanates from (even if it's inside of you) if your head's shoved up your ass.
It makes no difference if your doing ice or a pretty boy. It makes no difference that I honestly cry. That my breath comes in sharp gasps or my heartbeats comes in irregular rhythms is lost on you. 'Cause there is no "you". And you don't care. Momentary comfort is more important than anything else. Allow me to rephrase, please: YOUR momentary comfort.
I can't quite bring myself to close down.
I'm just sicker the sick of watching this. Get a clue, please. Better than that, get a spine. Or don't. Stay a complete pussy without a shred of dignity, pride, indivuality or intelligence. Sink your claws into the nearest piece of meat just cause it's there and smiles at you. Please. I hope when you eat that rotted meat that it doesn't kill you. I'd offer to pick your ass up off the ground, but the fact of the matter is that you won't have an ass left to pick up.
This world will chew you up and spit you out in a sugar-coated pile of bile and then all I'll have left is cracked bones.
Dammit all! I'm sitting here crying, sick to my stomach and absolutely worked up. Why is it so plain to me and so impossible for anyone else? It's so unfair. I just want you back in my life. That's it. All of you, all in one piece. You're so wonderful, in your own gooberish way. Well, what used to be your own way. Now it's just a shot-up remnant. Like you, an torn pair of shoes that I can't quite bring myself to throw outta my closet.
Good night. Maybe tomorrow I'll be strong enough to say goodbye.
--jennifer