. prostitution .
sick of smoking. fresh and pink, me, i'm lost. i wrote him but he couldn't understand it. simplicity in challenge, find me dressing up to die. i want to do whatever it takes to keep her awake but i know my laziness will let her fall straight through the breakaways. today we coiled around roads that i wanted so badly to mean something.. ANYTHING.. but didn't. i injest my output... slurp regergitated skin babble. scratch parts of me that don't even itch. i pixel my way straight across the chess board. he kept saying my name so fucking incorrectly!! eh!!! no!!!! i almost don't want him anywhere near my bed again. i straighten my rings. scratch just above my ear. my toes curl themselves against the walls. i scratch all the pieces of her insides that don't twitch. i scrape her name across the keys. i change my mind and chase the obvious. chase the stung bee charmer. radiation cheers.. obligatory tears. after that i want some coffee.. something to make me sick again, just bring me a better, blacker pen. i feel like i'm suffocating. i feel like i'm to blame. ::eyes down:: spirit, my.. my spirits fly.. ::huff:: gah! bleh.. ::taps toe against the wall and rolls her eyes:: ::yawn:: fuck.. neh... i'm... eh....